#to show that they are not really in the same plants of existence

[lolottes]

so I'm starting to get fed up with people asking not to use the "danny phantom" tag. I'll continue if I find it relevant because of an argument against it: companies use filters for their studies. They will use the "danny phantom" tag data, they will never take into account the specific crossover tags. it is the same logic as selling tools specific to the disabled (physical; invisible or not, or the various ways of being neuroatypical) to the non-disabled to help their development At the same time, I'm the type to use a lot of variants of tags to express that they're crossovers and I put them first so that they're very visible, even if it means making my tags "interesting" unseen by most people. so yes in the hope of more (good) canon content danny phantom i will continue to use his tags if it is relevant in my post or reblog and here I'm curious if we're like me who thinks the effort to block is worth sending a message of interest to the industry

afterwards it must be said that since the name of a fandom is also that of one of the characters, this does not make things any easier

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

Mom was a sociology student/teacher of course.

One of the best if I am being honest.

Moving that part of mother into a daughter is frightening....and beautiful

[inkskinned]

i love when words fit right. seize was always supposed to be that word, and so was jester. tuesday isn't quite right but thursday should be thursday, that's a good word for it. daisy has the perfect shape to it, almost like you're laughing when you say it; and tulip is correct most of the time. while keynote is fun to say, it's super wrong - i think they have to change the label for that one. but fox is spot-on.

most words are just, like, good enough, even if what they are describing is lovely. the night sky is a fine term for it but it isn't perfect the way november is the correct term for that month.

it's not just in english because in spanish the phrase eso si que es is correct, it should be that. sometimes other languages are also better than the english words, like how blue is sloped too far downwards but azul is perfect and hangs in the air like glitter. while butterfly is sweet, i think probably papillion is more correct, although for some butterflies féileacán is much better. year is fine but bliain is better. sometimes multiple languages got it right though, like how jueves and Πέμπτη are also the right names for thursday. maybe we as a species are just really good at naming thursdays.

and if we were really bored and had a moment and a picnic to split we could all sit down for a moment and sort out all the words that exist and find all the perfect words in every language. i would show you that while i like the word tree (it makes you smile to say it), i think arbor is correct. you could teach me from your language what words fit the right way, and that would be very exciting (exciting is not correct, it's just fine).

i think probably this is what was happening at the tower of babel, before the languages all got shifted across the world and smudged by the hand of god. by the way, hand isn't quite right, but i do like that the word god is only 3 letters, and that it is shaped like it is reflecting into itself, and that it kind of makes your mouth move into an echoing chapel when you cluck it. but the word god could also fit really well with a coathanger, and i can't explain that. i think donut has (weirdly) the same shape as a toothbrush, but we really got bagel right and i am really grateful for that.

grateful is close, but not like thunder. hopefully one day i am going to figure out how to shape the way i love my friends into a little ceramic (ceramic is very good, almost perfect) pot and when they hold it they can feel the weight of my care for them. they can put a plant in there. maybe a daisy.

[solxamber]

Hiiii so I really liked your unhinged reader x Leona fic and I just saw your post about mal and vil

If you have the time, could you do the same thing for mal and/or vil?

Vil and Malleus with an Unhinged reader

thanks for the request <3 it's always fun writing for mal and vil!

Vil Schoenheit

Vil Schoenheit prided himself on his poise. He prided himself on his grace, his refinement, his ability to maintain control in any situation.

And then there was you.

A walking, talking whirlwind of chaos with absolutely no regard for personal safety or the consequences of your actions. You had this thing—this habit—of showing up wherever Vil was, just appearing out of thin air like a feral cat who found a way into the palace.

“Vil!” you called, striding confidently into the Pomefiore lounge one afternoon, without a care for the looks you were getting from the perfectly groomed students. “Guess what I did today?”

Vil didn’t look up from his tea. “Do I even want to know?”

You, with the biggest grin on your face, flopped into the chair across from him like it was a casual meeting and not the sanctum of beauty and refinement. “Okay, so. Hear me out.”

“No.”

Ignoring him completely, you launched into your story. “So I was in the botanical gardens, right? And I saw this big, fancy plant, and I thought, ‘What if I just… take it?’ You know, for science or something.”

Vil lowered his tea slowly, eyeing you like you’d just declared you were going to break into a highly secured vault for fun. “You what?”

“I took it! It’s in my bag!” You looked so proud of yourself as you patted your bag. “I was thinking it’d look great in your room.”

Vil blinked at you, mouth slightly open, as his brain struggled to process the sheer absurdity of the situation. “You stole a plant? From the botanical gardens? For me?”

“Yup! Because you like pretty things, right?”

A strangled sound came from Rook, who had been quietly observing the conversation. Vil shot him a glare to silence him before returning his attention to you. “Let me get this straight,” Vil said slowly, carefully, as though speaking too quickly would cause his head to explode. “You, with absolutely no regard for rules or consequences, took a rare and likely highly poisonous plant, stuffed it into your bag, and brought it to me?”

You blinked innocently. “It’s poisonous? Huh. Well, that explains the rash.”

Vil’s hands went to his temples as he let out a long, pained sigh. “You have a death wish, don’t you?”

“Pfft, nah. I just get bored.”

There it was. The sentence that encapsulated everything about you—no self-preservation, questionable morals, and an insatiable hunger for something, anything, to entertain you.

Vil leaned back in his chair, staring at you as though trying to comprehend how someone like you even existed. “Do you realize how dangerous that is? How reckless? How utterly insane?”

You shrugged. “Danger is subjective, really. And anyway, you’ve faced worse in your overblot, right? At least I didn’t curse anyone.”

“That’s not the point!” Vil snapped, standing abruptly and fixing you with a glare so intense it could wilt your newly acquired plant. “You’re acting like an absolute menace!”

“And yet,” you said, leaning forward with a grin that could only be described as unhinged, “you still keep letting me hang around.”

Vil opened his mouth to retort but stopped. He couldn’t deny it. No matter how infuriating you were, no matter how many ridiculous situations you threw yourself into, he never really tried to distance himself. Sure, he scolded you, lectured you about proper behavior and responsibility, but at the end of the day, you were still there, waltzing into his life like you owned it.

“And,” you added, leaning even closer, “you can’t deny that you like it. Admit it. You’d be bored without me.”

Vil scoffed, turning his nose up. “As if. I have plenty of things to occupy my time.”

You tilted your head, that same manic gleam in your eye. “Oh really? Then why haven’t you kicked me out yet?”

Vil’s eye twitched. You had him there. He could list a dozen reasons why you were the worst—your lack of decorum, your disregard for rules, your baffling ability to be where you weren’t supposed to be—but at the same time, you were… fun. Infuriating, yes, but you always kept him on his toes. You were different from the people who usually fawned over him, who tried to impress him. You didn’t care about any of that. You just did whatever you wanted.

He took a deep breath and turned to look at you, his expression unreadable. “Fine. I’ll admit it. You’re… amusing, in a way.”

You grinned wider. “See? I knew you liked me.”

“I wouldn’t go that far,” Vil said quickly, trying to maintain his composure. “You’re a menace to society and a walking disaster waiting to happen. But…” His voice dropped to a soft murmur, “you’re not entirely unbearable.”

“Wow, that’s practically a love confession coming from you,” you teased, still beaming like you’d won some sort of grand prize.

Vil turned away to hide the faint blush creeping up his neck. “Don’t get any ideas. I simply tolerate your existence.”

“Tolerate it all you want,” you said with a wink. “But I’m still going to hang around and cause chaos.”

Vil rubbed his temples again, as though trying to stave off the headache you were undoubtedly giving him. “I hate you sometimes.”

“Liar,” you sing-songed.

He glared at you, but there was no real heat behind it. “One day, you’re going to get yourself killed. Or worse—ruin my skincare routine.”

You laughed, pulling the now-wilting plant out of your bag. “Wanna help me plant this in the dorm garden?”

Vil stared at you in disbelief. “No. Absolutely not.”

“You say that now, but I’ll grow on you. Just like this plant.”

“I am going to bury you and that plant together.”

You winked. “As long as I’m with you, Vil.”

Vil groaned, but he didn’t kick you out, didn’t storm off in disgust. And somehow, that was all the confirmation you needed.

Malleus Draconia

Malleus Draconia, prince of Briar Valley, feared and revered by many, could handle just about anything. He’d faced fierce enemies, commanded respect with just a glance, and maintained an air of elegance befitting his royal status.

And then there was you.

You, with your complete and utter lack of self-preservation. You, who seemed to treat life like an ongoing game of “how can I make the Grim Reaper quit?” You, who treated Malleus Draconia like just another guy in your chaotic orbit.

“Tsunotarou!” You barreled toward him one evening, skidding to a halt at the last second, as if barely remembering that you shouldn’t throw yourself headfirst into the chest of a centuries-old fae prince. “You’ll never guess what I did!”

Malleus blinked, tilting his head in curiosity. “What have you done this time, Child of Man?”

You grinned like a cat who’d eaten the canary. “I may or may not have… accidentally started a small fire in the potionology lab.”

Malleus’s eyes widened slightly, though he remained composed. “A fire? Are you unharmed?”

“Oh yeah, I’m totally fine! But Crewel’s coat definitely wasn’t. That thing went up in flames like it was soaked in gasoline.” You waved your hand dismissively, like setting your teacher’s coat on fire was a normal Monday activity.

Malleus stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before he let out a soft chuckle. “You are truly fearless, aren’t you?”

“I like to think of it as ‘enthusiastically living life without regrets,’” you replied, crossing your arms proudly. “Besides, if something goes wrong, I have you to bail me out.”

“Do you intend to make a habit of relying on me to prevent your untimely demise?” Malleus asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

You shrugged. “I mean, if the shoe fits. You’re like my own personal dragon-shaped safety net.”

Malleus blinked. “I am not a net, Child of Man.”

“No, no,” you waved off his literal interpretation. “You’re like the ultimate get-out-of-jail-free card. Like, if I almost die doing something dumb, you’ll just bring me back, right?”

Malleus paused, tilting his head again, as if genuinely pondering your question. “I could… but do you not fear death?”

“Nah. It’s not that big of a deal.” You grinned, clearly thrilled by the look of confusion that passed over his normally composed face. “Besides, it’s boring to worry about things like that.”

Malleus stared at you, his lips parting slightly as if trying to comprehend how you could be so nonchalant about life-threatening situations. He was used to dealing with those who were cautious around him, who feared his power or treated him with excessive reverence. And then there was you—just casually asking him if he could resurrect you after you threw yourself into danger like it was a sport.

“What am I to do with you?” Malleus mused, more to himself than to you.

You perked up. “Take me on a super dangerous adventure?”

Malleus blinked. “I was thinking more along the lines of keeping you out of danger.”

“But that’s boring!” You leaned forward, poking his chest with a mischievous grin. “C’mon, big guy, don’t you ever just wanna go wild? Let loose? Maybe blow up a tower or two for funsies?”

Malleus raised an eyebrow. “Blow up a tower?”

“Yeah! Like a good ol’ fashioned castle demolition!” You threw your hands up in the air like you were some kind of crazed architect.

Malleus let out a soft sigh, but there was an undeniable hint of fondness in his gaze. “I believe we have different definitions of fun.”

“And that’s exactly why you need me,” you said with a grin. “You need some excitement in your life! Can’t just sit around being all broody and regal all the time.”

Malleus looked at you, something unreadable flickering in his emerald eyes. “You are… quite unlike anyone I’ve ever met.”

You beamed. “That’s because I’m awesome.”

“That is certainly one word for it,” Malleus said, suppressing a smile.

“And you like that about me,” you teased, leaning even closer with zero respect for the concept of personal space. “Admit it. You enjoy the chaos I bring into your life.”

Malleus chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “It is… refreshing.”

“Ha! I knew it!” You jabbed a finger at him. “You love my reckless, devil-may-care attitude!”

“I wouldn’t go so far as to call it love…” Malleus started, but you were already on a roll.

“Face it, Tsunotarou! You’re absolutely smitten with my chaotic energy.”

Malleus watched you with that same fond amusement, his eyes glimmering in the moonlight. “You are certainly… something,” he said, his voice soft, yet filled with warmth.

“And don’t you forget it!” You twirled dramatically, like you’d just won some invisible competition. “Now, let’s go scare some people in the hallways. We’ll use your glowing eyes and spooky fae vibes to freak everyone out.”

Malleus sighed again but stood up, towering over you with a resigned yet playful expression. “If I agree to this madness, will you at least promise not to throw yourself into any more dangerous situations today?”

You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “Hmm. No promises, but I’ll try.”

“That is the best I can hope for, it seems,” Malleus murmured, shaking his head with an affectionate smile.

As you grabbed his hand and began to drag him toward your latest scheme, Malleus couldn’t help but think that, for all your recklessness and lack of self-preservation, you brought a kind of chaos into his life that he hadn’t realized he was missing.

And strangely enough, he didn’t mind it.

Masterlist

[zara-renata]

Q&A with Sylus Qin | ao3 | the Sylus series

Summary:

Sylus cares for your injuries and feeds you a meal. After he shows you a part of his home that you didn't know existed, you finally ask him why he was so cruel to you when you first met him. Sylus does his best to answer with as much honesty as he can right now.

Notes:

Sylus x gn reader, Sylus x mc, second person POV Enemies-to-friends-to-lovers slow burn This story contains: hurt/comfort, allusions to wild speculation regarding Sylus's lore, mention of bodily injuries, canon character death, grief, canon violence toward mc, a meal and drinks laden with heavy-handed metaphors because the author has no self-restraint, lots of plants, sexual innuendo as a treat, alcohol use, and promises to treat each other with more care and honesty moving forward. I wrote this before I did Sylus's POV, and then both parts together seemed a little too long to force readers to endure so I split them. I hope the continuity makes sense.

“Can we talk?” you ask Sylus, as he leans against the doorframe, a lovely dream of silver hair, otherworldly eyes, pale skin and silver fur across his large pecs, arrowing from his navel to beneath his black, silken pants.

“Sure, kitten. Right after I bandage your feet.” He strolls into the bathroom, heading to the large black marble-topped vanity. He opens one of the cabinets and pulls out a large first aid kit and brings it over to where you’re sitting.

“So I’m not wandering around, bleeding all over your nice floors?” you ask, laughing softly, as he once again kneels before you, silver head bowed over your injured feet. You let your gaze drift from his soft hair to his strong shoulders, his big hands cradling your foot. Sylus on his knees does nothing to diminish his formidable presence. If anything, this position of supplication seems to highlight the inherent threat in the broad line of his shoulders, his powerful arms, his long legs folded beneath his big body. It’s like witnessing a dire wolf on a leash, a prehistoric creature bound only insofar that it’s willing to let itself be bound. You find yourself wanting to pull him to his feet, because you never want to see Sylus at anyone’s mercy, ever. Not even yours.

“Because the only blood that should be soaking your feet is that of your enemies. Otherwise, I refuse to see blood anywhere on you,” he answers, as if that’s a totally normal thing to say to someone. You just stare at his bowed head.

As he gently spreads some kind of soothing balm on the bottoms of your feet and wraps them securely in long stretchy bandages, you hear soft piano music drifting in from the bedroom. He must have put on a record while you were finishing up in the shower.

After the final bandage is secured, he rises to his feet. “Are you hungry?” he asks. You hadn’t thought about it, but now that he has mentioned it, you find yourself feeling almost dizzy with hunger. You nod, and shift to stand, but he just makes a “Tch” sound and scoops you into his arms.

“Are we done asking for permission to touch me already?” you ask him without any heat.

“You can just assume that until I’m satisfied that your feet are healing well, you will not be walking on your own two feet,” he informs you, which is such an absurd thought that it makes you laugh. “And from now on, you will tell me no if you honestly don’t want something from me.”

“Is that so?” You stare into his serious face, trying to figure out what is going on inside his head.

“Deal?” he asks gravely. He’s not joking. He wants this from you, and you realize that this is his way of asking for it.

“And if I say no, but don’t mean it?” you ask, curious.

“Don’t,” he says softly, with that same strained tone in his voice from the roadside. “I could use my aether core, and figure out what you really want. But I promised you that I wouldn’t, unless you ask it of me. Guessing whether you seriously don’t want something from me is a game I’d rather not play going forward.”

If you agree in good faith, then you will be agreeing to allow him to do the things for you that you want from him. And in doing so, it will serve as an admission to him regarding what you want from him. There will be no flimsy cover of token protest to shield yourself from the vulnerability of revealing your true desires—there can be no more lying to him, nor to yourself.

This idea terrifies you. But you’re so tired of being afraid. And it’s not like Sylus hasn’t been able to see through you regarding so many things, even after he stopped using his aether core on you. Is it so unfair of him to ask that you are honest with him, when all you’ve wanted from him this whole time is to figure out what he wants, which is essentially his honesty in return?

You’re terrified, but you feel brave, held tightly in his arms right now. Maybe you’ll regret it later. But that’s for future you to deal with.

“Okay, Sylus. Deal.” You rest your head against his warm pillow of a shoulder, and feel the way his chest expands with a big breath. “But as much as I’d like to use you as my personal mount until my feet don’t hurt anymore, you really can’t carry me everywhere for the next week. I have to get back to Linkon City. Work starts again the day after tomorrow.” You pause, trying to figure out what day it even is. Everything is such a blur since what feels like last night, but has it been longer? “Or even tomorrow,” you mumble. You feel so, so tired just thinking about it.

“Personal mount, huh? I guess I can offer personal mounting services upon request,” he says thoughtfully as horror rushes through you at what you just said. But Sylus seems unruffled as he continues. “And no, you don’t have to get back to Linkon City.” He strides into his bedroom and settles you on the freshly made bed, which apparently has had its silky black sheets changed because they’re not damp at all from your nightmare sweating. You blink up at him as he turns to fetch a large silver tray from the low table in the sitting area, and then brings it over and sets it on the bed next to you.

You’re so relieved that he treated your accidental innuendo so casually that you just pretend it didn’t happen. “Yes, I do. This was the last weekend of my leave. I’ve got to get back to it on Monday,” you counter, eyeing the food on the tray—thinly sliced steak, chunks of steaming baguette slathered in what looks like herbed butter, and strangely, an entire pomegranate, split in half. Some seeds have already fallen from the rind, and lay scattered like little jewels around the plate.

Sylus ignores you and sets a large glass of water on the nightstand next to you. “Do you want anything else to drink? I have a full bar,” he gestures to one of the huge, heavy pieces of wooden furniture that you didn’t recognize as a vintage booze cabinet until he pointed it out. 

“Damn, Sylus, is your liver okay?” You eye the size of that thing.

“Asks the hunter whose feet are shredded to bits after a midnight jaunt in the cold with no coat or shoes,” he sniffs. “Fine, but I’m making myself something. Eat.” He stands and heads over to the cabinet, opening it to reveal bottle after bottle of topshelf liquor. He tilts his head and hums a little tunelessly as he makes a selection.

You don’t have to be told twice to eat. You take one of the beautiful silver forks lined neatly next to the plate and start shoving steak into your mouth.

Having finally selected something and dumped a few fingers’ worth of liquor over a tumbler filled with ice, Sylus returns and sits next to you on the bed, back against the huge black leather-padded headboard. He quietly waits for you to finish stuffing your face while sipping his drink.

After you’ve demolished the steak, a few chunks of bread, and half the pomegranate’s seeds, you lean back as well, just basking in the feeling of calm, sated exhaustion. Sylus turns his head against the headboard and regards you with his bright, bright eyes.

“You wanted to talk,” he says.

“I wanted to talk,” you repeat.

He peacefully takes another sip of whatever he’s drinking. You close your eyes. Breathe deeply. The scent of the alcohol is heady, spicy. You open your eyes and return Sylus’s gaze. The words are stuck in your throat. You let your focus drift over to the bookshelves lined with books that look like they were chosen for aesthetics rather than content. They all have some combination of black and red designs, it’s ridiculous. 

Your thoughts on the stupid books are interrupted by the sensation of calloused fingertips running along your jaw. “Look at me,” Sylus says softly.

You have to do this. But you can’t get the image out of your head of Sylus’s long fingers drifting down the spines of those books just as they’re now drifting along your face. The way your heart was racing as you tried to sneak up on him for the brooch, which was your lifeline out of the hell you were in. Your only ticket to the auction, to answers to questions that had plagued you for months, to going home on your motorcycle instead of in a body bag, according to Sylus’s threats at the time. You don’t want to be in this room. You don’t want to be in this house.

You turn your head to look at him, and he must see it in your face. Suddenly his evol is lifting the glass from his hand, and at the same time he is leaning over, pulling you back into his arms. He lifts you, as he did before, one arm under your legs and the other cradling your shoulders. He pauses, slipping back into his houseshoes, and carries you out of the bedroom. This time, he takes you further into the house, down hallways you don’t remember walking down before. Eventually, he brings you into some sort of large …mudroom? The worn tiled floor is shockingly colorful, with a drain in the middle. Stacks of pots and bags of what look like dirt or fertilizer sit haphazardly on a long wooden table. An extensive hose is coiled beneath a huge farmhouse sink along one wall, and the wooden counter is covered in gardeners’ tools and watering cans. Wide windows above the sink look out into the dark night. Galoshes and rain boots are lined up neatly along the wall near the door. It’s homey in a way the rest of the house isn’t. Lived in. A bit messy. You like it very much.

Just as you think Sylus is going to make you have this conversation in the equivalent of a gardener’s shed, which you honestly wouldn’t mind, he continues to the door on the other side of the room. Again, he pauses to switch out his house shoes for a pair of galoshes. He looks a little silly, wearing the garden shoes with his silk sleep pants and nothing else, but as usual, he doesn’t seem to care what anyone else may think. The scarlet-ink tendrils of his evol then throw open the door and all of the thoughts in your head evaporate like rain on a hot summer day.

Because Sylus has just thrown open a door to another world—the heat and humidity hit you first, a soothing contrast to the chill air of the rest of the house. And then the smell—earth, decay and growth, a cacophony of floral scents. You turn your head and take in the slate-colored pebbled pathways leading in different directions from the door Sylus has just brought you through, winding through huge tropical plants, leaves heavy and dripping with moisture. Colorful birds twitter and shriek and coo as they shift in the trees overhead, flying under the soaring ceiling of what you now realize is a huge greenhouse. At periodic intervals along the path, torches in a modern, savage style, similar to the chandeliers in Sylus’s house, illuminate the way forward and the surrounding plants.

You just take it in, overwhelmed by the riot of life and colorful beauty of this veritable oasis in the desolation of the N109 zone and the contrast it poses to the austerity of Sylus’s dark, sophisticated home. Eventually the plants along the path Sylus has chosen thin and part to reveal a large pond, covered in gigantic flowering lily pads, a fountain in the middle. The fountain itself is a flowing sculpture, two figures locked in either battle or embrace. You’re overcome with a strange sense of familiarity— something about each figure’s proportions in relation to the other—how one has to look up into the face of the other—you look away. The flow of water from the fountain is a constant, soft hush underlying the birdcalls and swaying leaves, the skittering of little animals unseen under the vegetation. 

Next to the pond is a clearing built from the same bright, multi-colored patterned tiles as the mudroom. In the middle, there stands a large blond wooden garden bed, complete with a canopy and flowing gauzy drapes half obscuring the bed itself. As Sylus carries you closer, you realize the bed is also a swing.

“What in the garden fuck-bed, Sylus?” you breathe, because what the hell else would he use this thing for? Is this where he takes his dates for romantic wooing?

He looks at the bed. And then looks back down at you. “Well, kitten, it can be if you insist. That wasn’t my plan for tonight, but I’m nothing if not adaptable.”

You roll your eyes and poke him in his big man bosom. “You can’t tell me that you didn’t have that thing installed specifically to seduce dates out here in your own wild sex jungle.”

“Not everyone gets as excited about plants as you do, sweetheart. And I had it installed because even I like to relax in nature sometimes, without having to go for a ride north of Linkon.”

“But a… swinging bed?” You look back at it dubiously. It just seems so wildly romantic to you.

“Do you like it?” he asks, settling you down on the surprisingly soft mattress, covered in white linen sheets. Unlike his bed, this thing is piled high with pillows. You immediately roll over and bury your face in them. You hear a soft laugh from above you. “I’ll take that as a yes.” You just sigh happily.     

“Are you sure you don’t want a drink? I also have a bar here,” he says, and you laugh out loud. 

“Of course you do.” You finally look up from the pillows and see him through the bed’s drapes as he stands behind what you now see is very obviously a bar, built from the same light-colored wood as the bed, wooden stools lined up along its counter, torches on either side providing ambient light that is reflected off the neatly lined bottles of liquor.

“Okay, Sylus. I want a cocktail, with a little umbrella and a fruit skewer.”

“That can mostly be arranged. But you’ll have to be more specific. What kind of cocktail?” he asks with a slight lift to his full lips. He opens one of the cabinet doors and you see bottle after bottle of juice and other mixers.

“Surprise me,” you say, rolling onto your side so you can watch his big hands pull out a deep red bottle of juice and some sort of storage container. 

He nods. “Fine, but if you don’t like it, I don’t want to hear any complaints.” 

“No deal. I reserve the right to whine very loudly if I don’t like it.”

“Is that so? Not really the whining I’d prefer from you,” he says, smiling in a way that reveals one sharp canine. As your brain short circuits, he continues. “I guess I’ll have to do my best to please you, to spare the birds from having to endure the consequences if I fail.” He proceeds to competently mix the drink, shaking it in a cocktail shaker and pouring it over ice in a low, heavy bottomed glass.

You’re shocked as he digs around in a drawer and pulls out a little black umbrella, plopping it into your drink as a final touch. He then grabs a glass for himself, pours from the same liquor bottle that he used to make your cocktail, and brings both glasses over to you. He sets his own on a little table next to the bed, and hands you yours. He then sits next to you on the bed, one leg crossed beneath him, one foot on the ground.

You sit up, taking the offered glass carefully, and stare down into the ruby colored liquid. “Where’s the fruit skewer?”

“The fruit’s in the drink, you spoiled creature. Try it.” He picks his glass back up, but just looks at you. Waiting for you to drink.

You take a sip. It’s delicious—not too sweet, a little bitter. And strong. You can feel the warmth of the liquor spreading through your belly. You swirl the liquid, and little pomegranate seeds bob to the surface.

“I’m sensing a theme,” you murmur, looking back into his satisfied face.

“Must be your imagination,” he sniffs. “It’s an Old Fashioned, made with pomegranate juice. In case you were wondering.”

“I was,” you smile. “And thank you. It’s delicious.”

He looks pleased. He holds his glass up. “Toast with me.”

You eye him. “What are we toasting?”

“You,” he says simply. You wait. He just looks at you. 

“And what have I possibly done that deserves toasting tonight?”

“You’re here right now, with me. That’s enough for me.”

Your heart, which had been quiet ever since you crossed the threshold into the greenhouse’s mudroom, kicks a little. He sounds so terribly sincere. You lift the glass to his, and he gently taps his against yours.

He then brings his glass back to his lips. He pauses, inhales deeply, and takes a drink, closing his eyes. 

You both sip quietly, listening to the sounds of the fountain, the fluttering of birds’ wings. Your gaze drifts over the array of orchids growing at the edge of the clearing, nestled under huge palms drooping over clusters of fruit you don’t recognize. You love it here. You don’t think you’ve ever felt so relaxed while being surrounded by nature. There have always been other people present in the public spaces you would visit to try to get away, on your precious days off. Their presence, the possibility that they’re observing, judging you, as you try to enjoy the botanical garden or hiking trail is always a constant itch under your skin. The closest you have ever gotten to this feeling of riotous life, space, and peaceful solitude is from the houseplants hanging in your bedroom.

You’ve had half the cocktail now, and a pleasant heaviness weighs down your body. You look at Sylus. “I think this is enough, for now.”

He nods, and takes your glass from you. He sets his own down, and goes to the bar again. When he returns, he hands you a glass of water. “Drink.”

You nod in turn, and empty the glass. And then you sit, fiddling with it.

“It’s time, sweetheart,” Sylus finally says. “Tell me what’s on your mind now.”

You take a deep breath and clutch the glass. You can do this now. You can’t look at him as you speak, but you can say what you need to say amidst all this life, with the soft linen against your skin, and Sylus’s steady presence at your side.

“I don’t understand how you can treat me with such kindness now, when you were so cruel to me when we first met. You scared me, Sylus. You hurt me. You treated me like something inconvenient that you had stepped in and needed to scrape off the bottom of your shoe, except you also needed something from me. And now, you wash my feet for me. You hold me when I’m tired. You treat me like I’m someone you care about.” You look back at him, suddenly overcome again with the images flooding into your mind again, of what it was like to be in his grasp the first time you were in this house. You take another shaky breath. “But nothing has changed. I’m still me—the same person you strangled within five minutes of seeing me for the first time. I resonated with you after the auction, so you didn’t have to do anything else to ensure that I’d be able to resonate with you again. I can’t reconcile these two Syluses,” you finish.

You wanted to have this conversation. And now you’re having it. You watch as he gently takes the glass from your hands and sets it on the side table. He then turns on his side, so he’s fully facing you. He leans down and gently coaxes you down next to him, so the both of you are sharing a pillow, sharing the same breath. The bed slowly sways with the movement of your bodies. He runs his fingers from your jaw, down your neck and over your shoulder, until his hand comes to rest in the dip of your waist as you lie on your side facing him. The tie of your silken robe has loosened, and the dark fabric pools in the small between you.

“I will answer your question, as best as I can right now.” He pauses to make sure you’re focused on him. “I didn’t realize at the time how much I was hurting you when we… first met. All of my intel led me to believe that you’d respond better to a challenge than to honey. Especially because you were convinced that I was behind the bombing that killed your family.” He runs the hem of your tank top between his fingers, knuckles brushing the skin of your stomach. “Would you have believed me, if I had insisted that what the Association had told you about me was wrong?”

You think back to your certainty, at the time, when you first kneeled in front of this man. The months leading up to that moment, hearing rumors about Onychinus, how dangerous and ruthless its leader was. The certainty, and the hate that underpinned every move you made as you prepared to infiltrate the N109 Zone. No. You wouldn’t have believed him if he had tried to deny everything you were convinced was true. You shake your head, just a little, still searching his face. He looks so soft, in the warm glow of the torches and the riot of green surrounding the bed.

“No. You wouldn’t have. So, I weighed my options in terms of strategy. I couldn’t quickly convince you that I wasn’t the completely depraved boogeyman you had been led to believe, nor could I convince you that I wasn’t responsible for what happened to your family. But I needed you working with me, and not against me. If I couldn’t ask you nicely, I needed to leverage whatever I could get to force you to help me. Answers to your questions, the other half of the aether core, and your own freedom from my terrible clutches was that leverage. I also needed to see just how strong you were, because I knew the aether core was in your heart and that you probably had capabilities you weren’t even aware of based on the discrepancies between my intel about you and what I know an aether core can do. So I was placing all my bets on … motivating you to fight back, forcing you to reveal the true extent of  your strength so I knew what I was working with. I was also hoping that you would come to realize the true extent of your strength that you weren’t even aware of in the process.”

You soak in everything he has just said. It seems so preposterous. “So that’s why… you threatened me? Taunted me? Called me a disappointment? Threw me in front of that huge mech to see if I’d live or die? Deprived me of water? Starved me?” You clench your teeth, trying to keep the tears from flowing again. You’re so done with crying for the next century.

“Yes,” he says, simply, red eyes seeming to glow as they search yours. He moves his hand back to your face, cupping your cheek in his big, warm palm. “What you didn’t know at the time was that I was prepared to intervene the moment it looked like you couldn’t handle it. But I knew you could handle it. I knew you could handle everything I did to you.” You feel your lip trembling, and his gaze drops to your mouth. “I just didn’t realize how much it would cost you to handle it.” His thumb runs down your cheek and sweeps along your lower lip, pressing gently. “I believe that the end justifies the means. That a certain level of collateral damage is inevitable, and even acceptable, if the reward is big enough. But if I could go back and do it again,” he pauses, watching his thumb as he continues to caress your lip. “I don’t think I’d be able to do it again. Even if it was the most efficient method at the time to find out what I needed to know, and to compel you to work with me.”

Despite the aching tenderness of his touch against your lips, you scowl at him. “Sylus, you choked me until I blacked out. In what universe is that just ‘challenging’ me to realize my inner strength? I can’t respond with some sort of magical anime transformation into some final badass form if I’m fucking unconscious!” you bite out. For the first time in this whole conversation, he looks a little sheepish.

“Sweetheart. I’m not a good man. You know this. Even if the Association’s intel is exaggerated and wrong ninety percent of the time, I do bad things to get good results. And… sometimes, I get carried away. And I was…” He pauses, and you’re flabbergasted that this typically smug, arrogant, self-assured asshole is actually at a loss for words. “Would you buy it, if I told you I was excited to meet you?”

“You’re asking if I believe that you were excited… to meet me. And so you choked me?” you ask dubiously. 

“Maybe I was excited to meet you. So I might have misjudged how long I could… squeeze before you really blacked out. Usually I have much more control,” he shrugs, as if discussing his golf swing and not his knack for strangling people.

You try to imagine that he was so excited to meet you and therefore choked you out in the same way an overeager puppy will bite too hard and pee on your shoes. How nice would that be? If this was all some huge misunderstanding. That his cruelty was an accident, and not intentional. But he asked if you’re willing to buy it—he has not said that it’s the truth. And you’re not buying it. He was so intensely cruel, from the very beginning. It wasn’t fake. His reputation as Onychinus’s brutal leader is not a misunderstanding, even if it’s not the whole truth. And neither is the fact that he strangled and starved you.

“So you want me to buy the assertion that you were so happy to meet me that you accidentally strangled me to the point of unconsciousness and so committed to the bit of being a villain that you then proceeded to traumatize me with starvation and violence for the next three days.” You stare into his ridiculous, beautiful, red eyes and feel that same sense of unreality that is so often paired with this man. Wine and cheese. Guns and ammo. Absurdity and Sylus. You let yourself believe this comforting lie, just for a moment. “I wouldn’t even know how to process that.”

As always with Sylus, you can’t help it. The noise that comes out of your throat isn’t human. You snort, the laughter violently trying to escape your body. You laugh directly in his stupid handsome face, because you’re so close to him on the pillow, and you’re loud. You hear the sound of birds suddenly taking flight, probably startled by the sounds coming out of you. You laugh, and laugh, and laugh. He watches you carefully through it all, as if he can’t quite believe how easily you’ve swallowed his lie.

After a long, lovely time where you just release the rest of all of the months of tension that you’ve been carrying, deep deep down, you raise your hand and bop his nose. “Do I need a rolled up newspaper to swat you if you ever get over-enthusiastic again and decide to put me in a full nelson or garrotte me because you’re so excited to see me?”

“If you’re ever on the other side of my garrotte or in one of my full nelsons, sweetie, the newspaper will not help you,” he grumbles. He slings his arm over your waist and scoots closer to you. “And I’ve seen you with little dogs. Mosquito, was it? Termite? You’d never swat one with a newspaper.”

“Cricket, you barbarian. But you’re not a little doggy, are you?” you tease, bopping him on the nose again.

He catches your finger in his teeth, and this time he bites down. You shake your hand, trying to dislodge him with a laugh. He lets go. “No, I’m a big, bad man,” he smiles softly at you.

“Yeah, you are,” you agree, just lying there, taking in his long, uneven nose, the dark sweep of his eyelashes. “So you get the newspaper.”

Sylus groans. “I can think of other things I’d much rather get,” he murmurs, eyes trailing from yours to your mouth and back again.

For a moment, you’re paralyzed, caught in the intensity of his gaze. Even now, how he manages to make an innocuous statement sound so… you refuse to think about it. He’s your friend . You’re having a serious conversation. A conversation that needs to be finished, properly.

“But Sylus, I don’t buy that explanation. At all. You need to try again. And be honest, this time. It’s only fair, since you’re asking me for honesty moving forward. I don’t believe you when you tell me that you never would never have let me actually get hurt. That you were just so eager to meet me that you lost your self control. Because you did actually hurt me. And I don’t believe that you were just testing me, and that you just wanted to be my friend, all along. Because you could have tested me in other ways. You didn’t have to go to such extremes to see what I am capable of.”

The amusement fades from Sylus’s face as you speak, and when you’re done, he looks… relieved. “It’s true, I didn’t want to be your friend,” he begins, and absurdly, your heart hurts a little. Well, that’s okay. You didn’t know you wanted to be his friend back then, either. He’s quiet for a long breath, and then he sighs. “You’re right. I was eager to finally meet you, but nothing I did to you was an accident. I needed you to believe that I was your villain. I thought you would collapse without the hatred keeping you strong. I was mistaken. That is the truth. And that’s the only part of the truth I can give you, right now.”

You close your eyes. Is this enough for you?

He speaks into your silence. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry I treated you with such violence when we first met. If I could go back and do it again, I’d do it differently. You didn’t deserve to be treated like that, no matter how confident I was in your ability to handle it, and no matter what I was feeling at the time.”

You open your eyes and search his face. He just looks back at you, a sincerity in his expression that rarely comes through. “So are you telling me that this is the real Sylus? Who you’ve been to me, since the auction. And the Sylus I first met… that’s just you when you wear the mask of Onychinus’s leader?”

“No,” he says, to your relief. Because you don’t believe that he’s only one, and not the other, no matter how much easier that would make having him in your life. His denial proves that he is having this conversation in good faith—he’s not trying to convince you he’s only a good man who sometimes does bad things, and that all the horrors are simply a mask. “I’m insisting that I never expected to be able to hurt you as deeply as I did. That no matter what, I didn’t want to hurt you as much as I ultimately have.” He strokes your side with his thumb, for once not looking into your eyes. His gaze elsewhere, somewhere past you. “I am not a good man. I am not the supervillain you thought you were facing during those three days, but I am Onychinus’s leader, and all that such a role entails—it’s not some mask I put on. It’s who I am.” His gaze returns to you, as if asking a question.

“I know.” You whisper, and you think the relief intensifies in his eyes. “I just needed to hear you admit it.”

He nods, just once. But you’re not done.

“But you need to understand. Although you’ve explained what you did to me, your reasoning behind it… and although you’ve apologized for it—it doesn’t erase anything.” You watch him carefully, trying to read into every breath, every lift of his brows, the tightening around his eyes, the dilation of his pupils. “You did hurt me. I trust you when you say you didn’t intend to hurt me to this extent, but you did intend to hurt me. You didn’t stop yourself. And that was when we hadn’t even really met, when you had no reason to hate me. I hadn’t done anything to you at all. What happens, when you do finally get angry with me? What happens, if I ever manage to hurt you?” You’re shocked when you see an almost imperceptible flinch when you say that he had no reason to hate you. But it’s so brief. He glances away, but looks back at you almost immediately. He moves his hand to your cheek as if he just wants to feel your skin under his fingers, and then grasps your jaw in his rough hand. Gently, but firmly. And then he speaks, with the solemnity of a knight pledging an oath to his sovereign. 

“I would let you carve out my heart with your blades before I would ever intend to truly hurt you, regardless of what you make me feel. And you can’t hurt me in any way that would change that fact.” When he finishes, he lets his hand fall back to your waist.

There’s more to this. There’s more to what he has explained. The feelings he mentioned earlier, after he explained his strategy. You don’t believe that his brutality was a result of over-eagerness to meet you—it was some other emotion. Something that felt a lot like barely controlled rage, or grief. His subtle reaction to the idea that there was no reason for him to be so malicious towards you. The fact that he seems to be so invested in you, when you’re just… you. An average hunter with no special qualities besides the aether core in your heart. An aether core which is more of a liability than an advantage at this point, judging by the way your heart is aching. Just you, with enough emotional baggage to sink a warship. 

Your mind races, trying to sift through every mission you’ve ever been on for the Association. Trying to pinpoint if you could have ever crossed paths with Sylus before, without knowing it. But there’s nothing. He was a phantom to you, ever since you first heard his name. Something in you knows that he will not answer, even if you ask. So you don’t. This has to be enough, for now. You have to choose to trust the parts of the truth he’s telling you now, even if it’s not the whole truth, or you have to walk away.

“I know there are things that you’re not telling me. And that’s okay. There are things that I don’t want to know—now, or ever. Partially because if anyone ever figures out that we have a connection, and they want me to roll over on you, I don’t want to have that information in my head. I want plausible deniability. Not only for my work, but in case someone else tries to pry something out of me with force. I don’t want to be able to give them what they want even if I wanted to, if they break me.” Sylus’s brows furrow, and his hand tightens on your waist. “So I’m not going to ask you to explain. And I’m telling you now—I only want to know the details of your life as Onychinus’s leader that you think I absolutely need to know.”

“And the details of my life, apart from being the leader of Onychinus?” he whispers.

He sounds so different when he speaks softly like this. Accessible, instead of so far away. Within reach, instead of flying so far ahead of you.

“I want to know everything you are okay with sharing,” you answer. Because it’s true, and a lot less unhinged than saying, everything, everything, everything .

“Does this mean that you’ll stop trying to leave me?” 

You think back to earlier tonight, when you thought Sylus was going to tear you apart for hurting Kieran. For damaging the car. For simply being a nuisance. You were prepared to let him, because you care for him and you felt like it was deserved. You’re tempted to tell him the rest of it. Because even if you accept the punishment as just—your parents leaving you behind, probably because of your fucked up heart. Your partners cheating on you, because you were physically or emotionally unavailable. Sylus’s fist, for hurting someone he treats as more than an employee. You have always been willing to accept the punishment. But after, you never let yourself be caught in that same situation, with that same person, ever again. If you ever knowingly run into your parents on the street, you’d just keep walking. Past lovers who cheated, you cut so thoroughly from your life that it was like they never existed in it at all. You know yourself. If Sylus ever treats you the way he did when you first met—he will never see you again. If you deserve to receive pain from him, you’ll take it. But then you’re gone. Your heart hurts, considering saying these words. As a warning, and a promise, that you’ve never offered to anyone else. 

Sylus’s strained voice interrupts your thoughts. “Is this your answer?”

You follow his furrowed gaze and see the swirling gold and scarlet shackles tying your wrist to his.

Apparently it wasn’t a choice at all, to answer him truthfully. “Yes,” you say, and feel like crying at the thought of having to leave him behind. But you will, if you ever fall from this strange pedestal he seems to have placed you on, and turns on you in the way you’ve seen him turn on those he considers not worthy of his respect or his generosity. “If you ever hurt me like you did when we first met again. Do you understand?”

He closes his eyes, inhales sharply. As if something hurts. When he opens them, you’re shocked by how bright they are. “I understand.” He pulls his hand to his chest, dragging your linked wrist with it. He then presses your hand over his heart. “If I ever hurt you again, you have my permission to rip this out, with your bare hands.”

The idea of Sylus hurting in any way—and worse, the idea of his pain being at your hands, upsets you so much that you feel like crying again. You press your hand gently into his chest. “Why can’t you do anything like a normal person? Do you always have to be so extra?” He lets out a little huff of surprise. “It’s enough that you’ve said you’re sorry. And that you’ve promised not to treat me like that again. I don’t want your heart on a platter.”

“Too late,” he murmurs, leaning in until his forehead is resting against your chest, right over your own heart. He’s still clutching your hand to his own chest.

You have no idea how this happened. You have no idea what he means when he says that it’s too late. As if you’ve already ripped his heart out, and carry it with you on a silver tray like the one he served you food on earlier. How did you acquire the affection of this wild, dangerous creature when all you’ve managed to do is not get killed through the blur of grief-filled days since you met him? You can’t make sense of any of it, right now. You’re so tired, from tonight, from all the nights before, stretching back through the months since your family was murdered. But you have the feeling that right now, Sylus is also exhausted, and is carrying a sorrow that you’ll be lucky if he ever shares with you. All you can do is press your hand more firmly to his body, to lean into him in return, to let him take whatever comfort he can from your own body, as you both lie here, tied together by shimmering strands of energy and heartache, surrounded by all this thriving life nestled in a barren wasteland.

[twistedwonderlandshenanigans]

"Stupid" Things the TWST Cast Believed As Kids

I was going to post this without a preamble but it just looked wrong LMAO -----------------------------------------------------

Heartslaybul

Riddle - He just mispronounced a lot of words out loud. This is actually common in a lot of kids that read a lot, they don't know how to say a word any differently than the way they've pronounced it in their head, so some examples: (Ladle -> would rhyme with Saddle, Rhythm had over-emphasis on the first 'h', etc.)

Trey - thought butter was made from the fat collected off of cow butts ('butt' was also the only 'naughty' word he knew for a long time). The thing is he had probably seen his parents make butter. either by accident or on purpose and it still didn't click for him.

Cater - only ate black beans, (when they were served). when he was a kid because he thought they were the same as coffee beans. He saw his dad eating chocolate covered coffee beans and got mad when he denied him the Delight Of Caffeine at Three Years Old so thought eating black beans was like. A super sneaky way of being like his dad.

Deuce - Chocolate covered strawberries came from a special plant, he didn't think his mom just set them up for him sometimes. He ended up asking more than a few times when his strawberries were plain when they could 'go back to the store and get the good kind' and would call the strawberries without chocolate 'rotten'.

Ace - For whatever reason, he didn't think bears were a real animal. Just. Teddy bears existed. And of course when his big brother showed him pictures of real bears he thought he was messing with him. Ace will not admit how long it took him to realize that bears are real.

Savannaclaw

Leona - Falena told him once that vanilla extract comes from 'beaver butt juice' and it was in all the vanilla flavoured desserts he's ever had. Yes Falena was messing with him to get his portion of desserts because Leona was too grossed out to eat them. It managed to last about 6 months before Leona was fed up and researched the information on his own.

Ruggie - His grandma protected him best she could from food scarcity, so he genuinely believed she knew how to make something from nothing. Same with his clothes.

Jack - Refused to eat hotdogs because he thought they were made from real dogs and cried whenever he saw someone else eating hot dogs. Even when they bough turkey hot dogs he thought they added 'turkey flavouring' to the Dogs.

Octavinelle

Azul - Thought cuttlefish were 'cuddlefish' and would get so SO upset when they didn't want to snuggle with him

Jade - When he first heard the word 'hermaphrodite' he thought it meant someone who just really really liked hermit crabs.

Floyd - Was SO disappointed to find out ice cream didn't scream while you eat it (I-scream)

Scarabia

Kalim - Used to try and eat really fast, so Jamil told him if he ate his food too hot his tongue would melt to the top of his mouth. (Yeah Jamil got in trouble for that one but it worked, Kalim savoured his food and he still makes sure his food is cooled down a little before he eats).

Jamil - Didn't eat yogurt for a long time because he didn't want to 'feed the bacteria in his belly'. That was his only reasoning.

Pomefiore

Vil - thought candy cigarettes were real cigarettes, this resulted in him biting one of his dad's or fellow actor's cigarettes and Regretting it. (Even the fake ones are filled with like an herbal blend, you don't want to eat it still)

Rook - kinda sad, but genuinely thought termites were considered dessert. They were fairly rampant in his home so he would eat them any chance he got (raw termites supposedly taste like pineapple).

Epel - yeah he thought he was a werewolf, there isn't much else to add.

Ignihyde

Idia - Thought that microwaving a spider/other bugs for a very short amount of time would mutate their DNA and he could keep it as a pet, despite many failed attempts, he continued trying.

Ortho - (insert ugly crying here thinking about baby boys early years) he really believed that one day Idia would find a way to bring the characters from tv/video games into 'real life' so they could have play dates with them. (Idia promised him he would try his best)

Diasomnia

Malleus - He thought computers were a type of pet people could have.

Lilia - Used to think that the stars were really big glow bugs

Silver - Fully believed the storks deliver babies thing. Not because of Lilia, but because of a story book and it made things easy so he just rolled with it anyways, until Silver was old enough.

Sebek - That the fountain of youth was real - he wanted to drink from it once he reached his prime so that he could serve Malleus always.

Others

Che'nya - Refused to believe that gum ever came from trees because he 'tried sap before and it didn't even taste like syrup so how could something sweet as gum come from trees'.

Najma - Thought she was able to talk to ghosts, it was just Jamil fucking with her lskjfhsldkjfsdf

Neige - Didn't know what owls were, called them tree penguins.

Rollo - Called ambulances 'Body Rescue Busses' because even as a kid he knew only God could save your soul. (you can take that seriously or as satire idc) -------------------------------------------------------- @fluffle-writes thank you for the compliments, and the motivation to write!! ljfkjdshflkjsdf

If you want to be on a taglist in the future lmk

[justhereforthemeta]

Romantic expectations and the story we didn't see: A magic trick hiding in plain sight

Here's a hopeful meta for all my fellow celestial brainrot sufferers out there. Cheers! :)

This idea started as a dead end, trying to track the movements of Crowley’s sideburns/tattoo because I thought time travel shenanigans were afoot. I had to abandon that theory when it was pointed out that David was simultaneously filming as the sideburns-having Fourteenth Doctor, and in-universe Crowley can do whatever he wants with his facial hair whenever he feels like it. But hey - null findings are still findings!

On the bright side, pausing the show to make notations in a spreadsheet forced me to slow down and notice other changes I'd overlooked the first time around: acting choices, costuming choices, references to book lore. And possibly a few surreptitious flicks of the wrist, in places where we’re meant to be focused on the magician’s other hand.

@amuseoffyre and @ineffablefood had a great exchange recently about romance and “the significance of misdirection and three-in-one (magic) tricks” throughout the show. I suspect Neil has done something brilliant with the audience’s long-standing expectations (since the 1990s, really) for the love story between Crowley and Aziraphale to develop. And while it is a wonderful story indeed, playing to this expectation lets Neil distract his audience from the blink-and-you'll-miss-them seeds he's planting for the final chapter.

Continued below the cut...

Let’s start at the beginning of Episode 2. First, context: In the previous installment, Crowley stormed out of the bookshop, was whisked away to Hell by Beelzebub where he learns about the Book of Life threat to Aziraphale’s existence, then returned to the bookshop to dance a little apology dance and hide Gabriel with an unintentionally massive joint miracle. In S2E2, we and Shax catch up with Crowley as he's snoozing in the Bentley.

Shax: “You’re in trouble”

A. J. Crowley, cool as a cucumber: “Obviously. Former demon, hated by Heaven, loathed by Hell. How will our hero cope?”

Interesting! Sarcastic? Yes, absolutely; but that’s also a good 4500 years and an averted apocalypse away from “I’m a demon. I lie,” wouldn’t you say? Someone is sounding a whole lot less depressed and aimless and navel-gazey (do snakes have navels?), and a whole lot more like he’s got a project to focus on, since his "what's the point?" ruminations on the park bench in E1.

And of course we all noticed the costume change right away. Hello, black turtleneck. Feeling cute today, thought I’d cover up my graceful long neck? That sounds unlikely. Let’s put a pin in this one.

There’s also an interesting acting choice going on here. Crowley speaks to Shax in a funny, drawling, too-cool-for-you voice that we haven’t heard in a while. Specifically, not since 1967. If you go back and give the S1E3 scene in the Dirty Donkey a listen, you’ll hear it (and if you know of another instance of it that I've missed, please let me know!). In S2E2, he keeps up this odd voice (if anybody knows what kind of affect this is supposed to be, please do tell!) throughout this dialogue with Shax, except for the brief moment when she first surprises him about the joint miracle having been detected.

1967 was a fun year. Crowley masterminded a heist! And seemed like he was having a ball doing it, right up until his little caper was called off after Aziraphale brought him the thermos of holy water. Crowley spoke to his co-conspirators in that same funny, very 60’s-caper-film voice. He wore a hip 60’s turtleneck. He bought petrol for the only time ever, so he could get those sweet James Bond bullet hole decals for his car (per the book, seen on the Bentley in the show).

Those James Bond bullet hole decals would of course have been part of a promotion for this 1967 release, which you just know our film-enjoying demon went to see in the theater:

Starring this suave, be-turtlenecked guy:

And now - begging your forgiveness - a brief rant.

There are a number of posts out there that refer to Crowley’s S2E2 turtleneck as a flirtatious sartorial choice - actually, ‘slutty’ seems to be the favored accusation. There are even a few posts floating around commenting on how sweet it is that Crowley swaps out his slutty, kinky, throw-me-over-your-desk-and-take-me turtleneck for a more dressy and appropriate collared shirt specifically to attend Aziraphale’s Jane Austen ball. 

Now this is all in good fun, and Crowley does indeed look fantastic here, and I do love a good fangirling sesh as much as the next person. However, fandom’s collective tendency to interpret what we are seeing on the screen through the lens of romantic expectation can, at times, give rise to a kind of blinkered enthusiasm that obscures the original text in a haze that is part Mandela Effect, part unrestrained horniness, and part in-group code talking and identity reinforcement.

Respectfully, Crowley’s black turtleneck does not appear at all in S2E5: The Ball. In fact, it never appears again after the end of S2E2.

For Someone’s sake, let’s collectively pull our heads out of the romantic fog/gutter for a moment and focus on what we are actually seeing in the book and on the screen. For Crowley, this is an uncharacteristic within-period costume change. There is a surreptitious flick of the wrist happening here, out in broad daylight, and we are all missing it.

So here’s a thing. Aziraphale appears to have settled comfortably into life on Earth, his neighborhood, his books, using Crowley as an outlet for sharing his good deeds that he would once have reported to Heaven. Meanwhile, at first glance, Crowley appears stuck in a rut. There he slouches on a park bench with Shax in S2E1: a guy who lives in his car, stagnantly clinging to old familiar habits, mulling over the pointlessness of it all.

Setting aside the bit about living in the Bentley (I’m going to attribute this to well-documented issues between him and Aziraphale, discussed in many other excellent metas, and move on), Crowley has at least two very good, proactive reasons for maintaining his contact with Hell through Shax. First and foremost, it’s a source of information he can use to keep ahead of potential threats to Aziraphale and himself.

But also, I would posit…he kinda likes it.

Recall that book GO was first conceived as a parody, with Aziraphale and Crowley as spy-against-spy (but not really) field operatives in an ages-old cold war between Heaven and Hell. Their entire book dynamic is rooted in the trope of two opposing agents who have been in the field for so long that they now have more in common with each other than with their respective head offices. Their St. James’s Park meetings among other spies and ministers trading secrets are a sendup of what was once a well-known Cold War-era cliché. 

Our contemporary Crowley still likes slick outfits and hellaciously expensive watches and high-performing vintage cars and pens that write underwater while looking like they could break the speed limit. He coaches Shax on how to blend in as a demon on Earth, and he helpfully redirects the wayward contact looking for the Azerbaijani sector chief. He loves improvising and getting away with shenanigans under the institutional radar. And boy golly was he impressed with Jane Austen: master spy, brandy smuggler, and mastermind of the 1810 Clerkenwell Diamond Robbery. 

And if you look at it a certain way, for as long as Crowley has considered himself to be on “[his] own side” - going at least as far back as Job - he could almost think of himself as a sort of double agent. It’s actually a very romantic sort of notion, befitting our hopeless romantic of a (professedly former) demon; but it’s romantic in a very different way than we, the audience, have been primed to watch for.

In other words, in a very “on my own side” kind of way, Crowley really gets a kick out of being a spy. Or at least, dressing up and accessorizing as one, and moonlighting as a good-doing double agent when he can get away with it. And also being a plotting criminal mastermind. Two sides of a coin, really. Just look at Jane Austen.

My point is: No, Crowley did not wait around for Shax to come find him in a turtleneck so that he could go flirt with Aziraphale later. He’ll flirt with Aziraphale no matter what. No, this:

is actually this:

Much like the one he wears to the Dirty Donkey in 1967: 

whilst holy water heist-plotting. Here's a clearer shot with gratuitous Bentley, because I love them:

…and which he'll wear again, with appropriate camouflage, while infiltrating Heaven in S2E6:

That is the 1967 planning a HEIST turtleneck for committing ESPIONAGE and STEALING THINGS in. Because turtlenecks are what modern human master spies wear to get their hands dirty - after all, he saw it in a movie once. 

Crowley dons his tactical turtleneck sometime during the first major break in the action (which doesn't happen until after the joint miracle to hide Gabriel) after he learns about the threat the Book of Life poses to Aziraphale. Loverboy started mentally preparing himself to go after that book immediately upon learning that it was in play as a genuine threat. 

Now let’s pick up at the S2E2 Dirty Donkey scene, reading the story from this angle. Of course, Crowley enables Aziraphale’s delusions about Heaven by hiding information from him, and does not disclose the Book of Life threat when they meet again. They go into the pub, Aziraphale shamelessly paws Crowley’s chest like the seductive Bond Girl he is, and Crowley gets to act all smooth and suave and intimidating as he chases off the interloping Mr. Brown (or Mr. Collins for the Pride & Prejudice fans, take your pick).

Ergo, theory: beginning in S2E2, Crowley is already thinking of himself as a Jane Austen/James Bond action hero (“How will our hero cope?”), psyching himself up to rescue Aziraphale by getting his spy game on and stealing the Book of Life.

Now, watch closely...This is where Aziraphale and Crowley brainstorm their plans to solve the problem they both know about: getting Maggie and Nina to fall in love and thereby get Heaven off their backs. Crowley’s vavoom plan is drawn from yet another movie (“Get humans wet and staring into each other’s eyes - vavoom, sorted. I saw it in a Richard Curtis film.”). But Crowley also implicitly shares his solution to the problem he hasn’t told Aziraphale about. And true to form, Crowley’s Jane Austen solution isn’t the same as Aziraphale’s Jane Austen solution. 

Two solutions that fail by the end of Season 2, and a secret third one that might still work...and there's our magic trick of three.

‘“I’m lost. Am I doing a rainstorm?” Yes, babe. And a heist, too - just not until season three. Can I get a wahoo!? 

I won’t spend time on A Companion to Owls during this meta, except to note that in all three minisodes, we get to watch stories that involve Crowley acting as a double agent on “his/their own side” - successfully making Hell and Heaven think he’s fulfilling their will while saving Job’s goats and children; failing to fool Hell when he does a good deed in Edinburgh; and of course, collaborating with Aziraphale whilst evading detection as an infernal turncoat during the Blitz.

(Because this is getting long, I'll also skip over Crowley's interrogation of Jim in this episode - I'll probably come back to that in another meta. But interrogating is a rather spy-ish thing to do.)

When we catch up with Crowley again later, he’s already slipped out of the bookshop, having left Aziraphale to his biblical reverie about Job. He saunters snakily down Whickber Street as usual, but with a very pointed and swift glance over his shoulder (see pic above). This demon is up to something - possibly something we didn’t get to see, something that may have happened offscreen while he stepped out. In any case, knowing there’ve been unfriendly angels in the neighborhood that morning, he’s rightly concerned about being spied on.

From this point until the beginning of episode six, there isn’t a whole lot of opportunity for Crowley to make any next moves. He babysits the bookshop, during which time he manages to wring some crucial information out of Jim; he follows his Crowley’s Angel around like a puppy, and downs a bottle of red like a good old fashioned lovesick boy once that’s been pointed out to him. If any plotting or scheming is underway, this occult being is keeping stumm for now.

This has been a long one, so I’ll wrap up with Crowley’s infiltration of Heaven with Muriel. The turtleneck disguise works (Archer fans, be vindicated!) long enough to gather some information that will be crucial not just to the denouement of S2, but also to Crowley’s journey in S3 (previous post on Crowley's Fall, Saraqael, and memory wiping). And Aziraphale gets to enjoy that view exactly zero times. The point isn’t oh, a turtleneck! How flirty! So cunty! So cute! Y’all. Everything matters. The costume change was a deliberate choice. In-universe, Crowley’s decision to wear his special spy turtleneck for spying in is a signal that he is out doing spy things, even as we watch.

In sum: Beginning in S2E2 and continuing through the end of the season, Aziraphale and Crowley are actively living out the scripts of two parallel, concurrent, and completely different Jane Austen stories. But you and I, dear fellow audience member, we came here for a comedy with a hefty jigger of romance, and that’s what Neil gave us to focus on. And right up until the Final 15, that was the only story we saw.

Meanwhile, Special Agent A. J. Crowley doesn’t have time to mope around at the end of S2E6. He’s kicked down, but he’s not out. He's got a Book of Life to steal, a very serious bone to pick with a certain memory-wiping angel, and his Angel and the world to save. 

“‘Heigh ho,’ said [romantic, optimist, former demon, hero, master spy] Anthony Crowley, and just drove anyway.”

[suguann]

an. a little 'and-they-were-roommates' drabble series to get me back into writing because it's been an age. | masterlist | part two

It starts as a situation built off convenience: he needed someone to take care of his place while he was gone, and you needed a place to stay. 

Simon never thought he’d get anything out of it other than coming home to a house that feels lived-in and the entryway clear of envelopes from months of neglecting his mail—another voice throughout the day besides the intrusive ones in his head that spun like a carousel with the word work etched on top. 

It’s not until you show up on his doorstep, three boxes and a measly duffel bag crowding your arms, that he thinks he really should’ve thought this through better. He’ll only realize this after the fact—weeks late, sleepless nights filled with images of daisy-shaped buttons down the front of a summer dress and a smile that nearly knocks him flat off his feet.

As it is, he’ll blame it on the handful of sleepless hours from tiny airplane seats and energy drinks sleuthing through his system that clouded his judgment, then admit it’s nice coming home to a woman who looks pretty reading a book on his living room couch.

Only his soap-slick fist in his bathroom late at night will know the honest-to-God truth. That is if there was ever a god he believed in. 

He never claimed to be a good man. 

(Can anyone claim to be good in his line of work?)

Just an honest one.

So it goes something like this: he tries not to come off as an obsessed, lonely fuck (the jury is out on either) by just existing in the same space as you whenever the opportunity arises—reading the paper while you make breakfast on the stove he hasn’t touched in too long to remember when, flipping through a book Simon didn’t even know he owned while you water plants you picked up on your way from work, watching whatever you have on the telly before you both go to bed—then he’s on a plane, being shipped out to who knows where with a gun holstered to his hip.

Rinse and repeat. 

The fourth time he comes home after an assignment keeps him away longer than expected, he finds you in the kitchen, covered in flour, a cute, frilly apron tied around your waist that he’s never seen you wear before. A smile curls the edges of your mouth as you look over at him, everything in your face soft and attentive—a vision suddenly takes shape.

You with a ring on your finger, Simon calling you his little wife, getting to hold your hand whenever he feels like it, and not because yours accidentally brushed up against his. His hand fisting in your hair, bending you over the counter, your cheek covered in powdery confectionery, fingers rucking up your skirt and apron because he can.

He blinks once, twice, and the little fantasy falls apart. 

Except you’re still in his kitchen, smiling prettily and happy to see him of all things. Imagine that.

Your lashes flutter, making crescent shadows across your cheeks. “How was your trip?” you ask. “You look more tired than you usually do.”

A shrug, a dismissal. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? I have some tea that might help.”

“Tea.” He repeats to fill the quiet if only to stand there a little longer, his bag still slung over his shoulder and his clothes smelling like recycled air. 

“Yeah, I got it from a friend a few weeks ago when I caught this cold that was going around the office.” Sometimes, you ramble, and he can do nothing more than let you get it out of your system—not that he minds. “I swear it’s nothing janky or anything. Just try it; it might help.”

You’re so damn earnest about it that he can’t bring himself to say no.

“Sure,” he says and watches a wide, satisfied smile stretch across your face.

It’d be easier if you weren’t so sweet and gave a sincere fuck about the comings and goings of his life. If the smell of your perfume wasn’t following Simon everywhere—sugary vanilla faintly clinging to his balaclava even after he’s washed it—as a reminder of what’s just out of his reach.

(A mindfuck is what it is.)

[obsessivevoidkitten]

The Werewolf’s Bitch

Yandere Male Werewolf x Gender Neutral Reader (CW: Noncon, breeding, knotting, inhuman genitals, reader eaten out, drool, piss marking, watersports, scent marking, lycanthropy, reader bitten by werewolf at end, smut, kidnapping, reader briefly stalked, general yandere behavior, yandere bully, bullied reader)  Word Count: 4.4k (Sorry that this is being reposted, I needed to edit the story and tumblr would not let me until I just deleted the whole thing, anyway, I worked extremely hard of this so I could hurry up and do more commissions, I am panicking because the window for cool season planting is nearly upon us. I normally would NOT rush to post a fic in the same day that I already posted one. I know the watersports is not everyone’s thing, but it has been a while since I wrote a fic with that kink and when I asked reader’s whether or not I should I got only positive responses, so I hope some people like this)

You were a librarian, you had always had a penchant for books, an obsession really, and you loved reading many different kinds. Right now you were reading The Bartimaeus Trilogy by Jonathan Stroud,  it was a fantasy series. It didn’t matter whether or not you liked the fantasy genre, your friend who was not super into reading kept recommending the series to you so you had to give it a shot. You were enjoying the light breeze and gentle sunshine towards the back of the park, in a lightly wooded area where the park gradually shifted into a forest. Leisurely, you continued to read until the sun just began to set. Little did you know someone was watching you from the trees. Axle hadn’t seen you in years, though it wasn’t uncommon for his thoughts to drift to you. He had a serious crush on you in high school, but so worried about his image he had not wanted to date the nerd so he bullied you instead. Relentlessly. He often thought what if he had been sweeter on you and more up front about his feelings, he’d probably have his arms wrapped around you and his cock buried deep inside you. Axle still would have picked on you, of course, it was how he showed affection and dominance, but it wouldn’t have been nearly cruel and relentless as it had been. And he would have been really sweet to you at times too, since he was sure little nerdy bookworms liked that kinda shit. His life wasn’t all bad though, he had been “afflicted” with lycanthropy. It wasn’t nearly as bad as the legends and folklore made it seem, for most people. Most were not feral and could freely change forms whenever they wished, from human, to wolf, and to the bulky hybrid form that most people thought of when they heard the word “werewolf.” There were exceptions though, some people did go feral in their wolf forms and change unwillingly during full moons. An encounter with one such creature was what had passed on the magical gift to him. Now his life was free, he lurked the woods for prey, hunted and then cooked what he had caught in a large cave he had claimed as his den. The lifestyle suited him, he could pretty much do whatever he wanted whenever he wanted, but it was a lonely existence and he wished he had a mate. Axle had been walking around, contemplating what he could do to get some friends or maybe even a lover when suddenly his nose, now hypersensitive even in his human form, picked up a familiar scent. One that he had not smelled in years but nevertheless one that he would be able to place anywhere. He had stolen whiffs of you while having you in headlocks and pushing you into lockers, had deeply inhaled the aroma of your underwear after sneaking into the locker room and stealing them whenever he was sure he wouldn’t get caught. So when he caught your wonderful smell in the breeze he bolted towards it. Just to watch, he thought to himself. And he did just watch, for a while. His eyes drank in your sight as the golden afternoon sun illuminated you so perfectly. Still such a fucking bookworm, reading all the way out here. The more he looked at you the tighter his pants got, would it really be such a bad thing if he just took you away? He could steal all the books you could want if that made you happy. You’d look so cute reading by the fire before he impaled you on his dick. It wasn’t like you could get away from him, even without his new found abilities he was faster and stronger than you could ever hope to be, but now that he was supernaturally imbued there was no chance you could ever get away from him. If you screamed it was okay, there were no witnesses around for the abduction and when he was fucking you back in his den there would be no one around for miles. He readjusted his cock in his torn jeans, fully erect at the thought. He talked himself into it. It wasn’t that hard, this may be his chance to have the future with you he had missed out on previously. You started to get up to leave, placing the book you had been reading into your backpack with the rest of your books that you planned to get through. Suddenly someone rushed out from the trees and snatched your backpack before you could put it on, running with it deeper into the forest. All you could see was their back as they ran off. Axle made sure not to run too fast because he knew you would chase him without thinking to get your precious books. “Please stop! Please! There’s nothing in there other than books! Please!” You screamed and chased the figure deep into the forest, until a chill ran through you as you looked around. You no longer recognized where you were and it was getting ever darker. Axle could have just used force to bring you this far, but he was enjoying playing with you like he used to. Just as you began to turn around and give up on the figure before you he turned around and was on you in an instant.

You recognized him immediately as you saw his face before he put his arm around your neck and licked up your neck creepily. You’d never forget who those mischievous eyes, cruel smirk, snake bite piercings and spiky punk style blond hair that was shaved at the sides belonged to.  

“A-Axle!? What the heck!? Let go! Wh-what do you want with me,” your voice was filled with fear and your eyes began to water, threatening to cry. “Well, you were in my neighborhood and I thought we could catch up~” You kept struggling in his grip, but you were winded from the chase earlier. What he said made no sense, there were no nearby homes, but you were a bit too busy to really contemplate his words. You punch and kicked at him but he just laughed like he had just heard the most hilarious joke, it would have been very insulting if being in a dark forest being manhandled by your old bully wasn’t so terrifying. Axle moved his arm around your neck then ruffled your hair, something about the gesture made you think he wasn’t out to just kill you. But then he gripped your arm tighter and started dragging you deeper into the woods. Your writhing and struggles to free yourself from his iron grasp did nothing to slow him down in the least. There was still a long way to go though, and instead of dragging you and hurting your much more delicate arms he hoisted you into his arms and slung you over his shoulder before starting to run at a speed not normal for a human. This also had the added benefit of scaring you and making you cry those adorable tears of yours. You kicked and screamed the whole time he held you, but the only thing you managed to accomplish was a severely sore throat and further exhaustion. In only a few short minutes Axle covered quite a distance with you. Not tired or out of breath at all despite the speed he ran at or the fact that he was carrying an entire adult on his shoulders. When he arrived at the cave he sat you down on a large bundle of stolen pillows, coats, blankets, and other soft materials. “W-where are we? Wh-why did you bring me here,” you asked almost unintelligibly through the hoarseness of your voice and the fear causing you to stammer. The fear you felt actually tugged a tiny bit at Axle’s heart, he just wanted to teasingly scare you, not make you all terrified. Poor little wimp. His little wimp, he thought, feeling a bit fluttery. Axle sat down beside you and roughly pulled you into his lap before caressing your arm and holding you close, in a manner he thought may be comforting. “What are you d-d-doing!? I don’t like this!” You were, understandably, immensely uncomfortable. Your former bully had his hands all over you. Did he think this was a hilarious prank? And why did he live in a cave? Was he a serial killer that lived in the woods in search of victims?? With each question your heartbeat increased.   Axle could hear your heartbeat. Still so sweet and fearful, just like you always had been~ But he didn’t want you to only associate him with fear and have a heart attack every time he held you. “Shhh, babe, shhh. It’s alright. I promise I won’t hurt you okay? I’ll keep you nice and safe~” Apparently he was not tactful enough to realize that licking and sucking at your oh so sensitive neck, was not very soothing to you. When you thrashed more and not less he got the memo and just held you close instead. There would be time for other stuff later. Right now holding you was enough, drinking in your scent like it was booze, and it was almost more intoxicating. He laid down on his side and pulled a very confused and scared you close to him once more, his arms hugging you tightly as if clinging to a life preserver. While Axle had never slept better than that night with you in his arms you stayed up until sheer exhaustion forced you into a troubled sleep. And when he woke he was so happy, he had half been worried everything had been a dream but no, you were really in his arms like you should have been for all these years. Axle wanted you to be awake so he determined that the most prudent way to wake you up was to pinch your ass. Much to his satisfaction, you woke up easily with a startled yelp, almost jolting off of the bedding. You were confused for a moment as your brain scrambled to remember where the fuck you were and why the fuck you were there instead of at home in your comfortable and familiar bed. And what had just assaulted your butt? Then the memories of the night before smacked into you like a brick wall. Axle. He had kidnapped you and spooned you all night for some unknown reason. Probably some sick prank, if he was just going to beat you up and murder you he would have done that already right? Not say all that stuff trying to comfort you before sleeping by you. Axle pulled you close and once again drew his tongue slowly up your cheek, like it was some sort of odd kiss, it creeped you out but you didn’t say anything opting instead to flinch away at his touch. “Oh come on, don’t be such a pussy, I haven’t hurt you,” he said smirking, obviously enjoying the bit of fear he caused from such a small action. “A-are you ever going to tell me why the hell you made me come here?” “What? I haven’t made you cum yet! Hahaha, I will later though.” You rolled your eyes at his juvenile joke but he just stared at you with a hungry look in his eyes that sent a shiver down your spine. “I’m serious! Wh-why am I here, this is insane and illegal! I-I’m leaving!” You started to walk towards the path that led to the cave entrance, but Axle growled in such an animal-like and primal way while stepping forward to block your path that it frightened you into remaining still. “You’re not leaving okay, nerd? You want to know why you’re here? Well it’s so I can fuck you silly and have someone to spend time with. I’m your boyfriend and you’re my property. So sit down, read your little books by the fire, and get settled because I am going to go get us some food and when I come back we are going to eat then we are going to go at it like rabbits.” You stared at him with eyes wide, now more paralyzed than ever with fear and utter bewilderment. He couldn’t be serious could he? You didn’t want that at all, this is the piece of shit that made your entire middle and high school years an absolute horror to get through. During your stunned silence he walked up to you and kissed you quickly on the lips before rushing out of the cave to search for some food. Was he stupid on top of absolutely bat shit crazy? Did he really think you were just going to stay here to be raped by him? Did he actually believe that you would be totally okay with being abducted by your former bully and you would be so enamored with him that not only would you let him put his dick anywhere you but you would also let him be your boyfriend?? Obviously that was not going to fucking happen in any way, shape, form, or fashion. You gave him a few minutes to get far away and then you gathered your bag of reading materials and headed out of the cave that Axle called home. It was too easy, luckily you remembered the general direction back to the park and began on your merry way, running as fast as your feet could carry you. Axle, though, was not really stupid. He may have been a bit of an impulsive hothead and a brute, but he was not without some intelligence. He figured you would almost certainly try to escape while he was out and about and he kept his hunt somewhat near the cave, and down wind from it. Once you left the shelter the wind quickly carried your scent right to his powerful nose. He could smell you so clearly and immediately made a beeline for your precise location. You had thought things were going well, you had put significant distance between you and the cave and were sure he would not be able to catch up to you. But you heard some rustling through the grass and a snap of twigs. You turned around and saw him coming right for you with unholy speed, Axle. Somehow he managed to close the distance between the two of you much faster than should have been possible before lunging and tackling you to the forest floor. This time you didn’t even bother struggling once he had a hold of you. Once more he slung you over his shoulder, smirking this time as you went limp, that was good. At the very least you were learning you could not fight him. Now you only had to learn you couldn’t run either. He wasn’t worried, you were a nerd after all, you would learn quickly. Before you knew it you were back in the cave, he placed you carefully on the rocky floor. You looked at him curiously wondering what he was going to do to you. He responded only with a shit eating grin. He began trying to take off your pants and clothes, and you struggled as much as you could. Which disappointed him, he thought you would have realized that he could always over power you, he had always been able to. Axle let out another beastly growl and that seemed to get the message across, this was happening. As he undid his belt you began to fear the worst, you were sitting naked below him as he was about to whip out his dick, what else could you expect to happen? You began to cry and plead for him not to rape you. He used his belt to tie up your arms before he pulled his pants down slightly. You stared at him as he stood before you with his prick aimed directly at you. Before you could figure out what he was doing he unleashed a hot stream piss all over your naked body. The smell was pungent and you gagged a bit as some of the fluid found its way into your mouth, he must have been holding it for a while because he completely drenched you. Axle had a devilish grin. “This should help remind you of your place. You are my little bitch got it? The scent will make it much easier to smell you and keep anyone else away. And I doubt you will try to scurry off without clothes.” Your abductor laughed maniacally as he emptied your books out on the table and took the bag. He placed all your clothing in it before slinging it around his back. “Be a good little weakling and wait here. Not that you have a choice,” he said as he departed. Axle made a mental note to scent mark you like that regularly, you covered in his scent made him almost lose control and breed you right then and there. But you both needed food, you were a fragile little thing he desperately wanted to take good care of and keep healthy and you would both need your energy for the all night fuck fest he had planned. Back on the floor of the cavern you were defeated, your face wet with tears and piss. You reeked of him and the fluid was becoming dry and sticky in places. This wasn’t fair, what had you done to deserve this. You never bothered anyone, you were a sweet person who just wanted to be lost in their books. You lay on that floor, stiff, stinking, and sticky for what felt like hours until Axle returned, but in reality he had only been gone around fifty or so minutes. He sauntered in with a hand that held a bundle of dead rabbits, and another hand full of foraged vegetables, fruits, and nuts. You wondered how he had caught anything. He did not seem to have any weapons or traps around. “Ah, there’s my good little bitch, I see you stayed in place for me.” Axle took his haul of food into another room of the cavern, presumably a larder or kitchen of some sort, before coming back and tending to you. He undid the belt binding your arms and was about to clean you up, but something about you stopped him. He paused and took a moment to just stare at you, so obedient, so drenched in his scent, so good for him. A perfect little mate. And a perfect mate needed to be bred and marked in the most permanent manner possible. Forgetting his plans to feed the both of you and then go at it later that night sniffed at you and let out a low growl. He needed to mate his bitch. Now. You were limp as a rag doll as he picked you up and put you in the pile of bedding material, despite the gross “scent marking” that he had applied to you not even being rinsed off yet. You felt Axle’s warm tongue carefully licking at your crotch, occasionally he broke away to kiss your soft thighs. His strong hands roamed every inch of your flesh that they could reach. He was like an animal as he began lapping at your entrance, stretching you out and getting you ready for mating. When his tongue slid into you it finally elicited a response and broke you out of your catatonic state. You tried to push him away to no avail, though he did take a moment to look up at all the commotion. As you looked at him you realized he almost seemed a bit larger than he was earlier, and had he always had that stubble, you could have swore that he had been clean shaven. Not that you had been in the best emotional state to make such careful observations. But then you saw a change made before your very eyes, and there was no denying it. His previously brown eyes had turned a fierce glowing yellow and as drool pooled and dripped at the corners of his mouth his teeth grew longer and sharper. Now you were really scared, more terrified than you had been since your kidnapping, what was this beast? Meanwhile Axle was running almost entirely on instinct, he had a vague sense of self but his impulses were simply too strong for him to ignore. The more you struggled the more he felt the unbearable need to prove himself to you. You were denying him as his mate so he had to show you how strong and capable he was, he had to be the mightiest he could be so you would be happy with him and have no doubts who the strongest man for you was. No doubt who owned you. He continued to transform into a full blown werewolf right before your very eyes. His clothing tore away as they were ripped apart by the muscles bulging out beneath, thick blonde fur covered every inch of his body, claws grew from his nails, you could see glimpses of a tail swinging strongly behind him and his ears grew longer. His erect cock became canine like in nature and his musky nuts sung below, full of potent seed to fill you with. You screamed in terror and tried to kick him away but the beast that was formerly Axle would not allow itself to be denied. Had to mate you. Had to prove himself as a good partner. Had to show you he was powerful, could keep you safe. You tried to kick him away but this only cemented in his mind the absolute need to subdue you and yew his. During his shift into his strongest form you had managed to scoot away from him, he grabbed you by the ankles and pulled you back towards him, you tried to grab at anything you could to stop him, futilely throwing pillows and blankets at him in a last ditch hail Mary attempt to get away, but it was as hopeless as all your other attempts. When he had you under him he forced you into a mating press and shoved his hard cock to the hilt inside of your drool slickened hole. Once he was deep inside he let loose another wave of piss. Had to mark your insides as his property. Had to. Needed to make sure no one else thought about using his property. His mate. His. After Axle had once again marked you with his urine he began slowly thrusting in and out of you. But he quickly got tired of the pace, werewolves were not exactly known for restraint, especially when so deeply under the spell of their instincts. You yelped as he painfully shoved himself in and out of your quickly sore hole. Precum, drool, and piss leaked out of you and down his shaft and balls as he bred you, his huge nut sack slapping your ass with every thrust. Luckily you had been so well lubed by all of his fluids or else you would have been in extreme pain. You were ashamed to admit it but your body was betraying you and the railing you were receiving from this barely human monster was beginning to feel amazing. His knot was slowly swelling within you, creating delicious friction as it rubbed against your inner walls. But interrupting any climax you were making your way towards was Axle as he nuzzled your neck with his wet nose before aggressive licking and nipping at it. But he did not stop there, he had to mark you, make you his mate, claim you in every way, you’d look even more beautiful wearing his claim. So without hesitation or forethought for the consequences of turning you into a werewolf, he bit down at the nape of your neck. Hard. You cried out in a startled shock as he licked away the blood from your fresh wound. He had to comfort his mate. Had to. He didn’t stop licking until your tears lessened and you seemed relatively calm. The entire time he was biting you though he was still fucking you at a moderate pace, and he finally came to the beautiful sound of your overstimulated cries and whimpers. You were so good for him. Perfect fragile little bitch made to be filled up full of his seed and protected by him. You felt a growing pressure inside of you as his knot reached full size, binding the two of you together, and his cock throbbed deep within you as it shot rope after rope of warm semen. You had not gotten your climax yet though, and he couldn’t accept that, you had taken his so so well, you had been such a good mate, the perfect breeding bitch, you even took his mark and everything. Even if it wasn’t by choice. You deserved to feel pleasure. So Axle rocked his hard knot back and forth inside you, as much as he could move it with it at the size that it was, and slowly coaxed an orgasm from your hot mess of a body. He stopped when he felt it and heard you moan and whimper loudly, your voice full of pleasure. After achieving his goal of pumping his wimpy bookworm full he finally regained clarity of mind and his instincts lost their grip on his actions. He realized what he had done and was a bit embarrassed he had lost control like that. He had planned to very slowly ease you into the truth about being a werewolf. Still, he couldn’t argue with the results, you passed out under him from all the sensations he had brought to you, and him on top of you with his cock tight and snug within your hot depths. He was not in the least worried about you being a werewolf, it would only make you more dependent on him, you did not know the first thing about being one. And if you ever did escape he could always overpower you. He was stronger than you when you were both humans and he would remain stronger than you in any form. You would always be Axle’s bitch.  

[soulofapatrick]

Bound by Starlight - Cassian x female reader 

Summary: Cassian shows you Starfall for the first time since you’ve been changed and it changes something between you 

Words: 2.8K 

Warnings: none really

Y/N's POV

I remember the feeling of my humanity being ripped away—an icy, clawing pain that stripped me of everything I once was. The cauldron’s water had wrapped around me like iron chains, pulling me down, down, until I could barely breathe. I had screamed, fought, begged to be freed, but the King of Hybern hadn’t cared. To him, I was just another Archeron sister, another human in the way, and he’d tossed me in with the others like I was nothing.

Now, I live as fae, my once-mortal body transformed, immortal senses heightened. My soul, however… it lingers somewhere between what I used to be and what I have no choice but to become. Nesta withdrew into herself, anger simmering behind cold eyes, shutting me out with her silence. Elain, though kind as always, sank into her garden, her love for flowers the only piece of herself she could cling to. And Feyre… she ascended, becoming the High Lady, a role so immense that I rarely even see her anymore.

Velaris is beautiful, I’ll give it that. With its vibrant, bustling streets, the colours and scents so alive, it’s like nothing I ever knew as a human. At first, I stumbled around here like an intruder, the way people would stare at my still-soft, unsure steps betraying how new I was to this world. Yet over time, I grew accustomed to it, learning the rhythms of the city, the names of the shops, and even a few faces. I’d walk the cobblestone streets and marvel at the glow of the faelights, the hum of the city’s magic, the warmth that seemed to cradle Velaris even on its coldest nights.

But even though I’ve adapted to this new life, I never truly chose it. I’m here because the fates made me, a decision stolen from me the moment I was dragged to Hybern. With no family to ground me—Feyre’s duties as High Lady, Nesta’s self-imposed exile, and Elain’s fragile retreat into the comfort of her plants—I’ve been left to find my way on my own.

Almost.

There is one person who’s been there for me. Cassian, with his easy smile and ridiculous sense of humour, has gone out of his way to make me feel welcome. Whether it’s pulling me into conversations, inviting me to training, or simply listening when I needed to vent, he’s somehow always been there, his presence steady and warm. He never makes me feel like a burden, or like I’m less for struggling to keep up in this world I never asked to join.

So when I hear the knock at my bedroom door, the heavy, rhythmic sound that could only belong to him, my heart tugs with a mix of irritation and relief.

“Go away, Cassian!” I call out, though there’s no real force behind it. I curl tighter under my blankets, fighting the urge to stay hidden in their warmth, in the comfortable darkness. I want to stay here forever, to pretend the world outside doesn’t exist, that I’m still just a human who never stepped into this tangled, chaotic fae world.

“Nice try,” he says, his voice muffled through the door. “But I’m not leaving.”

His determination stirs something in me—annoyance, but also a flicker of comfort. I sigh, closing my eyes, but the silence stretches on, tense and unyielding. He’s waiting me out, and we both know it.

I don’t answer, and for a second, I think he might give in and leave. But instead, the door creaks open, and I hear the heavy thud of his boots as he steps inside.

“Sorry, but I’m not letting you wallow,” he says, coming closer. I peek out from under the duvet and catch sight of him—standing there, arms crossed, his expression firm but gentle. His dark hair falls messily over his forehead, and his eyes, deep and intense, hold that same unwavering warmth I’ve come to rely on.

I grumble, “Cassian, go away,” my voice muffled beneath the blankets as I bury myself deeper, trying to escape the world outside. But he ignores me, of course. A quiet sigh reaches me before he crouches beside the bed, level with where I’m hiding.

The sight of him, even through the haze of my exhaustion, is almost enough to make me forget everything weighing on me. Cassian, with his wild, shoulder-length black hair half-tied back in a casual bun, his jaw dusted with scruff, and those hazel eyes that seem to hold sunlight and earth all at once. He’s massive, every muscle defined under the soft shirt he wears, and even at rest, his wings—massive and powerful—seem to radiate a silent promise of protection. He’s handsome, but in a rugged, arresting way that’s so different from the polished, refined beauty of Rhysand or the quiet, haunting allure of Azriel. Cassian is warmth and strength, solid and real, and even without saying anything, he fills the room with a sense of unbreakable steadiness.

“You can’t stay hidden in here forever,” he says softly, his voice gentle yet firm. The words slip through my defences, wrapping around me like an anchor, steadying me in a way I don’t think anyone else could. He holds my gaze, his expression so earnest it makes my chest ache.

A scoff escapes my lips as I try to pull the duvet back over my head, though there’s no real force behind it. “You wouldn’t understand.”

His eyes darken for a moment, a flicker of hurt he quickly covers with a smirk. “Maybe not,” he says quietly. “But I know what it’s like to feel out of place. And I know that hiding never helps.” His tone is soft, but there’s something so raw in his voice, an honesty that chips away at the walls I’ve built around myself, brick by painful brick.

He lets out a small, quiet laugh, and the sound is like warmth spilling over me, reaching places in my heart I’d thought long-buried. “You can’t hide from me,” he murmurs, reaching out to tug the blanket down, just enough so he can see my face. His eyes search mine, tender and steady, and for a moment, everything else falls away. It’s just us in this room, his presence a steady, comforting warmth, like a fire on the darkest night.

“Come with me,” he says, his voice softer now, almost a plea. “Just for a little while. I have something I want to show you.”

His words stir something fragile inside me, something I’ve been trying to ignore. There’s a gentle hope in his eyes, a quiet, unspoken promise, and despite myself, I feel that hope awaken in me too, as small and tentative as a candle flame. I sigh, tossing the blankets back, and swing my legs over the side of the bed, shivering as the cool air prickles my skin.

“Fine,” I whisper, barely audible. “But just for a little while.”

Cassian smiles, a soft, genuine expression that lights up his entire face. He extends a hand to me, his palm broad and warm, and I take it, feeling his roughened fingers curl around mine with a reassuring firmness. He leads me through the quiet halls of the House of Wind, his grip steady and grounding as we walk. I’m in nothing but a simple nightdress, my feet bare on the cool floor, but with his warmth beside me, I don’t feel the chill.

He stops before a set of tall, glass-paned doors that lead to a balcony, the curtains drawn tight. Without a word, he reaches forward, pulling them back with a gentle, sweeping motion that makes the light of the stars spill in like liquid silver, illuminating the room with a soft, ethereal glow. He glances back at me, a small, almost shy smile tugging at his lips as he leads me outside.

The night air is crisp, and a gentle breeze stirs the loose strands of his hair, catching the faint glimmer of stars reflected in his hazel eyes. “Look up,” he murmurs, his voice soft as a whisper.

I lift my gaze to the sky, and my breath catches. Above us, the stars are falling—silver and white streaks of light arcing across the heavens in a breathtaking, shimmering cascade. It’s Starfall, the legendary event that fills the Night Court’s sky with magic, as if the stars themselves are dancing for us. The sight is beautiful, overwhelming, like the world itself is pouring out light and life to remind me of something I’d forgotten: hope, beauty, wonder.

“This,” Cassian says, his voice barely more than a murmur, “is why Starfall matters. It’s a reminder that even after everything, there’s something beautiful left to hold onto.”

I turn to look at him, my heart tightening as I meet his gaze. Cassian watches me with a warmth and tenderness that slips past my carefully constructed walls, cutting right to the raw centre of everything I’ve been trying to hide. I feel a lump building in my throat, heavy and tight, and before I can stop it, my eyes fill with tears. I haven’t cried since all of this happened, haven’t allowed myself to feel what’s been buried, too afraid that if I let even a little of it slip, it would all come crashing down.

But here, with Cassian standing so close, so steady, his presence strong and unwavering, something inside me breaks. My breath hitches, a sob bubbling up before I can swallow it back. The first tear spills over, and then another, until the tears are streaming freely down my face. I try to turn away, to hide it, but Cassian steps closer, his expression softening with understanding.

And then my knees buckle. The weight of everything—of the losses, the terror, the forced transformation—becomes too much, and I sink, my body giving out under the flood of emotion. Cassian’s arms catch me before I can fall, and he lowers us both to the floor of the balcony, his strong arms wrapped tightly around me, supporting me. I cling to him, fists curling into the fabric of his shirt as I bury my face in his shoulder, finally letting it all out.

The stars keep falling around us, casting their ethereal glow across the balcony as Cassian holds me, his hand gently stroking through my hair, murmuring quiet words of comfort I can barely make out over the sound of my own sobs. His other arm is solid around me, like an anchor keeping me from floating away on the tide of my grief and confusion. I feel the warmth of his hand as it trails down my back, grounding me, reassuring me that I’m not alone.

“It’s okay,” he whispers, voice rough but gentle. “I’ve got you. Let it out; I’m here.”

I don’t know how long we sit there, with me sobbing into his shoulder, clinging to him as though he’s the only real thing left in the world. His hand never stops stroking my hair, each touch soothing, melting the ache in my chest little by little. Gradually, the sobs turn to quiet gasps, the tears slowing as I breathe in his scent, warm and familiar, a mixture of leather and something uniquely Cassian.

When I finally pull back, wiping at my tear-streaked face, he watches me with a gentleness that steals the breath from my lungs. There’s no judgment in his eyes, only understanding and a tenderness that makes my heart ache with something I can’t quite name. He brushes a stray tear from my cheek with his thumb, his touch warm and steady.

“There you are,” he says softly, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His hazel eyes hold me, like I’m the only thing in the world he sees right now, and for a moment, I almost believe that maybe I’m enough—just as I am, scars and all.

“There you are,” he says, his voice soft, a quiet warmth in his gaze as he brushes another tear from my cheek. His thumb lingers, a gentle stroke against my skin, and it feels like he’s holding something precious, something he’s afraid might slip away if he’s not careful.

His eyes—those warm, hazel depths flecked with amber—search mine, and I realise he’s looking at me in a way I don’t think anyone ever has. As though he sees past everything, past the pain and the shadows, to a part of me that even I’ve forgotten was there. His hand rests against my face, grounding me in his presence, and I lean into his touch, feeling the warmth of his palm against my cheek.

A strange sensation unfurls in my chest—a tug, an ache so deep it almost hurts. It’s as if something invisible has been there all along, waiting, and now, with every beat of my heart, it snaps into place. The bond. I feel it, so powerful and certain, weaving itself between us, binding us together in a way that feels both foreign and achingly familiar. My breath catches, and I can see it in his eyes too, the moment he realises what’s happened. His expression softens, the smallest flicker of wonder and relief breaking through his own surprise.

“Do you feel it?” he whispers, his voice almost trembling as he searches my face, his gaze so full of awe and love that I feel like I could drown in it.

“Yes,” I breathe, barely able to speak around the emotion swelling inside me. It’s overwhelming—this sensation of being tethered to him, heart and soul, in a way that makes me feel more whole than I’ve ever been. I don’t know if I’m crying again or if it’s just the intensity of the moment, but I feel a tear slip down my cheek, and Cassian’s thumb gently brushes it away.

For a heartbeat, we’re just staring at each other, neither of us daring to move, afraid to shatter the delicate, perfect thing we’ve just found. But then he leans forward, his eyes locked on mine, and I feel his breath against my lips. Slowly, achingly slowly, he closes the distance, his mouth brushing mine with a gentleness that steals my breath.

The kiss is soft, heartbreakingly tender, like he’s pouring everything he feels into it—all the care, all the patience, all the love. His hand cradles my face, his fingers tracing small, soothing patterns against my skin as his lips move over mine, unhurried and soft, as if he has all the time in the world. I melt into him, letting the warmth of the bond settle around us like a blanket, wrapping us in something that feels as ancient as the stars.

Cassian’s other arm slips around my waist, pulling me closer, and I feel his heartbeat against mine, steady and strong, grounding me. He pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his eyes fluttering open to meet my gaze.

“I never thought…” he murmurs, his voice breaking slightly as he searches my face, his expression so open, so vulnerable, that it makes my heart ache. “I never thought I’d find this. That I’d find you.”

A shaky breath escapes me, and I reach up, threading my fingers into his hair, feeling the softness against my skin as I hold him close. “You saved me,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, a truth that I hadn’t fully realised until this moment. “In more ways than one.”

He smiles, a soft, beautiful expression that makes my heart stutter, and then he kisses me again—this time with a little more certainty, a little more passion, as if he’s making a promise. It’s gentle, heartbreakingly sweet, every brush of his lips over mine conveying the depth of his love, his commitment, and the quiet, fierce protectiveness that’s always been there.

When we finally pull apart, he cradles my face in his hands, his gaze so warm, so tender, that I feel my heart swell in my chest.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he whispers, his voice rough but full of certainty. “Not now, not ever.”

And as I look into his eyes, feeling the bond humming between us, I know he means it. I feel the weight of his promise settle around me, grounding me, filling the empty spaces in my heart with a warmth I never thought I’d feel again. And for the first time in so long, I believe that maybe, just maybe, I’m home.

ACOTAR Masterlist TAG LIST - updated 12th Oct 2024

TAGS:

@lilah-asteria @maleficmuse @fanficscuziranout

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Killing Time: Prologue

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, includes violence, noncon/dubcon, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: a job offer could be an escape from your old life, but the new one, may not hold freedom.

Characters: Kraven the Hunter, August Walker, Lloyd Hansen, James Conrad, God the Bounty Hunter, Court Gentry

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself💜

“Yes, he’s here again,” your voice creaks as your hand shakes. “Please. I called yesterday…” And every other day for months. Almost a full year.

You peer out between the small space that divides curtain from window. The shadow looms, looking up at you. Your phone vibrates as the operator hems and haws on the other end.

“Are you sure it’s him?” She asks. They always doubt you. Report after report, phone call after phone call, and it’s always question, question, question. You sigh.

“Yes,” your voice peeks as you pull back and hide against the wall. “Yes, I know it’s him. He’s texting me.”

You don’t even need to check. It’s the same thing every time. Next, he’ll try to sneak in the front and be knocking at your apartment door.

“Well, ma’am, you say you’ve called before and we’ve sent a cruiser and we’ve filed reports. And this man keeps showing up, so what exactly do you want me to do now? I can’t issue you a safety order over the phone--”

“Excuse me?” You gasp. “Excuse me? Are you serious? I have an order already and much good it does me. I call you and I get accused of being dramatic and questioned. What I want is for someone to protect me.”

“Ma’am, don’t get abusive with me,” she warns. “Have you tried telling him to go away yourself?”

“Wow, wow,” you throw your hand out. “Really? Really? No, I never thought of it,” you say sarcastically, “is there someone else who can take me call? I really don’t feel safe.”

“If it makes you feel better, I can reroute an officer to you. Alright?” She speaks as if you’re a child. You’re too weak to argue anymore.

“Whatever,” you hang up.

You can’t do this anymore. You need to get out of here. Not that you didn’t think of it before but you can’t afford anything else. Your rent control is the only thing keeping you under a roof. You’ve already switched jobs, just to get away from him. There isn’t that much else up there.

You drag yourself through the shadows and sit on the bed. You exist in darkness. You don’t turn on the lights so he can’t see in. You keep the curtains shut. You only leave for work and always take a different exit, never the same route; not always the bus, not always the train.

And friends? What are those? Most of them took his side, said you were throwing around false accusations, and the others accused you of being obsessed. The single coworker you confided in told you to leave town. Wow, well, if you could afford that, you wouldn’t stay in this building with the grinding radiator and rattling fridge.

You look at your phone.

‘I see you.’ The message was sent while you were on the call with emergency services. Several more followed. ‘I just want to talk’; ‘you look so pretty’; ‘please, I love you’.

As you read each text, you can hear the last conversation you had with Jake. He’s a relic of your former friend group, the very reason for your dejection. It’s almost funny how the rest just cut ties but he won’t let go.

It all started with a kiss. A kiss and rejection. New Years Eve and the clock counted down. You didn’t expect him to turn and plant one on you and when you shoved him away, that dreamy look in his eyes turned to fury as you fled. New Year, New you, right?

The new you is scared and paranoid and tired. So, so tired.

You get up and move the chair in front of the door. Just in case. You retreat, keeping your phone close, and grab the extendable baton from the table. You sleep with both, if you can sleep. That night, you won’t.

You settle in on the couch. You don’t use the bedroom. You need an easy escape. You sit back against the cushions and scroll on your phone. It might be hopeless, but you trawl the job board and the apartment boards. You might find a nugget of gold in all the pebbles.

You sign into the job site and see the red dot in the corner. It’s always a marketing promo. ‘Recommending’ a job you don’t qualify for or an invitation for an MLM scheme. It’s a joke. You don’t understand how anyone ever gets a job but everyone seems to have a better one than you.

You tap the inbox to make the red dot go away. You hate it floating in the corner of your vision. Your thumb twitches and hovers over the screen as you read the subject line. Hm.

‘Caretaker Position: Relocation Required’.

Well, you don’t really have the experience for caretaking but the second part sounds intriguing. You hesitate. It’s too good to be true. You’re sure there will be a list of qualifications longer than your resume.

Tap.

You open up the message.

‘Hello,

We’ve reviewed your profile and determined you might be a match for this position.

New Applicants Welcome.

We are seeking an individual to undertake caretaking duties for a property. This role would include the following:

Lawn care

General cleaning and maintenance

Manual labour requiring lifting of up to 60lbs

24/7 tenancy within property (no rent for chosen candidate)

Subsidized relocation

Training on-site

If you are seeking a fresh start and to learn new skills which can take you into future roles in a custodial or caretaking capacity, this is the job for you. To apply, please submit brief profile and resume for consideration.

Applicants are subject to a background check.’

You bite down on the inside of your lip. It sounds interesting but you’re not sure you’re a good fit. It’s so general, too. Would you need to know how to deal with electrical issues? Your apartment sure has taught you a lot about dealing with broken utilities, but your formal training is lacking.

And it’s a big thing. You want to get out of here but it’s still daunting in comparison to your current predicament.

You tense as you hear footsteps in the hall. You brace yourself and lower the phone, staring at the door. The thumping on the other side makes you flinch. Your heart races.

“Baby, I know you’re awake. Please. I just wanna talk.” He keeps tapping. “If you just talked to me, we could figure this out.”

You shudder and look at your phone again. You stare at the big blue button; ‘Apply Now’.

“I forgive you. For lying about me. Everyone knows you were just upset. I’ll tell them all it was just a misunderstanding…” he begs as the door shakes in the frame, the chair knocking against the handle. All that stands between you and him are those hinges and that flimsy piece of furniture.

You press down on the button. It can’t get worse than this.

[kyseya]

The octopus

The octopus-hybrid Octavious

This octopus hybrid was born in the large aquarium he called home. It’s all he’s ever known. Despite the vast variation in plants and spacious tank he lives in having been built with an octopus’s natural habitat in mind, he has no clue how it is in the real ocean. Is it the same? Or is it much different. He wouldn’t know.

However, he can’t help but wonder. Sometimes he catches himself drifting off to somewhat macabre scenarios in his mind. He’ll think about whether he would be able to survive in the sea as he is now, or would he easily get eaten by a much larger predator. He tries not to delve into the latter scenario.

As octopuses are mostly solitary creatures the aquarium decided to put him in a tank of his own. From what he can recall(and heard from the workers of the aquarium) he has many siblings- none he was close to of course. They were taken to other facilities right after hatching. Perhaps they also sit in a watery tank contemplating their existence. Or maybe they’re dead. Octavious can say for sure that his mother is dead though. When an octopus female lays eggs, she stops eating and dedicates the rest of her life to protect her eggs.

Octavious doesn’t let that fact rule his life however. Just like with his siblings, he didn’t ever get to know any of them.

In the first years of his life he never found the solidarity uncomfortable. It was quite the opposite. He enjoyed his alone time. He was fed and he was safe, that’s what mattered the most. Too bad he’s the aquariums only octopus hybrid. The visitors often want to take a look at him and get impatient whenever he doesn’t show himself. He wish he could ask them how they would feel about getting gawked at everyday. If that were the case, they would also hide away in their privat cave.

He really, really disliked the humans pressing their face to the glass, trying to sneak a peek at him. He’d probably say he has an antagonistic view of every human.

That is, before he met you. You were one of the new caretakers hired by the zoo and that was obvious by how you messed up and clumsily moved about in the beginning. At forst he believed you to be another annoying human but you proved him wrong. You were so kind and patient. You never got mad when he refused to show himself whenever it was feeding time. You never tried to force him to interact with the visitors.

It took a while before he felt ready to talk to you. He had imagined you frowning and scurrying away because of how he ignored you during all you previous encounters. But you didn’t. Instead you smiled and greeted him cheerfully. The two of you spoke every chance you got and slowly you scene an irreplaceable part of his life.

He realised he didn’t simply like you as a caretaker or a mere friend; he wanted more. He wanted to be your mate.

He understands that there is a whole ‘you live on land and he lives in water’- thing but he is able to stay above the surface for a certain amount of time, plus he also has his own private cave only he can access. It’s above water so you can be there and be completely fine. It’s not a big problem.

Octavious often dreams about you staying in his cave with him. You could talk forever without anyone interrupting and you could cuddle and play to your hearts extent. There would be no one to take away your attention from him. Being someone who usually shies in the opposite direction of attention, this is really confusing him.

But he doesn’t mind it, no. He loves you after all! Octavious will do anything to be your only mate.

[indulgentdaydream]

Hello!

Can you do Jason todd x reader where he's crushing on the newest vigilante in Gotham?

Thank you

New in Town

Jason Todd x Reader || Fluff || Word Count: 1,185

Warnings: profanity (swearing), death mention, violence, low-key stalking but not really??

Wrote half of the fic. Was nearly finished. It didn’t save. 😩 the ONE time i decide to write outside of the notes app

I love the idea of Jason crushing on someone like a teenage boy because he never actually GOT that chance as a teenager so he never learned how to cope with those kind of feelings, so I sprinkled that in here.

I feel like this is poorly written forgive me 🙏

He hadn’t heard of you until six months ago. He hadn’t cared then, either. You kept to the other side of the city, you didn’t pose a threat, and he was already preoccupied with his own things to deal with. You weren’t that important to him.

Jason was walking across rooftops. Two weeks, roughly, since he had caught wind of the new name, aligned with the rest of the bats.

It was a night where the rain had let up for once. It wasn’t perfect, though. Never was. The clouds still too thick to see the bright moon and stars.

He was looking for an address, one that seemingly didn’t exist. He landed on another rooftop of a short apartment building. Jason could hear the sounds of two people fighting down in the alley below him.

He walked to the edge, looked down, and there you were. Dressed up in your vigilante gear, fighting some thug.

He crouched, watching. This was much more entertaining then his fake address.

The thug was much bigger than you, but you handled yourself well. The thug lurched forward. You planted a hard, flat, kick to his stomach. He stumbled back. You got in a good punch, a right hook. The thug went with it. He bashed his back off the corner of a dumpster before crumbling to the ground.

Jason nodded once in approval. You didn’t play.

You both saw it at the same time. The clouds parted for a moment behind Jason, the light of the moon shining down over Gotham for just a moment.

The shadow of the top of the apartment split the alleyway below in half, with Jason’s crouched form’s shadow landing right in front of the thug.

He stood up and stepped back from the edge just as you started to look up. He was out of sight before you could see him. At most, you saw the glint of his helmet, but nothing else.

He walked away. He didn’t want to deal with this.

Three weeks later, Jason’s standing on a catwalk in one of Gotham’s many abandoned warehouses. He’s high enough up, hidden within a shadow, that they couldn’t see him even if they had the brains to check up instead of around.

He’s holding his AR-15, pointed down below at the drug dealers he’s been following all week. His aim is steady, mind going over the motions of the possibilities.

“Psst.”

Jason whipped his head up. He aimed the rifle in front of him. There, on the other catwalk, ten feet away from him, was you.

You were leaning on the railing, smiling. Jason didn’t like how his first thought was the realization that this was the closest he had ever been to you.

“Want some help?” You whispered loudly, your smile pulling into a grin.

He looked back down, fixing his aim, “No.”

You leaned further over the railing, exposing nearly half your body to the drug dealers below if they so happened to look up. You whispered your name. Your vigilante name, that is. He didn’t respond.

“Rude,” he heard you mutter. You stayed silent for just a moment as he watched the dealers walk around their table, complaining about their business not showing up. The business that Jason had left dead in an alleyway an hour ago.

Silent treatment wasn’t going to work. You spoke up again, “Why didn’t you say hello? When you saw me in the alley?”

“Maybe I didn’t want to.” Except he had wanted to, just not like that. And not like this.

It was your turn to stay silent. Jason looked up without moving. With his helmet, you couldn’t tell if he was, or was watching the men below.

Standing up straight again, your head was turned away a little, obviously listening to somebody babble away in your ear.

He looked back down before you turned your head back, “Welp, should’ve accepted my offer. I gotta go.”

“Buh-bye,” Jason said dryly before you were walking off down the catwalk.

What can he say? He was intrigued after that. He’d watch you fight from hidden corners, never daring to step out. He waited for the right opportunity to talk to you again. He… did it for too long. A couple months too long.

It wasn’t stalking. That’s what he told himself. He hadn’t pushed to discover your identity, hadn’t learned your exact schedule. He just… kept looking for a chance to talk.

Jason hated it. Hated that he couldn’t come up with a way to approach you. Hated how he got tongue tied thinking about it. How his palms got damp. What could he say?

He ran into Dick one night. They sat on the edge of a building and talked. Which turned to bickering for a while, before it came into a “Who had the worst Bruce experience” argument.

He shut up the second you landed on the roof behind them, “I could hear you two from an entire street over.”

Dick clapped his hands together, a smile breaking out at the sight of you. Jason turned to watch. He walked over, happily calling your name. He got to you, pointing at Jason as he slipped an arm around your shoulders, “Tell this guy he’s wrong.”

You frowned, “I don’t even know this guy.”

Jason remembered he had taken off his helmet, left in only his domino mask. You couldn’t see the rest of his clothes from the fact he’s sitting facing away from you.

Speak! Dammit! He chided himself. He picked up his helmet from his side, bringing it around to show you. He watched your eyes widen in recognition.

���Ooooh,” you immediately nodded, “Yeah. You’re wrong.”

Jason found his words with an amused smirk, “You don’t even know what for.”

You shrug and Dick laughs, “That’s the spirit!”

Jason turned back around. He pretended like he was watching the city line, but he was really listening to yours and Dick’s conversation. He kept trying to look for ways in, ways to talk to you.

Now! Nope, Dick said something unrelated, too quickly. Now your conversation went in that direction. Here! Too late. He hesitated.

He stopped listening, pursing his lips in annoyance at his own stupid, boyish inability to talk to the attractive new vigilante.

“Oh… he said he didn’t want to talk to me. Probably annoyed by my presence.”

He tuned back in.

“How rude.”

“That’s what I said!”

Jason looked back over his shoulder. The two of you were standing there, arms crossed, looking at him.

“What?”

Dick seemed to remember something, “Have you two even been formally introduced?”

You grumbled something along the lines of, “Tried that.”

Jason shrugged, “I’ve seen them around,” he met your eyes, “You fight good.”

What kind of fucking compliment is that?

“So do you,” you smiled.

Jason’s eyebrows furrowed a little in confusion. You could see the movement through the domino mask, “You’ve never seen me fight.”

You grinned, pointing at him, “That’s what you think.”

Jason smirked a little. Oh, he liked you, alright.

[omniverseexplorer]

The Complete Guide to Nondualism

Disclaimer: I want to talk about nondualism because to be honest I have “outgrown” the law of assumption and I really resonate with nondualism. Nondualism IS NOT a method, technique, concept, or a law like the law of assumption to get your desires, it is a lifestyle. If you don’t resonate with this you can keep scrolling.

The definition of nondualism

"Non-dualism or advaita vedanta means "Not Two" and at its core it is saying that we are just Awareness. Awareness like Non-dualism are labels that are unreal, everything that is spoken and explained are concepts and all concepts are imagination. What we truly are is indescribable, unimaginable, pure nothingness (no-thing, not nothing!), awareness, imagination, ultimate intelligence, THAT, IT, whatever you want to call it. Everything you perceive is You. There is nothing else but You"- by @infinite.ko on Instagram.

What does this all mean?

If you are familiar with Neville Goddard’s terminology “I am” we are literally that…we are pure consciousness/awareness/imagination, and we are all one. The difference between Neville Goddard’s views of the “I am” is that he had limiting beliefs that we are still our pure consciousness living in our human bodies and experiencing life through “states.” In nondualism, we are simply pure consciousness/imagination/awareness, we are every-thing, anything, and no-thing at the same time. We are all one consciousness means that we are our toothbrush, our phone, our tv, the animals, houses, plants, each other, Hogwarts, our sps, anything and everything you can imagine because we are imagination itself…it all stems from SELF. We are all one Self, we are silence. You know when you stare out into space and you zone out with no thoughts in your mind? That is who we truly are as pure consciousness/imagination/awareness, just silence in the now because time is an illusion, there are no past or future.  When nondualism says who we are is “I am” it means I=consciousness, awareness, imagination Am=is. You simply ARE, it is unmoving: never changes, never dies, never leaves, and it is always there and has always been there and it is SILENT. There is nothing to be “aware of,” you already are always awareness right now and that is who we all are at our truest Being. In fact….everything is an illusion-your physical human senses, your physical human body, thoughts, feelings, assumptions, states, beliefs, words, and everything around you is an illusion. Even the word nondualism is an illusion, we are such an indescribable thing that this is the closest thing that we can get to describing who we truly are. As pure awareness/consciousness/imagination the things around you in your physical reality only seem to be “real” because you are simply aware/conscious of them. The moment you take your awareness/consciousness away from them they cease to exist until you bring your attention back to them. As pure consciousness/imagination/awareness we are the creators of our “realities” (that in itself is an illusion), our own creations, and most of all observers which means things only exist when we observe (aware/conscious) of them. 

Awareness and “Observing”

You are awareness. You are consciousness. You are imagination. You are the observer of your reality. They all mean the same exact thing, meaning you are always awareness. It isn’t anything separate from you or even in you-it’s YOU! The physical senses are not real, only your awareness is. Anything that you experience with your physical 5 senses is not real, in fact you being aware of that thing has no image at all either. We are so indescribable, formless, and imageless and everything else around us is as well too. In terms of observing: “the moment you imagine something, it exists” (imagining meaning you bring into awareness aka just know it’s real) it exists because it’s literally you! You have no image you only show up in whatever you observe so basically when you observe your desire whatever it is it instantly exists because it’s you. You have no image so that thing you observed is you already exists because you gave it your awareness, therefore it’s here so don’t question it! You are the laptop, you are the trees, you are the house, you are Hogwarts, etc anything and everything you observe simply because you are bringing your awareness to it as that “image” but it’s all you! You shouldn’t rely on your physical senses at all because it’s an illusion that’s showing up as what you observed in the past, it literally has no meaning!

So…is this the void state?

No, the void state like every other “concept” is an illusion. The void state implies that it’s some kind of “state” that’s “within us” and we must reach through meditation. We ARE ALWAYS awareness, we already are IT. The “void state” implies that we need to “get into a state” to “manifest/reality shift instantly.” We always do everything instantly, the reason why things don’t “seem” instant is because we identify with our human bodies, human mind, and human eyes which are all illusions.

What about Self concept?

I know I always preached self concept, and while it’s not a bad thing and it is still beneficial if you still follow the law of assumption in nondualism you do not need to work on your self concept. We are all one consciousness/awareness/imagination therefore there’s no point in working on self concept because any other identification besides our truest Being is an illusion. Awareness/consciousness/imagination has no self concept because it has no body image, we already are everything and anything right now as one consciousness/awareness/imagination. All you need to do is let go of your identification with your human body, human mind, and human eyes and fully embrace Self as Awareness. Doze off and stare into space or close your eyes and focus on the blackness before your eyes, you know how everything seems to become still when you concentrate on either of these things? Okay that is who you truly are as awareness, because we are silence, so tell yourself: I am pure awareness, and I am letting go of my identification with my human body, human mind, and ego. You might feel a huge weight lifted off of your chest, or nothing! It’s okay either way because it’s who we truly are so it’s supposed to feel natural and neutral. You might get some push back from the ego which is okay just to remind yourself that your ego is an illusion. You just need to practise being in silence more and surrender to who you truly are with trust and you will notice major changes with Self. 

What about the 4D vs 3D and DRs?

There’s no such thing as a 3D (physical reality) vs 4D (nonphysical) reality or “DRs”- they are all inseparable because the only thing that exists is imagination which is self. We are imagination, so these “realities” stem from self, the 3D, 4D, and DRs are just the same thing which is imagination. I want to clarify that when I say we are “imagination” I am not talking about visualising, that is a method. Imagination are concepts and ideas, it is infinite and indescribable. The concept of realities in itself is an illusion-reality is like a Sims game, where we can instantly change anything and everything we want based on what we decide to become aware/conscious of, since all that exists is awareness/consciousness. The moment you want to “manifest” something and shift your awareness to having it already, the physical illusion reality does change instantly, we just don’t see it with our human eyes because we assume that there’s some kind of delay. When we let go of our human identity, human senses, and human body and begin to truly identify with Self (awareness/consciousness/imagination) we begin to realise that we never lacked anything because we are everything and anything we can imagine right now. Everything comes instantly because we understand it’s not current reality vs desired reality or 3D vs 4D but imagination vs imagination and time isn’t real. There never was a time delay or mirroring between the 3D vs 4D, it only exists because we were aware/conscious of it-they are the same exact thing which is just imagination-aka US because we are imagination.

How does this relate to Manifesting and Reality Shifting?

Okay, so first and foremost “manifesting” and “reality shifting” just like every other word are just an illusion. As pure consciousness/awareness/imagination we are everything and anything we can imagine right now. “Lacking” does not exist, you can never lack when you are imagination. Also, you do not “manifest” or “reality shift” all you are doing is changing your awareness as the observer. Since you already are everything and anything right now all you need to do is switch your awareness because you already are it/have it right now whatever you want to “manifest” and wherever you want to “reality shift.” Everything is like a Sims game that can be changed within an instant because everything is just imagination. All we ever are is pure consciousness/awareness therefore what manifests/reality shifts are what we are conscious/aware of. Truly if you wanted to you can turn yourself into a tree, cat, your idol, etc because everything and anything is SELF one consciousness and all an illusion. Thoughts, states, assumptions, feelings, doubts, “methods”, and intention are not what “manifests”/”reality shifts”-it’s what you are aware/conscious of that manifests/reality shifts. Here’s this simple formula of all you ever need to do in order to “manifest/reality shift” in the nondualism perspective:

Decide what you “want” to have. It’s as simple as saying to yourself: I have/I am at______

Become aware/conscious/observe (in other words just know)  that you already have it because you are imagination.

Don’t do anything else-you are everything and anything right now so therefore there’s no lacking or wanting because you already have it, just maintain your awareness/consciousness of having it/being there right now. You are your desires no matter what it is right now because you are imagination/consciousness/awareness, you are everything and anything right now.

Note: There is no reason to persist, for example since you have your phone on your hand do you keep telling yourself that you have your phone? No, you just are conscious/aware (know) you have your phone. You don’t constantly think about having your phone, you just know you have it. Since we are everything and anything, we already have our desires/we already are in our DRs right now and there’s nothing you need to persist on. Persisting implies lack because it seems like you are getting something, going back to the phone analogy when you naturally have it you don’t think about it often. As consciousness/awareness this is how you are supposed to view your desires you simply know you already have it. You can persist if you’re doing it with knowing that you already have what you want, and simply doing it as a reminder to maintain the fact that you already have what you want. You don’t persist to “get” something there’s nothing to “get” because you already have/are your desires. You persist to remind yourself that you already have/are what you want.

About the “time lag"

Time lags only exist because you have been taught that there’s a 3D and 4D and the 3D must mirror the 4D at all times and that it takes “time” for the 3D to catch up to your desires. The solution is stop identifying with your human body and human senses and begin to embody Self (consciousness/awareness/imagination) . Truly understand that there’s no separation of “3D and 4D” because the only thing that exists is YOU AS IMAGINATION! You are relying and identifying too much on the human physical senses, which is just an illusion. You will stop worrying about time because everything including time is an illusion and you will know that you already have everything and anything right now because you are everything and anything as imagination. Also, change your awareness/consciousness that time lag isn’t real whenever you become aware/conscious (or observe) of something you desire.  The past and future do not exist, there is only now. The past and future are concepts from the mind because think about it all we have is now, the past and future only occur when we think about it and the human mind is an illusion too. Whatever you are aware of right now, no matter what the physical senses show you because it’s all an illusion is what is true because you have brought awareness to it and time isn’t real. When you truly KNOW who you are as awareness/imagination/consciousness and let go fully of the illusion of human identification things will begin to seem “instant.” You will not care about what the physical senses show you because you will truly know and understand that as one awareness, we already are/have everything and anything we can imagine because all that exists is SELF, US, IMAGINATION! 

Questions I will not answer

If you ask any of these questions it shows me you haven’t read my guide and I will be mean 😊

Is it the void state?

How do I become aware of something?

How do I manifest/reality shift? 

Conclusion

Even words such as nondualism, consciousness/awareness/imagination, silence, and observer are limiting and illusions to who we truly are. They’re the closest things to conceptualising and describing who we are but even then paradoxically it’s all an illusion. We are beyond such words and descriptions, we are indescribable. We are every-thing, anything, and no-thing at the same time: we are Self, one imagination/consciousness/awareness. There are no 3D vs 4D or DRs, there's just imagination which is just US and time lags do not exist unless we are aware of them. Everything including our human bodies and human senses are just an illusion so when it comes to “manifesting”/”reality shifting” it isn’t current reality vs dream reality it is imagination vs imagination. What “manifests”/”reality shifts” is what we are aware/conscious of, not our thoughts, states, assumptions, laws, etc because all we are is pure consciousness/awareness.

[roseykat]

KINKTOBER DAY 1

Title: Same coin, different faces

PAIRING: Bang Chan x Reader

WARNING: minors DNI with this post or my blog. I create NSFW SKZ related content and I know I won’t be able to regulate/monitor every single potential interaction with those posts so please do not engage with my work and page whatsoever.

SUMMARY: Despite not being together with Chan anymore, you somehow end up in the back of his car...fogging up the windows.

TAGS: pre-established breakup trope, swearing, a dash of angst but also a hint of resolve, mentions of alcohol (neither the reader nor Chan is drunk), a bit of manhandling by both parties, oral sex (reader receiving), car sex, unprotected, sort of hate/rough sex. 

MASTERLIST - KINKTOBER LIST

(This is currently unedited but I will be proofing it later on)

It wasn’t as fun as you had hoped it to be, a party that is. Given it was the end of the semester, people usually prefer to go all out - which they did, but you weren’t feeling it. There were far too many people off of their faces, including your entire friend group that you showed up with.

Two of them were playing drinking games in the kitchen, one of them - Minho, who had completely disappeared for the past few hours, and another one who had found himself someone to hook up with. 

In the end, you were on your own for the remainder of the party. After having found a way into the lounge through the masses of people attending and remained on the couch, watching those around you for a while, you decided to get back up and grab a drink. There wasn’t an entire selection to choose from; either warm beer or cheap wine, which you grab from the latter and pour some in a plastic cup to try and fit in with everyone else. 

The briny taste of the wine was enough to make you think that maybe it was time to go home. It wasn’t fun, interesting, nor a good way to spend your time on a Friday night. Before being able to make the decision to leave, you find yourself planted on the ground when your eyes catch onto a familiar figure amongst the people. 

Chan. Your ex-boyfriend - your ex-best friend at that too. 

It was a surprise to see him given that he isn’t really a party goer, but also a surprise to see him in general after the pair of you went through such a tumultuous breakup a month ago. Things just didn’t work out the way they were supposed to which was unfortunate because Chan is one of a kind.

There isn’t anybody like him that exists in this world. He’s gentle, caring, and has a bottomless well of love to give. Now that you’re not together anymore, you know that whoever he ends up with in the future is well taken care of. 

“Hi,” Chan says, walking up to you. 

“Hey,” you respond back, unsure of how to actually talk to him now. “What are you doing here?” 

Chan sighs, looking at the screen of his phone momentarily then turning his attention back to you, “trying to find Minho. I’m here to pick him up, but I can’t find him. Is he here?”

“I haven’t seen him for the past couple of hours,” you answer. “I highly doubt he’s actually here still.”

He sighs and rolls his eyes, “course he’s not.”

“He probably went to Jisung’s at some point,” you add.

“Yeah, that makes sense,” he replies before his eyes peer down at the plastic cup. “Drinking? That’s not like you.” 

“It’s the end of the semester,” you say in your own defence. “I was trying to finish off strong.”

“Right. Have you got a ride home then?” 

Your eyes dart beyond Chan to ‘your ride home’ who has probably now consumed half of his body weight in alcohol. Chan catches your gaze, turns around and sees Seungmin throwing back another shot with a couple of strangers, presumably his classmates.

Chan sighs once more and faces you again, “don’t tell me he was supposed to sober drive.” 

“He won’t be now,” you respond. 

“Okay well, I can drop you off. Minho’s not replying and he’s probably not here, plus I’m getting tired,” he offers. 

You ponder for a moment. Since Chan had come up to you, you hadn’t felt that sting of pain that a breakup usually induces. Not since the day you both called it quits on the relationship. But that’s only because things were never awkward with him. It’s only until now that you realise how depleting life has been without him. It’s not colourful anymore. 

It’s an issue because you don’t want to be reminded of what you don’t have anymore. Sometimes, the best things can be the worst for us. 

“It’s okay, thank you though,” you decline respectfully. “I might tell the others to get ready to head off.” 

“And who’s going to drive them? You?” He asks with a brow raised then shakes his head with disapproval. “You’ve been drinking.”

“Not that much,” you retort. “I’m not even tipsy, plus I don’t want to leave them behind.”

“Seems like they left you behind,” Chan points out a very good point which you find hard to not be in denial about. 

He takes the plastic cup out of your hand and places it on the nearest surface cluttered with other discarded items. He then returns back to you to gently take hold of your wrist and leads you out of the lounge full of people. 

“Wait-”

“I’m not letting you drive under the influence, end of story,” he decides. 

With that matter in hand, you’re quickly reminded that Chan has always had a strong head on his shoulders and his morals are very clear cut. He held reasonably strong opinions on doing unnecessarily dangerous things, particularly when it comes to you. It happened to be one of the poisonous factors that pierced the final dagger into the relationship. 

The cold air then hits you when you both make it out into the front yard. 

“I can walk thank you,” you say to Chan who forgets that he’s still holding your wrist. He looks down at his hand and releases. 

“Sorry,” he apologises. “Car’s this way.”

He leads you once more just across the street to the vehicle while you think about the fact that you never actually agreed you were going to accept his offer to take you home. In saying that, there was no other alternative other than walking which Chan wouldn’t have put up with anyway. 

The pair of you hop in his car, finally able to catch a break from the blaring music that was blasting throughout the house. After both of your seatbelts are on, Chan starts the car and drives away down the street. 

It’s not long until silence falls quickly. Things had never been this terribly awkward between you both, but there had been pockets of quietness which used to be comfortable to sit in. Now you can see that it’s not as nice. 

“So what have you been up to these days?” Chan asks out of the blue, breaking that silence. 

“Nothing interesting I guess,” you answer blandly. “Just studies and that’s it.” 

He nods, “how’s that going so far?”

“Fine, I suppose.”

Chan lets out a small huff, “you know, it’s still okay for us to talk right? We don’t need to be so hostile.”

The glow of your phone from your lap catches your attention away from his comment. You blink down at the screen and read a text from Felix. 

Lix: ‘Saw you leave with Chan. Please tell me you’re both back on.’ 

You roll your eyes. You love Felix, but sometimes he can be too optimistic. There wasn’t any way you and Chan were going to find your way back to each other. If anything, it wouldn’t be the same anymore. 

“I wasn’t being hostile, plus there’s not much to my answer anyway unless you want me to lie?” You respond back.

“No, I don’t want you to lie,” Chan adjusts his tight grip on the steering wheel. “But you speaking just proves my point on why we shouldn’t act like that.” 

You turn your head, shooting him a well-deserved glare. This isn’t usually how Chan acts. He never says backhanded things as such even though he can be relatively blunt. Whatever subtle malice was behind his words obviously came from the same place that helped the relationship tear apart. 

“This is why we never worked out because you always had to have some degree of control,” you scoff, ignoring the fact that you’ve now doused the flicker of the argument with petrol.

“I was only doing what I though was safest for you,” Chan argues back strongly. “It was never about having any type of control, it was because you couldn’t see what the consequences were.” 

“Then why couldn’t you have let me figure it out for myself? How else am I supposed to learn, when you’re not here anymore?” 

“You, driving drunk isn’t something that you just learn not to do. You don’t do it, full stop. Anyone with common sense knows that,” Chan bites back. 

“I’m not even talking about that! When have I ever driven drunk? Now you’re just fucking reaching for things! All I’m saying is that it didn’t matter how much time I spent with you, I never got to be my own person. It was like I was turning into another ‘you’.”

Chan shrugs, “in comparison to what you can be like sometimes, I honestly don’t think that’s so much of a bad thing.” 

The last nerve inside you, had been struck.

“Stop the car, I’m getting out.” 

“No, we’re nearly at your h-”

“I don’t care Chris, I seriously don’t want to be anywhere near you right now,” you cut him off sharply, not wanting to hear another word come out of his mouth. 

Chan looks over at you, absorbing how painfully angry you look right now and the fact that your hand is on the door handle, ready to bolt as soon as he pulls over. It was fairly obvious because once he did, you were out of the vehicle before he could say anything more. But as fast as you are out the door, Chan is already on the other side to meet you. 

“Don’t go home angry,” he says urgently. 

You shoot him a dirty look, thinking who the hell is he to tell you what to do, “or what?”

“Well can we at least talk then?” He questions, trying to grasp onto some common ground here. 

With as much force as you can muster, your arms come up to shove Chan by the chest, “fuck you.”

He stumbles back a few steps and is not as nearly as surprised as you are by your own behaviour. Never has anyone elicited as much of a reaction from you until now. The shock has you to the point where you can barely assemble an apology to Chan. Even so when he comes back forward, grabbing you by the sides of your arms, and shoving you right back against his own car. 

Before either of you say another word, his mouth crashes straight against yours. His swift hands are quickly groping and roaming in every place around your body that he can reach while you submit to his moves. You’ve forgotten how electrifying Chan can be at times when it comes to intimacy, that you really start to feel it when he slides his knee in between your thighs. 

You gasp against his lips, yelping almost when his hands reach behind you to squeeze your ass and to try to bring your body as impossibly close to his as he can. For a split second, you break away to consolidate what is happening. Chan remains latched onto you, his mouth now working its way to your jaw and down to your throat, sucking and biting into your skin. 

Neither of you care about whether or not he’s going to mark you up. All you care about at this point in time, is the hope that he’s going to fuck you. 

“The door…open the door,” you mumble to him, even though you’re trying to find the handle yourself. 

Even with the unshakeable frame of mind that he’s in right now, Chan listens to you. He pulls you forward with him so that he can yank the backdoor open. You hop onto the seat, pushing yourself backwards to the other side of the car to create room for him to join you. But Chan had his own idea planted already. 

He grabs you by the ankles and pulls you right back to the edge of the seat closest to him. His hands take pride in reaching underneath your skirt and tearing your underwear down your legs. 

He doesn’t even get the opportunity to fully take them off as they dangle on one leg. In saying that, it doesn’t take you very long to click onto what he wants to do. So you help him by doing your best to hike your skirt further up your thighs. Chan decides to take a few seconds to appreciate being able to relive this moment once more by using his thumb to swipe over your wet slit, collecting your juices only to bring it up to his mouth and suck it right off. 

“Fucking missed this,” he speaks for the first time in about five minutes before lifting both of your legs and separating them for his head to slot in perfectly between. 

The fan of his hot breath washes over your skin, already making your squirm forward towards his mouth. It’s been a long time since someone had touched you and Chan could tell. He knows how needy you can be, but not when you’re like this. Not when you’re straining to reach for the back of his head to pull him closer to your pussy. Not when you’re already moaning when he’s barely touched you.

Not when you’re wetter than what he usually thinks you are.

“Y-Yes…right there,” you sigh out and lie back down, waiting eagerly. 

One of your hands threads through his dark hair and tugs every time he sucks on your clit. Shivers of pleasure reverberate throughout your body, already making your legs tremble on his shoulders. If anyone were to drive past, you know you and Chan would get done for public indecency. Except that devious consequence became an elicit far away thought drowned out by your own moans the more Chan continued to eat you out. 

The best thing about it is that he’s not going easy on you. He’s being deceptively rough by digging his nails into your thighs and showing zero remorse when he relentlessly licks over that same sweet spot. The more work he puts into trying to make you cum, the harder he gets in his pants, straining at this point.

“P-Please Chan, hurry,” you cry out, trying to sit up and slide down further into his mouth. “Need to cum, please.”

When your begging and moaning become increasingly louder and more frequent, Chan knows you’re on the cusp of an orgasm. However, as much as he used to enjoy you cumming on his face, the idea of you cumming on his cock is just as good, if not better. So just as you’re about to tip over the edge, Chan pulls back. 

You blink in amongst the haziness of what was about to be a mind shattering orgasm to see Chan who’s head had lifted up from in between your legs. His mouth and chin were covered in your juices, and is completely unashamed about it. 

“You can just fucking wait,” he snaps and begins to adjust your legs so that he makes sure they cage his body at his sides, that way he can grab onto your thighs and fuck you hard and steady. 

Although you can barely see, you hear the zipper to his pants open before he takes out his cock, hard and ready to put it to use on you. You bite down on your bottom lip when Chan uses his tip to tease your entrance. He pushes his hips forward, enough to make his cock slide up and in between your pussy. 

Chan’s shaky hand manages to get a proper hold around his dick, aligning it with your wet hole, and slowly pushes in as the heat begins to encapsulate around his length. The top half of his body nearly falters forward if it weren’t for his hips that thrust forward first. 

“Chris…” you mutter in an aspirated voice, feeling the fullness of his cock stretch you out.  

There is no forewarning for the strength he has behind each buck of his hips. It takes you back to times before during your relationship and how deliciously memorable the sex always was. Chan’s main priority was to always make you cum first and regardless of his own needs and pleasure. Whether you misbehaved or were being an outright undeserving brat in bed, even then he would still let you cum. That’s how much he loved you. 

“Nobody can ever fuck you the way I do,” Chan grits his teeth, his eyes watching his cock disappear inside of you each time he rams forward, hard and fast. 

Every second that goes by, you’re grappling more and more onto your last threads of sanity. It’s hard to keep up and absorb Chris’s stamina and pace - a relentless and unapologetic pace that hits the same spot inside you over and over again until that build up of pleasure starts spreading around your lower abdomen. 

“Make me feel…so good,” you mumble incoherently. “Gonna make me cum.” 

It’s been a long time since Chan has heard you say those words - hell, even heard you moan at the very least. It’s enough to keep his pace steady but he’s very wary of the fact that he himself is already near the edge of an orgasm too. Nonetheless, he’s determined to get you there first once more. 

So Chan lets go of one of your legs at his side so that he can use his thumb to now rub fast circles over your clit. Your hands grip at the hem of your skirt, back arching as you start submitting to the crest of intense pleasure Chan has built up for you. Then within seconds, Chan has you cumming hard around his cock, shuddering, and straining his name out of your mouth as it rings throughout his car. 

“Fuck, baby…” he groans as his head tips back before he starts spilling white inside of you. 

His hips stutter finally, gently slowing down to a leisurely pace while he drowns in the afterglow from one of the most transcendent orgasms he’s ever had. He gives you both time to come down before he carefully slides out of you. It takes you a while to fully fathom what just happened, but you allow yourself to think about it. Whatever it is, it’s not regret. There’s a longing feeling there, a borderline sense of relief. 

Once Chan is decent, he helps you slide your underwear back on even though you’re both fully aware of the fact that he just came inside you. It’s not like either of you were prepared for this to happen. In saying that, Chan gently takes hold of both your hands and gets you to sit up.

“You okay?” he questions, using his finger to hook some of your messed hair out of your face. 

You nod, “yes. You?” 

“I’ve been worse,” he answers, making you smile. “I’m really sorry for what I said earlier.” 

You shake your head, “I’m sorry as well for being so stubborn. I figured that the more hostile I am towards you, the more I push myself away so that I don’t have to deal with any feelings from before.” 

Chan completely gets it, “I know. I thought I could do the same, but it seems that I’m too nice.”

You roll your eyes, “you’ve had your moments.” 

“I definitely have,” he replies. “Anyway, we should go in case anybody just saw that.” 

A bashful sense of embarrassment washes over you. It’s been minutes before you realised that you just fucked your ex. But even so, it doesn’t really feel that way. It’s just Chan, someone who you still have a lot of love for. 

“You can stay at mine, it’s late,” you suggest to him. 

Chan smiles softly, “as if I’m going to say no.”

-

A/N: Yes, I am a day late already to Kinktober - I just realised bc my dumb ass was trying to figure out time zones and when would be the best time to upload for people bc I’m quite some hours ahead from other countries. So I’ll just stick to my time zone, that way you’ll get my works a few hours earlier x

KINKTOBER TAGLIST: @mal-lunar-28 @fairy-lixie @dreamingaboutjisung @lizzetmv @luneskies 🩷🩷

[zombie-bait]

There's so much to love about ep 5 but one thing I really enjoy is that flashback Daniel feels like a boy. The Boy. Like yeah, Luke Brandon Field is in his 30s, he's very much a fully grown man, but during the scenes with Armand, especially the "quiet you've been longing for" one, you really get this sense that he is young, he is frightened, he fucked up and he just wants this to be over. He's a coked up college kid who wanted a story, maybe a fun time and followed the wrong person home. Either his life is over or it'll never be the same again.

And it seeps over into modern day Daniel. You get these brief glimpses, these moments where he is once again the frightened young man in that apartment building, except now he has to face the fact that the worst night in his life was actually several and he never managed to properly escape it. You see it in the way he reads the quote from his book, the realization that the man he is now may only exist because of the kindness and cruelty Louis and Armand showed him. That words he's had seared in his brain for all his life, words that have kept him going when everything got fucked up over and over again were planted there by Louis. There's a reason why he showed up to finish the interview after all those years. It all comes back to them, that night, that apartment, that boy.