#unproofread! unedited!!

[silverskye13]

Etho looks down quietly at his basket, making sure everything he needs is inside. He knows it is best to only make one trip down to the water. The water is treacherous. He is strong enough to withstand it, but of course, everyone who ever drowned thinks they're strong enough until their lungs are bursting. So. He double checks. He makes sure.

He has a week's worth of laundry. Some dishes he needs sand from the river to scour. A bucket, so he won't have to make this trip for another few days. There are a few pieces of leather armor in need of a quick rinse before they're polished. Also, he's thirsty. He tries not to drink his rain water. He needs it to last.

Finally, Etho belts on his sword, hefts the basket over one shoulder, and the empty bucket with his free hand. He looks to the short path that leads down to the dock. The water is blue as the diamond sky above, edged in gold from the slowly gathering sunset. Birds are singing. Breeze whispers through the willow branches and cattails. Across the river, a small herd of deer is moving through the rushes. One breaks apart from the others to drink. Etho sighs out a long breath, steels himself, and walks down the trail.

The water is cursed. Very few people still come to the river for chores. Most only dare to run down for a few buckets of water when the well is running dry.

_____

When Tango saw him gathering his things earlier, he'd shaken his head and made a warding gesture with his hand. Protection. For himself. For Etho. Or just to ward away the idea of evil.

"Scream, I guess," Tango had told him. "I doubt we'll make it in time, but yanno, we'll know what happened."

Etho had only offered a tense smile behind his mask. Everyone would know what happened, scream or not.

"I'll be fine," Etho said. "I've been fine before."

He said it a lot more confidently than he felt, and Tango wasn't reassured. Tango had a good nose for things like that. He sniffed the air, and made the chagrined expression of someone who could smell a coming thunderstorm.

"Yeah. Sure." Tango sniffed again, and then tapped the side of his nose with a knowing finger. "On second thought, maybe save your breath."

_____

Etho walks out onto the dock, his footsteps silent as he can make them. He took his boots off by the dock's edge. They're heavy when they're wet. He sets the basket down gently on the aged wood. He fills the bucket first. In the neat and tidy plan of his habits, he thinks the bucket is the one he least wants to be left last with. It's heavy and cumbersome, and requires leaning over the water's edge. So he fills it, trying to disturb the water as little as possible, and pads back to his boots to set it down gently beside them. Then he's back to his basket, and getting to the louder work, what he know will attract attention.

He grabs a shirt and dunks it into the water, wringing it out a few times before scrubbing it against the dock's edge. Someone nailed a washboard here, probably to make it easier for everyone else who needed to scrub up -- one less cumbersome thing to drag to the riverside. Beside it, Etho can see long scratches in the wood, vanishing off the side. He has large hands, so they don't line up to him, but the unmistakable look of nails scratching, clinging, is recognizable even still. He wonders idly who made them. Probably someone playing, before the water was cursed. Or an animal that swam across the bank and needed help scurrying out.

He is tempted to think it's something more sinister, but he knows better.

The water turns from diamond blue to sunflower yellow, then to blazing orange with rusted and bleeding edges. The herd of deer on the other side of the water wanders off, sated. A fox calls in the wood somewhere, an uncanny, very human scream. The bird calls twitter into silence, replaced by chirping frogsong. Etho wrings out the last of his clothes and wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. He checks how far the sun has dipped in the sky, and decides he has an our yet before dark settles in.

With his clothes washed, he sets them back in the basket, neatly folded. They'll wrinkle probably, but when he puts them out on the line, the wind will straighten them out. His knees are sore from kneeling, his back from leaning. His armor will be easier to clean if he can settle in, brace it on his crossed legs.

Etho looks around the water, at the deceptive stillness. It's a slow, lazy river, hardly pushing the water fast enough to put ripples on it. There is one place near the opposite bank where a long shadow stretches from a stone, broken by the reflection of red sunset. It's the kind of image he would expect to see on a lake on a windless day. He's heard before that quiet rivers make for deadly waters, that there is a current in holes in the riverbed that will devour someone.

But Etho isn't in the water. He's on the dock, and the dock is safe. Nothing will drag him off it. Nothing in the water is strong enough. It doesn't have to be. There is some comfort in that, in knowing he can't be devoured against his will. It is why he still comes to the river. It is why he dares. Etho sits back and crosses his legs, bracing his leathers against his knees. He scoops a palm full of water onto them and scrubs, trying to get blood out of the small cracks where it will settle and rot. His chainmail is back at the fort up the hill, where its heaviness can't encumber him. It cleans itself reasonably well, all the links clattering together, just so long as he doesn't roll in any mud.

There is shuffling on the dock behind him, the creaking of old wood. Etho tilts his head, breathes in deeply through his nose. His pulse doesn't quicken. After a momentary pause, he resumes his work.

"Hey BDubs," he says conversationally. "Trying to sneak up on me?"

"Wh-- no. Of course not." There is mischief in BDub's answer, a grin in his voice. "The great Etho? Never. You probably heard me coming from a mile away."

"Maybe not a mile," Etho chuckles humbly. "You going to join me?"

"Well, I don't know," BDubs laughs, leaning over Etho's shoulder. "Is it safe?"

"I don't know why it wouldn't be."

"Water's cursed," BDubs reminds him. "There could be boogiemen about."

"You trying to tell me something BDubs?" Etho asks slyly, peering up at his friend.

"What? No of course not," BDubs laughs. He sits beside Etho, plunging his bare feet into the water beside the dock. "Even if I was, you know me Etho. You? Kill you? You'd kill me first."

"I don't know about that," Etho hums, splashing another palm full of water on a buckle clasp and scrubbing at a rusted stain with his thumb. "You made pretty efficient work of Grian."

"Grian had it coming," BDubs shrugs. "Got too caught up listening to the music."

Etho chuckles. "The music was very good."

BDubs kicks his feet in the water, humming the tune momentarily under his breath. It's a haunting sound, not really meant to be sung. Not by anything human. Etho shudders in spite of himself.

"Man, don't do that."

"Sorry! Haha! Sorry. Couldn't help it," BDubs grins a gap-tooth smile in Etho's direction, his eyes bright and gilded by the setting sun. "It's probably one of the coolest kills I've ever gotten."

"I'll make sure Tango knows you said that."

"Oh, Tango's fine." Bdubs waves a hand dismissively. "He's just upset 'cause I scared him."

"You did more than just scare him."

Dark room. Dark water. Tango screaming and running, scrabbling at the walls with his nails. If they ever went back to that little cave, Etho wondered if there would be marks on the walls like the docks, played, desperate fingers, digging.

"Well he's alive, isn't he?"

"I guess he is."

"Then he should get over it!"

Etho shakes his head, laughing. BDubs' voice is over-loud on the quiet lake, but its a good sound. Full of intensity and joy, and revelry. It made the silence between his words stark and empty, and Etho was always loathe to fill it.

Bdubs suddenly wraps an arm around Etho's shoulders, pulling him into a conspiratorial embrace. "Hey, I've been meaning to talk to you, by the way."

Etho suddenly has goosebumps on his neck, his spine, his arms. BDubs' arm is cold against his shoulders. He smells of bracken and standing water, and his eyes are bright as sunset. Etho takes a long, slow breath in and holds it for a moment.

"Uh... Yeah, BDubs?"

"I've got a plan, you know, for the others," Bdubs continues, his voice dropping to something near a whisper. There is something on the edge of his tone like the ringing of bells. Excitement. Thrill. Hunger. "But I'll need some help. I mean, I'm good at redstone, you know 'ol BDubs knows his stuff. But I need an expert. Someone good at traps."

"You know you've always got me Bdubs," Etho laughs, and it is hard to keep the nervousness from his voice. He's not sure he succeeds. "I'm happy to help. Just uh--" He shrugs his shoulders, and BDubs' arm falls away. "You know. Keep your distance."

"You're not scared of me, are you Etho?" Bdubs laughs, and it's loud and boisterous, and perfect. It echoes off the water like glass. Bells and ringing. He gives Etho a prideful, knowing look. "No, you're not scared of little 'ol BDubs. I know what you're scared of."

BDubs suddenly turns and slips into the water. Not all the way. His hands are still clinging to the wood, his elbows resting on the dock like it was a pool side. But the splash hits Etho's side and makes him shudder so hard, he drops the armor he'd been polishing. In a flash he's on his feet, backing away two, three steps. His movements feel too slow and heavy, and there's an instant of panic in him.

"Woah man!" Etho snaps, startled. He reaches for something, anything-- "I said keep your--!"

But BDubs is laughing, kicking his feet, stirring up the mud at the bottom of the river. "Oh come on Etho. It's water."

Etho takes three long breaths, filling his lungs to bursting before pushing the air out again heavy through his nose.

"You're fine you big baby," BDubs grins, resting his head on his crossed arms. His legs stop kicking, stop stirring up the mud, and Etho can see the water is shallow enough that he's standing on the bottom. He'd thought-- he'd thought-- "You'd think I tried to drown you, jeez."

He thought it was deeper.

Etho held his breath for a moment, counted slowly. He wanted to reach his hand to his neck, to check his pulse. To see how fast his heart was beating. He moved his hand to, and at a mocking glance from his friend, decides instead to stoop to pick up his dropped armor. He walks carefully to his basket and places it inside.

"Why'd you come down here, anyway?" BDubs asks. "If you're so scared, I mean."

"You know me, BDubs. I always come back," Etho answers, almost a reflex. A rehearsed answer. "Who else would I go to?"

"Tango and Skizz?"

"They won't keep me safe like you will." Etho points out. He shudders again, the cold from BDub's touch had seeped into him more than he thought it had. He's acclimating though, like jumping into a pool. It's a cold that seeps out of him, warms as it settles. "It's me and you to the end, right buddy?"

"Of course Etho. I'd never betray you."

Etho looks through his things one last time, then frowns. He turns the basket with his foot. He glances at BDubs, who still watches him from the water's edge. Then he takes a chance and crouches down beside his basket, rifling through with both hands.

"Lose something?" BDubs asks, standing on his tiptoes to get a better look.

Etho looks around, checking first the dock, and then the water beyond. In the deeper water over the side, he sees the flash of a buckle in the dying rays of the sun.

"Oh, huh," BDubs hums disinterestedly. "Guess you'll have to get that."

"BDubs," Etho scowls.

"Fine! Fine. I get it. You don't wanna get wet." BDubs puts up his hands, as though surrendering. "The water really isn't all that bad." He offers Etho a quick little salute. "Be right back."

He takes an exaggerated breath and splashes beneath the dock, stirring up mud and river plants. He breaks the water's surface shortly after, holding up the fallen armor piece triumphantly. "Ta-da! Hold your applause. I know I'm great."

Etho, in spite of himself, chuckles. He shivers again -- the evening is getting cold -- and reaches a hand out. BDubs places the buckle in his hand, then reaches his other hand up to clasp Etho's gently. It's awkward and off-balance, Etho leaning precariously over the side of the dock, and BDubs on his tip-toes, holding him in place. It isn't a hard grasp. At any moment, Etho can take his hand away. He has always been stronger than BDubs.

"Hey, Etho, I really have missed you, man," BDubs says, smiling fondly, his voice soft. It isn't a whisper. It simply isn't loud and brash like he normally is. Heartfelt. The kind of tone that beckons, that wants to be listened to. "I mean-- I've missed us doing things together. It reminds me of the good 'ol days, you know? NHO and Mindcrack. We make a good team."

"We do," Etho agrees. He takes a long, slow breath. He shivers.

He frowns.

Etho pulls his hand out of BDubs, and BDubs offers no resistance. Etho looks down at his hand, at the wrinkled, waterlogged skin. He rubs his thumb across his forefingers, feeling the odd texture, grounding himself on it. Etho takes a deep breath in, lets it out again slowly.

"How long have I been in the water, BDubs?" Etho whispers.

Etho is still holding the belt buckle in one hand, still looking down at the wrinkled fingers of his other. BDubs is still in front of him, only his head and shoulders above the water. Etho looks back over his shoulder. The dock is startlingly far away, the basket sitting on the very edge. Beyond it, his boots and water bucket are sitting in the grass beside rushes and willow branches.

"Does it matter?" BDubs asks, smiling gently.

Etho takes a long, deep breath through his nose.

"Oh, don't be scared," BDubs says, moving silently closer. He reaches out his hands and grasps Etho's arms, a gentle touch, reassuring. A friend trying to assuage fear. His eyes are blazing red and orange with the setting sun, but the sky is black and salted with stars. "I didn't drag you down here, Etho. You came to me, remember?"

"BDubs--"

"You know I'd never betray you," BDubs continues, taking a slow step backwards. He pulls Etho with him, and Etho, by habit and familiarity, takes a step forward. The allure of BDubs' voice tilts his vision. He's on the dock, holding the buckle that fell in the water, and BDubs is clasping his hands, and the sun is setting. The water is up to his chest, and the world is dark star-filled, and BDubs is taking another step backwards, and Etho is following. "I could have betrayed you day one, and I didn't. I'm just asking for your help, Etho. You and me together, right?"

"BDubs--"

"It's the deep water, isn't it?" BDubs croons, like he's speaking to a child. "The deep water scares you? It's okay. You're fine."

Etho is fine. His breathing is slow, his heartbeat even. He wants to be scared. He should be scared. But BDubs is his friend.

BDubs reaches up to Etho's neck, not to strangle or to threaten, but to gently cup his hands around him. He pulls gently on Etho, not to drag Etho down, but to raise himself up, so they're nearly eye to eye. Etho feels water around his shoulders, and shivers.

"It's okay," BDubs says. "I would never hurt you, I promise. We don't have to go any deeper." His voice even and calm, inexorable. Etho's pulse doesn't quicken when he says, "You know how many people drown in shallow water? It's easy. I'll be with you the whole time."

The water is around Etho's neck, and BDubs is above him just slightly. One hand raises slowly to the back of Etho's head, fingers gently tangling in his hair. It is the caress of someone who cares for him deeply, someone who wants him to stay. The feeling is wholly dissonant from the words being spoken. Water? Drowning? How could someone who loves him so much drown him?

"You want to stay with me, right?" BDubs asks. "You and me together, we'd be unstoppable, Etho. The best duo the Life Series has ever seen."

BDub's hand on Etho's neck moves just slightly, the thumb pulling around to rest on his adam's apple. The hand in his hair clenches just a little. A warning. "You're not thinking about betraying me, are you?"

Etho shivers again. He wants to be afraid.

"You know, Grian said some things before he drowned," BDubs's hand on his neck tightened just a little. Etho could feel his pulse against BDub's thumb, finally, finally beginning to quicken. "He said you were a survivor. He said you'd leave me -- heh -- high and dry. You wouldn't do that, would you, Etho?"

Etho's pulse quickened more. There was a cold numbness in his limbs that he hadn't even noticed gathering, and his sluggishly awakening panic pushed it from him.

"BDubs," Etho said, his voice small and hoarse in his throat, "let me go."

"Etho..." BDubs said warningly.

"Let me go!" Etho shouted, planting his hands on BDub's chest and shoving backwards away. What he felt, in that brief second, was neither skin nor flesh, nor the softness of fabric. He felt tangled river weeds, and fish scales, slimy and cold against his skin. The cursed thing that looked like BDubs but wasn't, released Etho spitefully. His claws tore from Etho's neck, scraped along the back of his head to come free with pale strands of his hair. Suddenly there were arms around him, and Etho screamed and thrashed as he was dragged.

"I've got you dude! I've got you!"

It was Skizz, his voice a thunderous bellow in Etho's ear, his arms feverishly hot against him where they clamped like vices around his waist. Skizz dragged Etho from the water like he weighed nothing. Etho got his feet underneath himself and clung to Skizz, staggering out of the water as quick as he could. He heard feet pounding on the dock, and glanced over to watch Tango sprint across the wood. He stooped, grabbed up Etho's basket, and sprinted back with it, the reaching, clawed hand of the thing that looked like BDubs snapping for his ankles and missing.

"I got him!" Skizz shouted to Tango, scrambling onto the grass, refusing to let Etho go until they were well up the path. "Did you see how close he was?!"

"Yeah I saw!" Tango snapped, choking on his own fear, gulping in air and coughing it back out again. "It tried to drag me in!"

"Oh my god, are you okay dude?" Skizz demanded, and, when Tango nodded, he turned back to Etho. "Are you okay? I didn't see you go under. Can you breathe?"

Etho, who had collapsed into the grass the moment Skizz released him, lay there gasping like a hooked fish. He shivered, pale and cold from how long he spent in the water-- how long had he been in the water. He could still feel the thing's burning claws in streaks across his neck, and a tickling of blood at the back of his head.

"Etho?"

"I'm okay," Etho gasped, "I'm sorry I just-- I needed-- I wanted--"

"I know what you wanted!" Tango snapped angrily, the anger of someone who had risked his life. The anger of someone who thought a friend of his was dead, or dying. "But it's not him, Etho."

"It sounds like him," Etho whispered. He threw an arm over his eyes and shivered again. "It sounds like him, though."

"I know it does buddy, I know," Skizz said, his voice full of sympathy and pity. He waited with mountainous patience as Etho pulled himself together, and then helped Etho stand.

Together, they walked back to the fort.

Behind them, something cursed and hungry in the dark water, sang, and its voice was sweet and familiar.

[path777]

다른 생각 말고 (don’t think of anything else): from fantasy - iiso. as i said nipple piercing jeonghan needy whimpering desperate mewling all of that okay strap in 1.2k

-

“thank you for your hard work!” jeonghan is glowing as always, a professional smile hung on his lips. but it’s late, he’s tired, and you can tell. this variety show has just wrapped up taping, and your eyes follow him as he bows to the staff he passes by, ducking into the dressing rooms to get ready to leave. 

you stand outside, waiting. the evening is cold but you welcome the chill—it’s a nice difference from the stuffy, crowded warmth inside. 

[윤정한]

9:38 PM jeonghan-ssi 

9:38 PM the car is outside whenever you’re ready

9:51 PM it’s cold ㅠ

thirteen minutes isn’t a lot, all things considered. but knowing jeonghan…he’s usually in a hurry to go home, you think. so what was taking him so long? you check your phone one last time, just to make sure—still nothing. you apologize quickly to the staff driving, walking inside at a speed which can only be called brisk, making a beeline for the dressing room that he had been using. 

thirteen minutes wasn’t a lot—you should’ve waited longer. you should’ve come in sooner. or maybe you should’ve knocked. either way, you catch him putting on his jacket over a thin, white undershirt; as his…something, you swallow, unsure where to put your gaze. as his manager, you ask, “are those piercings?” 

you walk towards him, boots thumping loud on the floor with every step. you grab the front of his jacket, tugging it open. just as you thought—on either side of the faint outline of his nipples, two little bumps. 

“yoon jeonghan. what-” you start, his full name slipping out of your mouth, though you had really only been working for him for a couple of months. regardless you shouldn’t anyway, whether it be six months for six years, boundaries are important, and so are manners—

you notice that he’s been strangely silent. looking up at him finally, you sense something different about him; you decide to hold off on the piercing question. “what’s wrong?”

“hm?” he says, staring at you. he doesn’t seem to be looking though; it’s just a place to land his eyes. you feel overly aware of the rise and fall of his chest, virtually silent but crashingly loud to your ears, and his hands, all of a sudden, on your hips. “nothing.”

jeonghan doesn’t notice. he gets like this when he’s tired, a little softer, and more suggestible. easy might be another word for it. you try not to pay too much attention to his hands, hot over your clothed skin. “when did you get them done?” you ask, tilting your head in inspection. you don’t recall seeing them before, but then again, you can’t say you’ve paid much attention to his chest. that would change after today, of course. “also, what are you still doing here? don’t you want to go home? how about let’s talk about this in the car,” you turn away and start to head for the door, the tension in the air too heavy for you to breathe comfortably. 

jeonghan grabs your wrist; you turn back.

“like them?”

“sorry?”

his hand tightens around your wrist, just barely. “do you like them—the piercings,” he says. he drops his hand to his side, and for a second you breathe out a sigh of relief. but it’s too soon; he takes the hem of his shirt and pulls it upwards over his head. 

“jeonghan-ssi, what are you doing—” you say, your voice jumping an octave without meaning to. the shirt is in his hand, at his side. the first thing you notice is that he’s pale; the second thing you notice is that he’s thin. your gaze trails down, from the lines of his collarbones down to the angles of his hipbones, disappearing into his pants. finally, your eyes land on what he wanted to show you in the first place. 

his nipples are pale, like the rest of him, the areolas faintly pink, and the center just slightly darker. on either side of them, two simple, plain silver studs. how new are these, you find yourself thinking, without meaning to. how new are these and can i put my mouth around them. 

“yes,” he breathes out, and shit, i didn’t mean to say that out loud, but before you know it your hands are wrapped around his upper arms, leaning in to wrap your lips around a nipple. the metal is cold on your tongue, and experimentally you swirl it around with your tongue, feeling it slide down and against the wet muscle. jeonghan makes a noise then, somewhere between a moan and a whimper. it makes you pull away from his chest. his face is flushed, uncharacteristically so, and was his hair always this mussed? he looks down at his chest and so do you, cheeks heating at the sight of his nipple, shiny with your spit. 

“don’t stop,” he says, voice raspy, laden with desperation, “please.”

jeonghan looks so easy it borders on lewdness. the metal of his piercings glint around his nipples, the cold air making them harden into tight little buds. you bring your lips to his other nipple, licking at it with the tip of your tongue. kitten licks, small and teasing. “please,” he whispers again, and he sounds so needy that you can’t help but scrape your teeth against the skin, just lightly. the moan that escapes him is unlike anything you’ve heard from him so far, a whimpering and mewling little thing that has your head spinning, even though you were the one giving, not taking. 

“you have to go home,” you say, vision swirling. “you have an early schedule tomorrow.” what a hypocrite, you think to yourself as jeonghan wordlessly places a hand at the back of your head, pressing your face back towards his chest, meeting no resistance. 

inconspicuously, or so he thinks, he starts to palm at his cock through the fabric of his pants. “let me,” you say, turning him so that he faces himself in the mirror. tugging his pants off, your hand reaches around him to wrap around his cock, grabbing him at the base and jerking him off with the precum that he had been leaking. “look at yourself in the mirror.” your other hand comes up to his chest, pinching hard at a nipple. jeonghan cries out then, chest jolting under your touch. he’s practically naked now, with his pants and underwear pooled around his ankles, his shirt forgotten on the back of some chair. his hair smells like vanilla and you press your nose into the nape of his neck, your hand wrapping even tighter around his cock. he’s leaking almost excessively onto your hand, the sticky substance hot on your skin. you’re so close to him that you can hear every noise that he’s making, every noise he’s trying to hold back and every noise he lets escape. 

it’s only when you hear a small sniffle that you look up at him; his eyes are watery, rims brimming with unfallen tears. “i’m sorry,” you say, though you don’t know what for. “i’m sorry. you look beautiful.” your hand slows around his cock, and your other hand comes to a rest on his waist, instead. the tear falls, landing on his cheek delicately. “no, i’m sorry, it’s just—it’s just a lot,” he exhales shakily, sniffing again. “keep—please touch me.” he says, turning his head to look at you. “please.” 

your hand starts moving again, but this time it’s tender, almost, every touch like a confession falling from your lips. you are confessing—you are repenting. you savour every sensation, the slide of his wet skin against yours, his moans shaky and gasping near your ear. 

“come for me,” your thumb brushes over the head of his cock, “watch yourself come for me.” you say after a pause, “jeonghan-ssi.” he spills, all of a sudden, over your hand. you watch as he throws his head back, eyes closing as he moans, soft and quiet, lips falling open with the sound. 

[beeseverywhen]

sometimes i think about what would happen if a bug on tumblr posts all my drafts

[highhhfiveee]

melodic stoner thotz

i’ve ALSO been having this silly thought about stoner!mike (who we haven’t seen in so long, i’m so sorrrrry). pls enjoy these unedited, unproofread thoughts that i typed instead of doing my work.

i listened to brie larson’s version of black sheep the other day (plus roomie and i watched the new scott pilgrim show, 8/10) and i started thinking about popstar!reader. hear me out;

you’re in a girl group, one that i currently have no name for, and you’re starting to gain traction in the states after releasing your debut album; you make high energy pop bops that emphasize on being true to yourself and standing up for what’s right with three other girls you’d met in the hallway at auditions. you’re grateful for the opportunity of course, but it’s not exactly what you’d wanted for your music career.

you have little creative control, and you’re told to sing and dance and dress a certain way; it’s a dream and a nightmare in one, and sometimes it has you wanting to leave the group all together, starting from scratch with music you actually loved.

you’re thinking about marching to the execs with your grievances when your manager sends a message to the group chat: WE’RE OPENING FOR [unnamed band that’s as big as say…the 1975 lmao] ON THEIR FALL TOUR!!!

you loved [unnamed band] and to support them on the North American leg of their tour is something you know you’d be idiotic to walk away from.

the city mike and abby live close to is stop 4 out of 10, and you’d been doing good with keeping up your charade of happiness. you sing and dance your ass off every night, knowing that you’re here and you can’t waste a moment of it; millions of aspiring musicians had wanted this but you’d finally made it to the stage.

you rarely ever fumbled during performances, a perfectionist at heart, but during the verse of one of your mid tempo songs, your eyes somehow gaze past the blinding stage lights and focus on abby (who you don’t know as abby of course lol), shouting every single word back to you with silly shimmies and head bobs.

you laugh, consumed with butterflies at the fact that she was enjoying your set so much. you’re enthralled by her energy, and it causes you to miss your cue for the prechorus. you giggle it off though you’re flustered, singing, “we have a lot of songs, my badddddd” to the melody of the music.

it makes the crowd explode with laughter, and you use that to propel you through the rest of your set, still looking towards abby as you present the outro during your final song. “thank you all so much, we love you! [bandmate 1] and i will be by the merch table once we’re off stage, and we hope to see you some of your faces there! are you all ready to see [unnamed band]????”

the crowd roars, and you watch as abby and the guy next to her disappear through the throng of people.

abby rushes straight for you once you’re sat at the merch stand, her cheeks flushed as she holds out her t-shirt for you. it’s one from your group’s first small tour, one where you’d gone to small cities throughout the country for as much exposure as possible. it was a size to big for her, draping down to her thighs. “y/n, i love you!!! can you please sign my shirt?”

“of course, cutie. i saw you dancing to [song name], is that one of your favorites?” abby nods excitedly as you scribble her name on your shirt, accenting it with a heart. you glance up at mike, who just stands behind her observing your interaction. he’s high as shit of course; he’d been a blob next to abby, really, bleary eyes and stationary, but seeing him this close revealed to you the stoner boy of your dreams.

“i take it you’re a big fan too?” you point the end of your marker at this chest. he’s wearing the same old tour shirt as abby, but his fits him well. he can’t believe your focus has moved to him now, and even though he should feel cool and calm off the edible he took before your set, your enticing gaze has him grasping for straws inside his mind.

“uh well, i…i really do it all for her, but you guys do have some solid songs. got some on your album that make me feel all powerful and sexy when i listen to them.” you both chuckle, and you motion for him to give you your hand.

you scribble your number onto his hand in red ink, musing, “well, i always love to hear what people think about our stuff. maybe…when i’m done with tour, you could tell me more over a joint or something?”

mike’s mouth goes dry, drier than it already was, but he’s nodding all languidly, leaving you with a small smirk when you give him his hand back. “yeah, yeah. sounds like a plan.”

this is kind of messy but do you all see the vision????? a full fic would be wayyyyy more structured and detailed, but i just NEEDED to get this idea out and i wanna know what you all think 🤔🤔🤔🤔🤔 (it would be like safety net with more smut and a tinge more angst, but definitely fluffy as hell too. like you confide in mike about the reality of your situation and he encourages you to fight for what you believe in, like one of your group’s songs ;-; still there’s lots of drama between you and the other members and the LABEL and so many entertainment people——me thinks it would go kind of nuts)

[nikoniclove]

I know you are busy with the move, which I hope is going well. Just know we as readers miss you fam

You’re so sweet. Thank you!

I wrote (super unedited and unproofread) fluff while sitting on the front porch because it’s the only area that doesn’t have a thousand cardboard boxes and moving mess.

Enjoy! As I get my real world settled, I’ll get back in the regular writing and posting cadence. I appreciate your patience!

[gilverrwrites]

Now I want to knowwwwww😭

-🐝

Shouldn’t reward your impatiences but I’m in a sharing mood. Here’s some of my current Slade WIP. Unedited/unproofread. 🧡

Warnings: Swearing, smoking, insults, humiliation. Slade is not nice. F!Reader

Deep down you’d known he wasn’t going to make this easy for you. He wouldn’t be going anywhere until he was ready to, but you hadn’t prepared yourself for the eventuality. Again, you’re speechless, tapping your fingers on the door frame as you scour your brain for something scathing to say to him.

Eventually your train of thought is lost as you watch him take a particularly long drag of his cigar, lips growing dry at the sight of his jaw clenching and relaxing as he inhales and exhales the plume of smoke. For all his flaws, he sure is striking.

The trip to cloud nine is cut short however, as you watch him flicks his ash into your favourite coffee mug.

“When are you leaving?” You finally find your words as you march over to him, standing between his legs and grabbing the mug from him.

“When Hosun finds me a job worth doing.” He watches you, body unmoving, amusement evident. Now that you have the mug you’re not sure what to do with it, and that fact is obvious. “You gonna be a brat about it the whole time?”  

“Are you ever gonna say sorry?”

“For what?” His eye narrows as he tilts his head back to look at you. Really look at you. Your eyes do not leave each other as he reaches his hand forward, stubbing out his half-smoked cigar in the mug. His tongue darts out, wetting his lips before he continues. “For firing you as my ward? For calling you weak?”

“Yes.” Hearing it aloud again stings, but if the words must be repeated you’re glad they’re coming from him. You doubt you’d be able to get them out without choking if he’d forced you to say it yourself.

“I meant what I said.” There isn’t a crumb of remorse in his tone, his face defiantly set in stone. In a moment of fury, you carelessly throw the ashy cup toward his face. He easily dodges, and you flinch when it smashes against the wall behind him.

“Fuck you.” The seams of your dress loudly pop as he locks a fist into the fabric, forcing you closer before you can make the dramatic exit you’d been itching for.

Slade has never been one for aftershave, citing how its strength could give away his position, but he has always smelled good, especially when the woodsy, smokiness of his cigars clings to him. Up close like this, it’s impossible not to notice.

“It might hurt you to hear it, but that doesn’t make it any less true.” For the first time since he’d forcibly inserted himself back into your life, the words you want are on the tip of your tongue, you’re ready to unleash hell but all that escapes is a sharp yelp as Slade tugs you once more, this time knocking you off balance so that you fall between his outstretched legs. The concrete of your porch is harsh on your exposed knees, you’re inches away from his cock, which is incidentally tenting his dumb cargo shorts. Sick bastard has always gotten off on talking down to you. So had you, and your body remembers. Even when the rest of you is thrumming with rage, the familiar humiliation of being on your knees for him sets off a fire in your core.

“You’re not meant for fighting.” He continues, easily brushing off your hands as you scratch helplessly at him. He pulls once more at your dress and the fabric finally begins to pull away from itself. He doesn’t expose you, not yet, teasing you with the reminder that he could strip you in seconds if he wanted to. “I let you think you were because it kept you close to me, made you eager for my approval. My malleable little toy to shape. The simple truth is that you’re too brainless to do what I do. You’re ruled by your pussy.”

[ilyfynn]

day 12 - raid

I WROTE THIS IN FIFTEEN MINUTES. I WROTE 500 WRODS IN FIFTEEN MINUTES. UNPROOFREAD. UNEDITED. TAKE IT WITH A PINCH OF SALT BUT I WROTE IT IN FIFTEEN MINUTES

[1mnobodywhoareyou]

Can I get 500 words for the wip that’s giving you the most trouble. Please and thank you.

thank goodness i put that 1k limit up... (thank you) this is unedited. unproofread. but written. near future of kinder devil. i hope. i now have a bunch of half scenes that i need to actually put together into a chapter...

Julie runs into the studio, Flynn hot on her tail.

“Guys! GUYS!” she calls breathlessly when they don’t immediately greet her.

“Hey Jules! Where’s the fire?” Reggie asks, looking up from where he’d been plucking on his bass. 

She desperately waves at them, wordlessly encouraging them to gather by her. 

It doesn’t take long for the trio to take the hint. Luke stands in front of her, stooping down to look her in the eyes, mild concern taking over his face. “What’s going on, boss?”

Julie takes a deep breath to recenter herself before explaining. “You remember that lady at Eats and Beats? Who wanted to talk to us before I got caught?”

The guys nod. 

“Okay, well. She just called.”

“What?!” Luke exclaims before unleashing a litany of excited questions Julie’s way. 

“Luke,” Alex says gently, putting his hand on Luke’s shoulder. 

Julie watches in amusement as Luke continues his spiral, completely unaware of Alex’s presence.

“Luke!” Alex tries again, much louder this time and with a shake of Luke’s shoulders. 

Luke slowly comes back down from his excited rambling and stares at Julie. “What did she want?” he asks, much more coolly than he’d been capable of for the last several minutes.

Julie laughs. “She wanted to talk about representing us. She obviously loved our ‘gimmick’ but also our sound. She’d been hoping to get in touch with us after the Eats and Beats fiasco but, well, it’s not as easy as looking someone up in the phonebook any more.”

“Well, she could have messaged any of the band pages,” Flynn counters. “Social media exists for a reason.”

Julie directs a soft glare her friend’s way. “Yeah, well. That’s obviously not how Andi does things,” she turns her attention back to the guys who are watching her expectantly, “anyway. She came across some stuff about our performance at the Orpheum and then our Youtube channel, did some digging, found the landline info that thank goodness Dad keeps installed for some reason…” She trails off, waving her hand around, “None of that matters. Destiny Management wants us. Andi wants us. But we need an adult because we’re… I’m still a teenager. So I need to talk to Papi.”

“Well what are you waiting for?! Let’s go talk to Ray!” Luke cries, grabbing Julie’s hand and pulling her toward the door.

“Luke!” Julie cries, pulling her hand out of his grasp.

He stops short and turns to look at her, a betrayed expression on his face.

“He doesn’t know about you, remember? How can I ask him to let us do this if he doesn’t have all the information?”

“Can’t we just… pretend that it’s just you?” Reggie asks. 

Julei stares at him. 

“A band of four people, three of whom presumably exist somewhere else in the world, need all four members to be involved in any dealings, Reg.” Alex explains. 

“Right. I knew that.”

“How do we navigate this kind of thing if three of us barely even count as people?” Alex wonders.

Julie shrugs, “I guess that’s what we have to figure out.”

Flynn pokes at Julie’s shoulder, silently asking for Julie to fill her in on the conversation that she’d been left out of. Julie obliges, ending by posing the same question Flynn’s way. 

“Well, how attached are you to doing things the ‘traditional’ way?” Flynn asks. 

Just as Luke’s about to answer, Flynn puts her hand up. “Arrange yourselves so I can hear you please. We’re not playing telephone for this.”

[pjisskullourful]

house sitter 2 -IN TENTS- extended preview

wordcount: 4,312

NOTE: im posting this unproofread, unedited. thanks for the patience in how long it took me to get this preview done for y'all

🚨THIS PREVIEW IS extremely NSFW!!🚨

You were back in Damiano’s bed - naked and without any of the shame you had felt during that first time lying on his mattress. You were feeling too magnificent to be ashamed.

Today was a new position (as they all were for you) - sixty-nine. Your body on top of his, your face lined up with his dick as he laid comfortably with his head upon the pillow. Your bare pussy was in his face, his hands gripping and exploring your thighs. You bit your lower lip, full of anticipation and so ready to follow his instructions as you keenly watched the twitching of his dick.

“Touch it really slowly. I wanna enjoy my good girl.”

You worked gently, your fingers lightly wrapping around his hardness. You heard his lustful sighs as you moved your hand up towards the tip. As you gradually stroked back down, he lifted his head from the pillow so that he could start covering your inner-thighs with kisses. This kissing soon progressed to sucking - this wouldn’t be the first time he had left marks on your thighs.

“I’m gonna play with your hair.” He said as his fingers tenderly moved through the loose strands.

He returned his mouth to your skin, these sweet, sensual actions making the lust inside of you bloom. You started to find the right rhythm on his dick.

“That’s it.” He breathed, his fingers twirling some of your hair. “Do you wanna play with my balls now? You could put them in your mouth a little.”

You maintained your pacing on his shaft as you leaned in and tilted your head for a better angle at his sac. You started with a kiss, seeing his legs twitching in response. You moved your mouth over the textured skin, lying down kisses.

You were rewarded with kisses from him, his lips pressing onto your folds. You let your eyes flutter shut as you worked, leaving behind little invisible prints of your saliva. The fire in your gut was growing and you held his dick with a firmer, more determined grip.

“Do you wanna suck on them, not too hard, but just-...” He gasped, his instructions cut off when you acted. “Yes, that’s perfect.” You had wrapped your lips around one of the testicles, holding it in your mouth. “Oh, good girl.”

He returned the favour by sucking one of your folds into his mouth. He wiggled his head to the side, gently moving the labia before switching to the other, encouraging your pussy to melt open, with so much blood pumping to this area. With a combination of his lips and tongue, he teased you to perfection.

Dragging your tongue along the skin, you changed your focus to the other ball. He was all that you could taste, all that you could smell.

The tip of his tongue darted over your clitoral hood, giving you the feeling of an electrical current rushing your system. It sent more blood pumping to this area and disrupted any thoughts you might have had.

He curled his tongue up, treating your clitoris to even more attention. He moved his tongue slowly, his precise strokes giving your sensitivities time to grow, gradually gaining more power inside of you.

You were out of breath when you let your lips release from around his taut balls. You lapped up from the base of his dick, with the hand that he held in your hair tightening into a fist.

You steadied his length with one hand around the base while your tongue continued its broad stroke upwards. You avoided the sensitive head, licking back down as his tongue continued to glide all over your clit. Each of you marked the other with your saliva.

The tension was there, making you want to move and rock your hips. You raised the stakes by dragging your tongue over his tip in one long, uninterrupted lick. You were rewarded with a stinging on your scalp as he tugged on the strands of hair in between his fingers.

He let out a breathy moan as that connection with your clit was broken. “Nobody turns me on like you do…” He released your hair. “Nobody…

“Could you suck on Daddy’s balls a little more?” He asked, his voice so sweet. “Only if you want to, you don’t have-... ha, oh, uh-huh, that’s it.”

You didn’t hesitate in moving back down to suck one of his balls into your mouth, taking the taut sac past your lips and teeth. Once inside, you began to massage across the skin with your tongue, bringing a happy sigh from him.

At the same time as this action, you used your hand to stroke his length. He whimpered as you worked him up-and-down at a relaxed tempo.

You removed his testicle from your mouth and applied your tongue to his length, to follow the path of your hand. In one long lick you travelled across every sensitive inch. You finished this with a flair - swirling your tongue all over the head. You let his taste dance across your palette as you kept on swirling, dedicating more time to enjoying the crown of his dick.

He was twitching in response to this attention. You felt the mattress shifting as he worked against the urge to buck his hips.

“Let me hold your hair.” He said, wrapping the strands gently around his fist. “Yes. I want you to put me in your mouth, but just a little. You don’t have to try to do the whole thing right away, but God, I really wanna feel that mouth.”

With him holding onto your hair, you started to bob your head down lower. You parted your lips, letting the hot skin of his shaft glide across them before setting them into place, securely around him.

“That’s it.” He panted.

He lifted his legs up on either side of your head, bending his knees as he did so. In the air, he crossed one ankle over the other, and this was how he brought his legs down, to rest on your back. In the process, you were pushed down, with more than an extra inch of his cock being eased into your mouth.

Using his pointer finger, he began to play at your dripping entrance, shifting your concentration. Slowly, he pushed inside, letting your cunt eagerly grip him.

You couldn’t help but start to suck on him a little. He responded by filling your cunt with more of his finger, letting you feel him deeper as you kept your lips wrapped around his girth.

You started to moan against his dick when he added a second finger into your pussy. He flexed and moved these, exploring between your sensitive walls.

“Bob your head on it.” He said.

Ever-so-slightly, you relaxed your jaw, allowing you some freedom of motion. You rubbed your lips up-and-down the portion of his dick that had been resting in your mouth.

“Yes, just like th-... good girl.” He said, before you felt him readjusting his arms. He wrapped them around your waist, tensing the muscles. “Let me hug this sweet pussy to my face.”

You were lowered down, more of your body pressed to his as your cunt got closer to his face. You kept at your pace on his cock, moving your head toward him again-and-again.

His capable tongue dragged along your slit, bringing whines from you. Moving his head allowed him to apply more pressure, which made you want to go limp in his embrace. His thorough lapping at your pussy had you absolutely aching for more.

Needing to take a full breath, you moved your mouth off of his cock. You maintained your motion with your hand, stroking at the same pace.

After taking a couple of deep breaths, you moved your face back into his crotch. As your hand moved up-and-down more of his shaft, you tilted your head to the side, setting your sights on his balls. You started to kiss and lick them again.

He pulled back from your cunt with a moan. “I’m so happy that you’re mine.” He seemed to squeeze your body tighter, giving you a fluttery feeling inside. “You make Daddy so happy.”

You let out a dreamy sigh, your heart feeling fuller for having heard that. You hadn’t been expecting it, but that didn’t mean his words were out of place. You savoured them, inspired to invest more effort to prolong his state of pleasure, wanting to treat him to more.

You kissed your way off of his sac and began to kiss along his shaft. As you slowly headed up to the crown of his dick, you cupped both of his balls in your hand.

He released his legs from around you, beginning to move a little. “Hang on, babydoll.”

You took your mouth off of him and raised your head so that you could look back at him. “Did I do something wrong?”

He guided you as he readjusted, moving to sit up with you. “No.” Once the two of you were facing one another, he placed his hands onto your cheeks. You looked into his warm eyes. “Not at all. Actually, it’s kind of the opposite of that.” He wore a small smile as he spoke. “Everything you were doing was so perfect, felt so amazing that I was starting to get close, babydoll.

“And that’s not how I wanna… I wanna be inside of you when I come.” He said, his fingers stroking your face. “Can I be inside you when I come?”

You grinned and leaned in, giving him a quick kiss. “Yes. Yes, I want that.”

“No, don’t lie down.” He said when you began to move. “I want you to be on top.” You sat upright again at that. “Cowgirl, to be exact.”

You watched as he got up and walked over to the chest of draws, opening the third draw from the top. He picked out a condom, carrying only this back over to the bed.

He laid down flat on his back, returning his head to the pillow. You were amused by how his cock was pointing directly at the ceiling above as he began to apply the condom.

Once his cock was covered, he gestured for you to come closer. And you didn’t hesitate, moving over to where he was comfortably reclined. Before climbing on top of him, you kissed him.

You straddled him, unable to keep yourself from kissing him more. Loosely, he wrapped his arms around you, your bare bodies pressed against one another in this new position.

You pushed yourself up, rocking your body weight back so that you could sit on top of him. He gazed up at you, a look of admiration as he took in all of the details, making your heart swell up. It made you want to kiss him more, it made you want to drive him into a state of toe-curling bliss.

“Bellissima…” He said, resting his hands on the roundness of your hips.

You didn’t think you would ever get used to this new way of him complimenting you - the flattery almost more than you could cope with every time. You knew that he could quite easily have any woman he wanted, and somehow you had become the one that he desired. It always made you feel very lucky, especially when he used actions to follow up his words.

You used your pointer finger to draw patterns on his bare chest as you looked at him. “How do you want me, Daddy?”

“Lift yourself up a little bit.”  He instructed and you lifted your butt off of him, braced on your knees. “Yep, just like that. And now I can do this…” His hand reached down, wrapping around his cock to guide it. He lined the head up with your pussy, allowing you to feel the beginnings of pressure here. You felt that throb between your legs anew and he drew in a quick breath. “You put yourself down onto it.” He returned his hands to your hips. “However you want, you can go slow, or you can make it real fast.”

You nodded and wrapped your hand around his, holding on as you began to lower yourself down again. You gasped at the feeling of your cunt stretching, and quickly that needy throb was radiating out, rushing to fill even more of you.

“That’s it.” He rasped, his hands holding you tighter.

Slowly, you pushed your pussy down onto his dick, feeling your breath being taken away for the moment. Having him inside of you was just as exciting as it had been that first time, prompting noises to fall from your mouth.

Inch-by-inch, you eased yourself down, fully engulfing his length in your warmth. You settled your body weight down, figuring out the best position.

But before you could begin to move and take advantage of this new position, you were distracted. A distant, yet loud chirping briefly ruptured the silence in his home.

You paused, looking at him. “What was-...?”

“A text.” He said of his phone in the other room. “Don’t worry about it.”

Given your current set-up, this was an easy instruction to follow. His focus hadn’t been disturbed and he was still looking at you in that way - the way that encouraged you to fall.

You licked your lips as you grinded forward into him. The corners of his lips lifted into a smile and you felt his body tense beneath you.

It wasn’t long before the interruption of his phone was forgotten as he started to lift his butt from the bed. With measured rocking, he sought a greater depth.

You thought that you heard the message tone a second and third time, but you didn’t give it the same attention. You didn’t let it hold any significance as you put all of your effort into matching his rhythm, meeting his quickening thrusts.

“Oh babydoll, you did such an amazing job before that I don’t know how long I’m gonna last. You got me so close.” He said.

Pride swelled up inside of you at that. It was a unique accomplishment and you savoured how it felt.

In order to keep from being bucked off, you had to clench your thighs around him. The unrelenting power of his rhythm had you feeling ready to surrender.

But as your body started to uncontrollably quiver, you were thrown another distraction. This sounded just as far as the other chiming from his phone.

The difference came in the duration - these musical notes weren’t ending. The unfamiliar melody played on, someone wanted to get hold of him with more urgency than before.

But his reaction was practically the same. “Ignore it.”

You flicked your hair back from your face, unable to keep yourself from keeping track of the ringing. “What if it’s something important?”

“There is literally nothing in the whole world that could be more important to me than having you on top of me.” He said.

“But what if it’s…?”

His eyes hadn’t left your face. “Ignore it, honey.”

“Don’t you think the ringing is a little distracting?” You asked.

“You just need to moan loud enough that I can’t hear it.”

You giggled. “Well, you better give me something epic to moan about.”

There was a glint in his eyes as he popped his index finger into his mouth and you found yourself paying less attention to his ringing phone. Now you were trying to guess what he was planning.

When the tip of his finger came to rest against your clitoris, all thoughts flew from your brain. A new feeling swelled up inside of you, immediately powerful enough to block out everything else. You grinded down harder on him, your jaw growing slack. You shut your eyes, letting go of your need to have the next sassy, or sexy, word.

“Is this epic enough for you?” He asked.

He moved his other hand to the top of your thigh, gripping you here as he began to rock his hips again. He set into a quick speed, wasting no time in building up and all that you could do was try to keep up.

You were ascending, with all of the sensations in your body falling into place to sing the most glorious harmony. You couldn’t help the way you were moaning so loudly as it became effortless to let go of everything. You allowed your desires to take the lead, guiding you as you got closer to that amazing edge.

He worked you over to perfection - his finger on your clit as he consistently drove between your sensitive walls. Your moans had progressed to cries and squeaks of delight as the sensations only grew more intense.

You were beginning to crumble, at the threshold of too much. Your hips stuttered and bucked excitedly, with you falling out of his magnificent rhythm. You twitched forward, shoulders slumping.

He lifted his back from the mattress, cupping your cheek. “That’s it, come for me, good girl.”

“Yes.” You whimpered through the continuous shivers.

Leaning into him, you felt yourself falling apart and you didn’t hold it off. You surrendered with triumph, capturing the white-hot ecstasy of your climax in a moment that left you blind to everything else.

The release radiated out, with all of the tension evaporating from your body. A smile lifted the corners of your mouth to the sounds of his moans. He repeated your name, holding your body tighter to him, until his strength left him.

The two of you sprawled out on his bed, separating ever-so-slightly. You laid facing him as you continued to vibrate with bliss. You listened to the noises of him trying to catch his breath as you kept wearing that smile.

When you opened your eyes, the colours in the room seemed brighter than you remembered. Your heart fluttered as you looked over your impossibly handsome partner, enchanted by the memories you had just made together.

“How are you doin’, honey?” He asked after a time.

“I’m pretty great.”

He rolled onto his side and loosely wrapped his arms around you. “Actually, you’re incredible.”

He had just started to pepper your mouth with overzealous kisses, when you both heard the ringing of his phone start up again. He halted what he was doing to sigh.

You gave his back a pat. “You really should get that.”

“You don’t mind, you promise?”

“I promise.” You said over the ongoing chiming.

He sighed again as he began to get up. “It’s gonna be nothing important and then I’m gonna get annoyed.”

You watched him heading toward the doorway. “Then it’ll be my job to cheer you up when you get back.”

This made him pause, glancing back over his shoulder. He was grinning and when he winked you couldn’t help but giggle a little. You were still feeling like you were floating, filled with the echoes of giddy tingles.

From the living room, he yelled out over the ringtone. “It’s your brother.” A second later, he was answering the call.

The atmosphere had changed and you could no longer relax. The two of you had been waiting for the right time to tell Renardo, actively keeping him in the dark until then.

Damiano was rushing when he returned to the bedroom to deliver the news to you. “He’s gonna be here in like three minutes.”

“What?” You snapped, sitting up.

He was quickly opening draws and pulling out clothes for himself. “Yeah, he’s literally around the corner.” He was making fast work of clothing his nude body. “I forgot that it was- he kept changing his mind about which day-...” You had gotten out of the bed, hurrying to collect your own clothes. “He needs to get a new pump for his inflatable mattress before the camping trip and I said that I would go with him to the shop, like an idiot. And he wasn’t sure which day he wanted to go, but I guess he made up his mind.”

“I don’t want to-....”

“It’s alright.” He said gently. “We don’t have to tell him right now. We’ll find the right time, honey.”

That helped with the sinking feeling in your stomach, but you were still stressed. “Should I hide? I can just let myself out after you guys are gone.”

“No, we’ll come up with a cover story.” He said as you finished doing up your jeans. He sighed when you met his eye. “This isn’t how I wanted to leave things off between us.”

“I know.”

He approached you. “It’s too soon.”

For the moment you forgot to be stressed, and you smiled when he cupped your elbows in his hands. You stared into his eyes, allowing yourself to get distracted by a craving to know what he was thinking.

“You deserve a better goodbye than this.”

It was so natural to begin leaning into him and you licked your lips. “You’ll have to make it up to me next time.”

You thought that he was on the verge of kissing you - the two of you existing in your own bubble.

Before further skin-to-skin contact could be made, the buzzing of his intercom interrupted you. You took in a quick inhale as some of your focus returned. He let go of you, taking a step away from you.

But before leaving the room, his palm collided with your butt, making you gasp. You could feel the blush in your cheeks as you followed him out of the bedroom. The stress was back in full-force and your mind raced - so many bad scenarios unfolding. You smoothed your hands over your hair as you glanced down at your body, looking for adjustments that needed to be made to your clothes. Were you carrying the scent of your fuck with you? How could you spoil the secret?

After buzzing Renardo into the building, you and Damiano separated yourselves. He went into the kitchen while you sat on the sofa, instantly overthinking your posture. You avoided leaning back and getting too comfortable. You held your phone in one hand, hoping this would give you an unengaged appearance.

“Honey, do you need some water?” He asked.

“No, don’t give me anything like that, I don’t want it to look like I’ve been here for long, and I’m gonna leave as soon as I can.” You said in a rush.

“Alright.”

Renardo was surprised to see you, eyebrows raised as he came into the living room with Damiano. “Oh, hi. I didn’t realise you’d be here. Are you guys hanging out, or something?”

“Nah, she was just stopping by to return my slow cooker.” Damiano said.

“Slow cooker, since when do you know how to cook?” Renardo asked, flopping down on the sofa.

You cleared your throat. “Well, he, uh, taught me an easy recipe and I nailed it.”

“Yeah, I’m a great teacher.” Damiano said.

You cleared your throat again, keeping yourself from making any eye-contact with him. “So, still getting supplies together, bro? Are you gonna be ready for the trip? I mean, it’s only one week away.”

The camping trip was on its way to becoming a tradition, with this being the fourth year that it had taken place. To celebrate the first week of spring, a group of your friends and a group of your brother's friends would drive to the secluded campgrounds for a weekend of games, hiking and drinking.

Every time Renardo had forgotten something of significance. It was a habit you were accustomed to, seeing it from your brother since childhood.

“I just hope that you don’t forget to leave space to pack in all of that sarcasm.” He said. “Are you gonna tell me you’re already fully packed and ready to go?”

“No, but I don’t need to do last-minute shopping like you losers.”

He rolled his eyes. “You’re so dramatic. One week isn’t the last-minute. It’s seven whole days. Maybe if it were seven hours until leaving time. But a week is a substantial difference.”

“Well, as much as I’d love to sit here and debate the classification of last-minute with you…” You said as you got to your feet. “I don’t wanna keep you from your essential shopping. And I’m meeting a friend for coffee pretty soon.”

“Did you want us to drop you off at the café?” He offered.

“No.” You said instantly. “Thanks for the offer, but it’s not necessary, the café is just a block away, I can walk it.”

Your brother shrugged. “Suit yourself.”

You headed toward the door, which brought you closer to where Damiano stood. Your eyes met and a smile started to form on your face at once. “Thanks again for the slow cooker.”

“Anytime.” He said. “Have fun with your friend.”

You didn’t take a full breath until you reached the bus stop. You had gotten away with it, protecting the secret of this very young arrangement. The brand new relationship belonged solely to the two of you and that felt correct. You were relieved to have avoided the awkwardness of any of your brother’s questions or opinions.

You were leaving earlier than you had anticipated and you weren’t sure how you were going to spend the rest of your day. Certainly, it would be wretchedly dull compared to getting to experience that time with Damiano.

You climbed aboard the bus, beginning to make your way home.

You were left breathless all over again when a notification bearing his name popped up on your phone.

Already planning out all the ways I’m gonna make it up to you for that subpar goodbye.

You were filled with a giddy rush, unable to keep yourself from smiling as your mind raced down the path of what was to come next.

[ilexdiapason]

4,8,19! :]

4. Anything you like in particular about writing for this fandom? (the setting, the aus, the people,etc)

it's fun that since the ccs we like are usually on lots of different smps and in lots of different dynamics then you can basically get a new au out of every situation, instead of just having a single base text to draw from! e.g. sunflower pearl and scarlet pearl and copper pearl are all different characters with different aus that immediately spring to mind for me (anastasia for sunflower, pearl the bard for scarlet, unwritten kathpearl arrietty au for copper)

8. Do you edit and proofread your works yourself or do you have someone else to help you with that?

usually they go unedited and unproofread lol my first pass is generally what goes to ao3, unless it's an event like au fest (see anastasia above) where i did have a designated beta. i find if i get a friend to pre-read a fic for me, no matter how much they love it, it severely cuts the chances that they'll remember to go kudos/comment too, so i'd rather have that than the confirmation that the fic is fine for publication 👍 maybe that's just me though!

19. Do you tend to take into account hybrid characteristics (avian, enderman hybrid, dragon hybrid, etc) when you are writing cubitos?

i do for a lot of characters but not all of them! e.g. my pearl is pretty staunchly Just Some Guy as is my oli. grians will be avian, as will (life series minus 3l) jims; rens will be dogs; cleos will be zombies. and then there's fics like enderfalse where i give the character a hybrid nature i usually wouldn't!

thank you :] (ask game linked in reply i can't get the edit to work lol)

[wizardpink]

So I promised you this 12 hours ago, it's nearly 11pm and I have to go to bed, and I'm here 2.3k unedited unproofread words later and I haven't even gotten to the vampires yet.

I'll be back tomorrow I SWEAR.

It's early 1984 and Alice is at a cocktail party thrown by the owner or publisher of some major American magazine based on the West Coast. She's a travel writer, or some other kind of cultural non-news based free-lancer, and she gets introduced to this guy named Daniel. He's genuinely friendly and charismatic, and cute to boot, but he can be a bit brash and forward with the sarcasm. And he clearly has been ducking into the bathroom with everyone else who keeps coming back with a not-so-subtle case of the sniffles. They flirt a bit, he gets her number. It turns out he's a freelancer working on a cover-story feature coming out in a few months. The editor and publisher both think he's hot stuff. He's working on a novel that they think is gonna hit the best sellers lists. It's the kind of match that could open doors for Alice's own career if she plays it right. It's not always easy for a woman in the industry without an in with the big wigs.

Things never get much more serious than each of them referring to the other as their boyfriend or girlfriend, and Alice is right, it does lead to a lot more cocktail parties and drinks with editors and publishers and writers and broadcasters. One such fateful meeting gets her into a lunch with a fashion writer from Paris whose magazine is looking for an American cultural perspective, and they offer to pay room and board for a three month stay. "And you absolutely MUST bring Molloy with you, my husband loves his editorials in Hustler."

Alice doesn't understand why Daniel immediately refuses. He isn't working on anything under contract. In fact his progress on the novel he's been working on seems to be stagnating, wouldn't a change of scenery do him some good?

But she isn't completely blind. Daniel is more often than not reticent to agree to any plans with her spur of the moment. She knows there's someone else's approval he has to get first. It doesn't matter. One small hurdle on the way to her goals. But she needs Daniel to help her lock down this job. She begs, she argues, he leaves. Two days later she gets a call. He'll come too.

Things in Paris go much the same as they did in California. Despite sharing an apartment, Daniel is only "home" two or three nights a week. But he never misses an invite for drinks with the fashion writer's husband and his industry friends who all think Daniel is so wild and funny and free with his thoughts. They both play their parts for these rich, influential hacks who care so much more about who you're sleeping with than how talented or intelligent you actually are. Maybe Daniel doesn't love her. But he respects her enough to give her this.

Then the second blue line on the pregnancy test appears and everything goes to shit.

For Alice this is potentially career ending. Her whole life turned on its head. And for Daniel, it barely seems to register. Did he not care, or did he just leave his body? Alice goes back to the apartment and cries, she screams, she throws Daniel's expensive recording equipment against the walls. She calls her mother but hangs up after the first ring. And Daniel doesn't come home that night. Nor the next night, nor the next night. Three days isn't uncommon, but not without a phone call. Then a fourth night. A fifth.

Alice confides in the fashion writer what's happened and she can't believe Alice waited five days to say something?! She takes her to the police precinct immediately to file a missing person's report. Alice shows them a Polaroid and the officer taking the report motions for another officer to come over. One of them leaves and returns with a faxed over headshot of Daniel taken from a hospital bed. He was found in an empty apartment with a needle still in his arm, unable to even remember his own name.

They go to the mental hospital where he is being evaluated but the staff say he's too manic for visitors at the moment. He keeps demanding the nurses let him go, screaming that he has to find "him," but can't tell them who "him" is. When they ask, it only makes him more upset. But once he's told there's a woman named Alice there to see him, he seems to calm down. She's brought to his room. Alice isn't sure what she's expecting, excuses? Apologies? He gives her something else entirely. There's an earnestness in him she's never seen before. He's terrified, he's distraught, he has no idea where he's been for most of the week, for most of their stay in Paris even. But he remembers her, and he remembers the baby. He knows he should be sorry but he doesn't know why, and he sobs begging for her to believe him.

What choice does she have at this point?

Daniel spends most of the next six months in a French rehab facility. When he gets out, he takes Alice to dinner. He asks her to marry him. She says no.

A month passes. Alice's mother is incensed she hasn't accepted his proposal yet. Her colleagues give her sideways glances as she waddles to and from her desk. With Daniel in recovery and her pregnant, all her networking is at a standstill. Worse, maybe it's nonexistent at this point. "Mother" is a cursed label for a working woman in 1985, but "Single Mother" is worse. She wonders how it all came to this on the day she and Daniel go to the French court house and file for their marriage license. She supposes it was on the day she was born and the doctor said, "it's a girl!"

Weeks later, through blood and through pain, the same refrain. "It's a girl!"

Alice promises Kathryn on her first day on earth that things are going to be different for her. Her life and her successes will never hinge on a man's mercy. She'll rise higher than both of them, on her own merits, and no one will ever be able to deny her.

Kate's childhood is defined by two opposing forces: her mother's relentless but loving pushing, and her father's absence and apathy.

Any hope Alice had of balancing her career and family is steamrolled over by Daniel's ambitions. He seemingly takes any job, any assignment that takes him as far away from Alice and Kate as possible. He's never cruel or contemptuous, but his love and attention are scarce, fleeting, and shallow. He always comes home with a new toy that Kate has no interest in or already owns, because he never puts more than a moment's thought into the gesture. She can count on one hand the number of recitals, competitions, or games he makes it to from kindergarten to her senior year. And because of that, and her own desperate need to see Kate grow up and Be Somebody, Alice has to parent twice as hard. She's controlling, and strict, and sets nearly impossible standards, but she loves her daughter just as fiercely. Kate becomes a bit tightly-wound, a bit type-A, a bit of a perfectionist. The walls and shelves of her room are filled with trophies and blue ribbons. Life isn't perfect. But it's fine.

The divorce doesn't come as a surprise to her. She's about 11 when Daniel "moves out," if it could be said he lived with them in the first place.

It's just unfortunate that those turbulent early teen years have to coincide with Daniel remarrying, having another daughter, and suddenly, for the first time, becoming a Father.

Lenora is born when Kate is 14, far too late for sibling rivalry, and in those early days it was all so exciting. Kate was eager to help with everything, from painting the nursery to changing diapers. And Daniel couldn't be happier, look how great things are going with my old daughter and my new daughter! A fresh start, and I'm gonna do it right this time!

And the thing is, he actually does. And Kate gets to watch as the man that couldn't be bothered to remember her birthday was in June and not July becomes the World's #1 Dad to Lenora.

It'll take years to admit, but it fucks her up. What was it about her that wasn't good enough for him to change? What part of her wasn't enough for his affection? Did he see this dark and hateful piece of her heart that regards Lenora with such a fierce jealousy? She knows it's wrong. She is self-aware to know it isn't fair. She wears the mask of the good big sister and smiles in the family photos and hopes no one can see that nasty, toxic part of her soul she never knew was locked away until it broke free.

Kate gets any scholarship she could ever need. She attends UC Berkeley and hopes Daniel will know she chose it because of him. He never acknowledges the tribute.

Her senior year she meets a sweet guy who plays guitar and has never won a blue ribbon in anything in his life. He likes to take her on hikes and introduce her to obscure movies. She ditches class just to go to the beach and people watch with him. He isn't disappointed by her failures, and he remembers her birthday. Kate graduates summa cum laude, he… graduates. She goes on to law school, he teaches music to middle schoolers. They have a cute, pinterest ready fall wedding in Wisconsin where his family is from. The bridesmaids wear colorful Converse sneakers instead of heels. Kate is pregnant halfway through law school and Alice does not take it well. They have a fight that unleashes something in Kate she'd only allowed quick glimpses of daylight previously. A rift forms. Kate wonders if that's just adulthood: the eventual realization that the people who made you are just people. Sometimes deeply fucked-up people.

A familiar refrain. "It's a girl!"

Kate promises Sybelle on her first day on earth that things are going to be different for her. She can be anything she wants to be, at any pace she wants to take it. Her life and her happiness will never hinge on a parent's baggage. She'll know peace and self-worth that no one in their family has ever known.

Lenora's childhood is defined by two unfortunately intertwined forces: her father's short-sighted endeavor to make up for what a shitty husband and father he was to Alice and Kate, and his genetic predisposition to being an all-time fuck up, which she inherits in spades.

If absentee father Daniel is bad, perhaps present father Daniel is worse. He and his second wife split before Lenora can even remember them being married, but he actually fights and wins custody this time. Lenora's version of Dad never says no. He is forgiving to a fault and what he can't figure out how to give emotionally, he gives materialistically. Book deals and high profile reporting gigs put Lenora's childhood a few brackets higher economically than Kate's. A pony for her birthday, even though they live in the suburbs. A brand new car on her 16th birthday, and when she totals it while drunk a week later, Dad assures her they'll find a way to replace it.

His defensiveness is just as damning. When her teachers write home that Lenora is struggling to pay attention in class, and he may want to have her tested, he has to be escorted from school property on Parent Teacher Conference night over the scene he makes. HIS daughter doesn't have a fucking learning disability. HIS daughter isn't predisposed to risky or addictive behavior. For fuck's sake, her sister went to law school at Stanford! There's nothing wrong with Lenora!

Then she's seventeen and the second blue line on the pregnancy test appears and everything goes to shit. She's pregnant halfway through high school and Daniel does not take it well. They have a fight that seems to break something in Daniel he didn't know was already mostly broken. He thought he fucked up raising Kate because he didn't try hard enough. But it turns out he's just such a shitty father, he fucked up with Lenora even worse. A rift forms. He was always a drinker but it gets worse, quickly. He disappears for days at a time. Lenora calls her mother but hangs up after the first ring. She calls her sister instead.

Benji is born when Sybelle is 8 years old, far too late for sibling rivalry, and in those early days it was all so exciting. She's eager to help with everything, unlike Lenora. Lenora is a no show at her own baby shower. She's uninterested in painting the guest room in Kate's house, or attending the parenting classes Kate offers to attend with her. She sleeps through Benji's wailing, leaving him to Kate to handle. She slips out of the house just before his doctor's appointments, leaving them to Kate to handle.

Kate and her husband have a talk about Benji, and the possibility of expanding their family. Then they have a talk with Lenora, and she does not take it well. A rift forms.

Lenora leaves with Benji. She moves to New York, where Daniel, in an effort to win her over like always, has offered to pay for an apartment for her. She doesn't stay there long. He isn't sure where she goes. Kate explodes on him over the phone for letting Lenora slip through the cracks and take Benji with her. A rift that was already there widens, and Kate goes no contact with her father. She hears from Lenora once or twice a year. She sees her strung-out mugshot on facebook being passed around by relatives, gawking and commenting on where and why it all went wrong. Benji is about five when Kate flies out for the custody hearing. She refuses to even acknowledge Daniel, and tells Lenora it's only temporary, and once she gets her shit together, Kate knows she can be a good mother. Lenora has to be escorted from the court room over the scene she makes.

That's the last time Kate sees Daniel or Lenora alive.

If I were a vampire pissed off about the IWTV book and too much of a coward to go after Louis or Daniel, I would simply eat Daniel's daughters.

[cuddlytogas]

[ficlet] Again, and Again (The Magnus Archives)

have some jonmartin fluff in this trying time

EDIT: now new and improved and on Ao3!

Everything happens in a rush, once they get out of the Lonely. Jon and Martin make the long and arduous trek back through the tunnels, with – blissfully – no sign of Elias (Jonah), though the walls are spattered with blood, and Basira, when she meets them at the trapdoor in Jon’s office, seems bodily exhausted. She asks peremptory questions, and takes their answers with little in the way of visible responses: Martin? Returned safe, by Jon’s hand (a tight mouth); Lukas? Dead, by Jon’s powers (a satisfied nod); Jonah? Missing (one clenched fist). When they ask for updates on her end, she says nothing for a long moment, which neither Jon nor Martin has the strength to interrupt.

“They're all gone,” she eventually says, pushing past the crack in her voice. “Daisy – Daisy’s not herself anymore. I don’t know if she’s coming back.”

“Is anyone else hurt?” asks Jon. “The rest of the Institute, are they –”

“Yes,” says Basira, and gives no more details. “I think you two should leave. It’s not safe for you here.” She hands them a key, and a slip of paper with an address written on it – somewhere near an obscure Scottish village, by the name – and holds Jon’s hand for the briefest moment, tight and secure. “I’ll hold down the fort.”

With most of Jon’s things living in boxes in the archives, it isn’t hard for him to pack some toiletries and changes of clothes into a bag, and they’re out of the way before the police arrive. When they leave, Jon stubbornly keeps one hand always on Martin's elbow, or the back of his shoulder, or reaching to keep their fingers entangled as they navigate the teeming, bloodied crowd outside the Institute, and the Tube to Stockwell, because of course, in all of this, Martin never could afford to move house. He packs his own rucksack, digging through messy piles of clothes and sorting through the washed and unwashed with ease despite having left no visible distinctions. They book seats on the next train to Edinburgh as they head back towards London, checking their phones over and over again for news of the Institute, and by the time they arrive at King's Cross, they have just enough time to wolf down a couple of sandwiches and board the train, checking over their shoulders the whole way.

Jon and Martin barely talk as they travel, too afraid of being overheard, and don't stop when they reach Edinburgh, just before midnight. An overnight bus takes them to the nearest town to their destination, where they manage to find a taxi to take them to a nearby village, from which they walk, in the chill, dawning light, to the even smaller village further along, heels dragging and hands twined between them as they huddle close for warmth. From there, they find a map that leads them to the right field, and while the first farmhouse they try is occupied by some very baffled cattle breeders, the second one – a tiny little cottage in a dip behind the next hill – matches Basira’s description. There are planters full of miserable-looking daisies under the front windowsills.

“This is it,” Jon breathes, with the conviction of knowledge he shouldn’t quite have. “We made it.”

“Are we going to be safe?” Martin returns, just as quietly. It's the most either of them have spoken in many dreary, exhausted hours.

“As safe as we can be,” Jon answers. His voice is soft and hoarse. “Come on.”

They check all the doors and windows before they can relax, of course; test the taps, and wipe the dust off a number of surfaces. There is one, fairly large, bed piled with blankets, and Martin shakes the dust from the uppermost quilt as Jon lights a fire in the front room, and boils a saucepan of water for the dusty tea. They drink it while perched on stools in the kitchen, changed into t-shirts, jumpers, and tracksuits against the cold. Jon’s naked toes rest curled against the wooden strut of his seat; only Martin had the sense to pack thick socks, and then to put them on.

Finally, as the sun once more begins its descent from noon, Jon sets his half-finished mug on the counter behind them, and takes Martin's empty left hand between both of his own, a motion so steady it can only have been heavily planned.

“I realise,” he starts, haltingly, as Martin watches where they're connected. “That – that is, I feel I should say – Martin, I – it's no coincidence that we made it out of the Lonely, we – I –” At last, he raises his eyes, and Martin follows, gazing back at him, nonplussed, as Jon finally gives a little sigh, and says: “Martin, I love you.”

It pulls at one corner of Martin's mouth, tugging his dry lips into a smile. He forgot to bring a chapstick.

“I figured,” he says; then sobers, and swallows, before the warmth of happiness can bloom in Jon's chest. “But,” he adds – “how do you know?”

“What?”

“I'm not –” Martin sighs through his nose, and puts his mug down behind them, turning away from Jon but not extracting his hand. “I don't mean to sound morbid, but I'm not who you think I am,” he explains to the floor, and the crackling fire. “I'm not the same person you used to know. How can you be sure that you – that you love me, if – if you don't even know me anymore?” He raises his head again, just enough to meet Jon's eye, an apology behind his gaze. “I don't mean to sound morbid,” he says again, in a half-miserable, half-resigned mumble – “but it's true.”

For a moment, the only thing that moves is the fire, crackling low in the hearth, and each of their breaths, pushing and pulling at their chests, one sharp and skinny, the other broad and round. Then Jon smiles, with a small huff of laughter and a glimpse of stained teeth.

“Martin,” he croaks, almost pityingly, and swallows, glancing away. When he speaks again, it is steady, but slow, like every word is being chosen with utmost precision. “I have fallen in love with you,” he goes on – “over, and over again. For... two years now, I suppose, including the coma.” He looks almost embarrassed to admit it. “After Prentiss, and the tunnels, and Leitner, and when you believed in me, and – and your plan with Elias –”

“Jonah,” Martin mutters; a rote reminder. Jon nods.

“Well,” he says, in recognition. “The point is, when I woke up and you weren't around... I fell in love with you then, too. And no, you're not the same person you once were – but God knows, neither am I.” He says it with half a smile, rueful and forgiving, eyes back on Martin's face. “But Peter was wrong. Maybe we do create an image of the people we love, but that's not the end of it. It's just the beginning. Every time you make me adjust that image, I fall in love with you, and – well. You're seriously underestimating me if you think I won't be able to manage it again. And again, and again – for as long as you'll have me.”

Martin stares at him, at the open honesty on his face, gentling the lines and softening the eyes. It's one thing to feel love, to have it offered in a desolate place, to know that of course Jon loves him, or how did they ever escape? But it's quite another thing to hear it in so many words – to know that, while he was hopelessly crushing on his boss, maybe the process wasn't entirely one-way – and in that soft, quiet voice Jon seems to have reserved for a privileged few, tired but contented, and so very, very gentle. Martin can't find a response, for so long that Jon glances between his eyes, and falters, sitting back without unclasping their hands.

“Sorry,” he breathes out in a rush, looking away, “I'm sorry – that was too much, too fast. You only just got out of the Lonely, Peter was working on you f–”

He cuts off with a muffled sound as Martin places his free hand around his jaw and kisses him, the wood of their stools creaking, leaning a little awkwardly around to reach him. Martin doesn't push for anything, but his palm is warm and solid, and the pressure of his mouth is easy and insistent, two full lips slanted across his own, the space between them damp, and warm, and tempting with the promise of the taste of tea. Another strained, muted sound escapes Jon's throat, as his breath stutters through his nose and his brain tries to catch up; until, finally, he closes his eyes and sinks into the kiss, moving and pursing his lips so that they catch against the soft-dry and smooth-wet contradictions of Martin's mouth.

When Martin pulls away – far enough to breathe, but not so far that he has to remove his hand from where it is cupped around Jon's cheek – Jon finds himself following with open mouth and closed eyes, twisting in his seat to face him better. He blinks, and meets Martin's gaze, scrunched up a little by cheeks pushed up by a smile, and close enough that he's barely unfocused.

“Sorry,” Martin whispers into the space between them, Jon immediately breathing in the words. “Too much too fast?”

Jon shakes his head, then finally finds his voice to say, “Not at all.” He plucks one hand from the pile between them to trace his fingers along Martin's jaw, but they are both already leaning back in, meeting with a hush of clothing and breath. Jon's glasses are pressed into an angle, wedging into the bridge of his nose and his cheekbone on one side, but all that really matters is the stretch of his neck as he tries to reach for Martin's height this time, rather than let him bow to meet him, and Martin's loose, threadbare jumper collar under his fingers, tightening and loosening in turns according to the movements of Martin's lips, or pressing flat to the swell of his chest, yielding against him. The hands between them grip tighter, clinging to each other, as Jon awkwardly tries to mimic the parting of Martin's lips, and even more awkwardly yelps, eyes blinking open and closed, when he tastes Martin's tongue, wet and sour, as it smooths over the edge of his lower lip.

Martin doesn't withdraw from Jon, but his mouth retreats, and there's the start of a real apology in his teeth, so Jon silences him by pulling on his hand and lunging blindly forwards, with an urgent tongue that is soon gentled into languid pleasure. Martin pushes his hand into the waves of Jon's greying, greasy hair, too long untrimmed, and the pressure of his fingers against the base of his skull, carding through his hair, makes Jon want to purr.

The kissing doesn't go anywhere. Eventually, they nearly fall off their stools, Martin catching them both against the counter, and they laugh softly, surprised and out of breath. Half-delirious, Jon settles his glasses and tries to explain, tries to say that things could get complicated from here, that he's not really – he doesn't really –

But Martin just smooths back his travel-soiled hair, and breathes “I know,” and “We'll talk about it later,” and “Let's just go to bed,” as Jon nods his relieved agreement. They stumble past the fire, happy to let it wear itself out, and through to the cramped bedroom, to crawl in under the mountain of quilts and hold hands between them as they get comfortable, and the sun goes down, and they finally drift off to sleep. They'll have to see to the generator, in the morning, and figure out how to contact Basira, and deal with... everything. For now, however, they curl against each other on the surprisingly soft mattress, sharing warmth and breath, with Martin's head tucked into the crook of Jon's neck, and Jon's hand on his back, steady and sure in their closeness. The end of the world may be coming; but they have this. At least they have had this.

[boundlesshart]

foundations

takes place between the wyvern moon and the ethereal moon

Judith warned him all those moons ago. “Your grandfather still thinks that you’re liable to get yourself killed at the Officers Academy.  Don’t try proving him right, otherwise I’ll have to come down and set you straight myself.”

It had been the night before the Knights of Seiros were due to arrive, to escort the heir of the Leicester Alliance to the Officers Academy alongside the prince and princess. Dimitri and Edelgard. Claude only knows their names, but already he thinks of them as friends. The old man hemmed and hawed for a year over if Claude would see this "Officers Academy" for himself, but the announcement of their attendance forced his hand. He didn't look happy. My joy is his pain, Claude had thought bitterly.

His own announcement had been quiet and subdued, per Oswald's insistence. Claude wanted celebrations. A feast, a party, a smile on his grandfather's face, not the mournful look of a man about to send his son to his death. And especially not some old woman breathing down his neck. "Uh-huh. And how would you find out?"

“Oh I’ll find out. I have eyes everywhere, boy. Don’t forget that.” Judith's words went in one ear and out the other, and Claude forgot them as soon as he waved her off. And so the conversation ended.

For all of Oswald's fretting, hardly anything terrible happened this year. Well, sure, there was the incident in the Sealed Forest, an incident that Claude had been very careful to avoid referencing in his letters back. Oswald write fairly frequently–once a moon, 'are you eating well, sleeping well, are you making friends?'. Judith writes, but less frequently. Only to chew him out for slacking in class, and those letters were always too timely.

Claude had a hunch. He always did–his upbringing fostered a habit of observing others and collecting hunches. The question was never if there were Daphnel spies watching his movements, but where they were. How far does this go? Who is spying for Judith von Daphnel, and how far does her reach go?

Then he gets punched in the face. And as it turns out, that reach is pretty damn far.

—————

"Stop your gawking, boy. It's unbecoming of Oswald's heir."

Claude forces his eyes away from Judith's face, but that only adds to the pot of roiling emotions inside of him. Confusion at seeing Judith so far from Daphnel territory. Embarrassment at being caught in a moment of weakness. Shock that she had come because she already knew what had happened to him, and the anger that ensued that yes, all this time, there had been eyes on him, watching. The privacy he thought he had, being away from Derdriu, had been a mirage all this time.

Upset isn't the word he's looking for to describe how he's feeling, but it's getting there.

He hasn't said a word to her since they were seated in the common room. That's not like Claude, but in privacy, with just him and his aunt, all of his carefully built rules and strategies fly out the window. Judith von Daphnel may not know all his tricks, but she knows them well enough to trap him if she feels the need to.

So when Claude finally speaks, it's honest, and carefully neutral. "What are you doing here?"

"Confirming a rumor," Judith answers simply, punctuated with a sip of her whiskey. "We got word back in Derdriu that you were coming back with a terrible injury on your face. And I'm sure you can imagine how Oswald reacted to that. But enough of that for now. First, let me get a closer look." Leaning over the table, Judith takes Claude's chin in her hand. Her touch is gentle but firm, as she carefully turns his head. A sympathetic tut. "Hmm. Not as bad as the report made it out to be. But it's hardly pretty. What did the healer say?"

"...That it'll heal." When Judith releases him, Claude resists the urge to rub over where her hand was. "Told me to avoid getting punched and visit the infirmary twice a week for checkups. In two moons' time, I'll only have a scar to remember it by."

"A scar?" Judith's raises her eyebrows, but only for a moment before she nods to herself. "Right, right, the gauntlet." Claude's eye twitches, but he lets her continue, "Well, the bright side is the report exaggerated things a bit. This is about what I expected for what happened. But seeing this for myself... well, I'm just glad you're holding up."

Holding up? That's a new one. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Delicate area and all. A black eye is one thing–we've all gotten one some way or another. Being the troublemaker you are, I'm sure you're familiar with those. Am I right?" Claude can't help but huff in laughter, and Judith smiles in return, "There you go, loosen up a bit. Broken bones near your eye, from that prince who can't get his Crest under control, it's a serious matter. When we heard... well, words can't explain it. The old man was beside himself. Ready to write a letter to Rufus about the incident. I was barely able to convince him otherwise."

"It wasn't that bad," Claude tries.

"I said it wasn't as bad as I thought, but you can hardly wave it away and call it nothing." More whiskey pours into her cup, and more water in his. "In any case, Oswald is right to have his concerns about his grandson. The most you can do right now is put up with it."

Claude frowns, though it pulls at his bruise. Of course. His dreams of leading Leicester and implementing his goals as its sovereign duke have keeps his mind focused on what matters. But even they can't erase what feels like ever-increasing restrictions on what he can or cannot do. The last thing Claude needs is more hurdles in a country that prides itself on erecting them.

Judith breaks the silence between them with a sharp thump, her glass hitting the wooden endtable. "Right! To business, then. Oswald sent with me clerics that will help with the healing process. Some of his own personal healers, so they're familiar with you as you should be of them. I'm certain the nurses here at the Officers Academy are quite skilled at what they do, but you know how he is.

"Yeah." Claude takes a sip of water to hide his sudden grimace. That's going to be conspicuous.

"The Ethereal Ball is in two moons," Judith adds. "It'll be tight, but I'm certain it will heal in time. Oswald also wrote letters for all your professors to excuse you from your exercise drills while you recover. I'll give them to you before I leave, so make sure you get it to them before classes resume."

"Mmm." More meddling. More silence.

"Did it hurt?"

Claude looks up at Judith, to the concerned look in her eyes. He ought to have an answer–he does, doesn't he?–but nothing comes out.

"I know you like to forge on ahead on your own," she continues carefully, "and that you have the confidence to believe in yourself even when we push against you. But you know that you're not alone in this, right?"

"...I know that."

"You have family to rely on when things go wrong. ...You also have people that are relying on you.  People to consider, and who shouldn't be left behind or ignored." There it is, the way Judith's voice hardens when she's trying to make a point. "Independence is an admirable trait to have, but there are times when you take it too far."

"...It's only that–I know my limits, and that I haven't hit them yet. Oswald, grandfather... he's so overbearing. And I know, I know, Godfrey!" Claude snaps when Judith opens her mouth. Of course, he regrets it soon after when her face falls, and her expression hardens as her voice had. But still he goes on, "I'm not him. Things won't end like it did with him. I don't need protection."

A pregnant pause. Judith making him wait, no doubt, and Claude steadily returns her gaze. He misstepped earlier, and no doubt he's paying for it now. It's fair of her, more than fair. Claude should know better than to throw the name of her dead husband back at her like some kind of curse.

She lets out a deep sigh. A tired sigh. "Alright. You've made your point. But some food for thought..." Judith takes another sip of her whiskey, swirling it in its cup. "There's a lot riding on you. There was a lot riding on Godfrey, too, and he broke under the pressure of it all." Another pause. "In some ways you have less support than he did, but you still have support. The Alliance is a country where no man can be allowed to forge ahead on his own. He is one of a group that works together for the betterment of all. That's the ideal, anyways... The sooner you learn that, the easier your time here will be. Just give it some thought, will you?"

—————

Judith's parting gift included Oswald's letters, but also a small pot of a brown, perfumed substance. "It's makeup. Don't give me that face," she scolds him, scowling. "When I was a girl attending the Officers Academy, the marketplace rarely had anything that could cover my blemishes without making me look like I came back from the dead." Then the pot is forced into his hands. "It'll be useful for you, better than an eyepatch in any case. The men of Derdriu cover their blemishes with this too, if it makes you feel any better."

It didn't, really. Not at the time. But Judith's gift was intended to be a tool, and so Claude tried to think of it as such. At least the scent of rosewater was a familiar one. A comforting one. It reminded him of his mother, and of Aunt Judith as well.

—————

Two weeks before the ball, the Riegan clerics returned to Derdriu. And in the early morning before it, Claude inspects himself in the mirror.

The bruising is long gone. His fingers scrape at the last bit of rose-scented paste clinging to the pot to cover the dark scar on his cheek. The skin already healed there, the clerics had explained to him. There is no way to undo its work. When Claude dabs makeup over it, though, the scar all but disappears. He tilts his head, smiles at himself in the mirror. Perfect.

Claude had his misgiving about this at first. But to be able to conceal his bruising and live his life normally, just as himself... when he writes to Judith for another pot, he'll have to let her know how invaluable that was to him.

He leaves his room shortly after, brushing past the stacks of papers on his desk. Underneath half-written essays and class notes are a set of unopened letters from Duke Riegan himself from two moons ago, buried and forgotten. No one that knew Claude von Riegan would think he'd actually hand those into his professors, Judith least of all.

[thelazyeye]

oh okay, internet famous Losers, like they're all youtubers and insta famous kids doing really different stuff around the nation, what do each of them do? who connects with who and how?

Ooff I love this idea. I used to be moderately into youtube people. Mamrie Hart anyone? She cracks me the fuck UP. Anyway this got super long so its under the cut. I hope you enjoy anon! Thanks for sending something it!!

Okay. Here we go. 

Richie 

is a youtube personality. Duh. He started out vlogging and his Voices and somehow his channel picked up. He writes comedy bits, does personal blogging, and tests his voices. 

When he was starting out he had a bit where he was a weatherman that had multiple personalities (Voices) and it got insanely popular. He received some backlash due to the offensiveness of the bit and has since retired it, but references it from time to time to credit his fame. 

Now he focuses a lot on his comedy routines and improv acting with other members of the community. He does challenges from time to time as collabs as well

People are super invested in his personal life (bc people seriously get like that with youtube people) and started speculating about his sexuality. It took him a few years to address all the rumors that he wasn’t straight and how he was probably dating this youtuber or that youtuber. 

Eddie 

is an LGBT Activist that has a youtube channel as well (think Laci Green but LGBT and not sex ed, though he does do sex ed work)

He got his start when he was in college. He became the president of the LGBT club. He wanted to reach a large number of students and he figured the best way to do that would be youtube

The entire club helped him out. Every week he would have another club member on the channel to talk about their sexuality and experiences

It didn’t get big at the school but he got lowkey noticed by the HRC after about 6 or 7 videos. He was contacted by a social media manager on the team to commend him on his work

From then on out he started to work harder on his videos, including more in depth information and he included links to more resources

Eventually, his videos started to rack up views from young LGBT kids thanking him for his channel

He started to collab with famous LGBT youtubers (troye sivan, hannah hart) and that’s when he really blew up 

Bill 

actually got his start on Vine. He mastered the art of the 6 second story and when the platform went down he migrated to youtube, snapchat, and twitter. He’s got profiles on almost every social media platform and he’s written a couple of webseries, as well. 

His first webseries (pre-vine) focused on comedy. He and some college friends got together and wrote the script/acted it out. It wasn’t very big but the following for it had a cultish feel. 

It blew up after he became famous on vine

After that, he started writing more webseries and partnering with other youtube actors

He wrote and completed two successful comedy webseries before he got bored of it. He decided to make the jump to horror work 

Think Marble Hornets

He ended up getting a scholarship to a film school and has been working on becoming a movie director ever since

His youtube work is on a hiatus but he still posts blogs and updates of his life. He’s active on Snapchat and Twitter the most. He still does dumb, funny shit from time to time and tweets out very random jokes

Stan 

is an adventure youtuber. He travels all over the world, seeking thrills and exploring nature. His videos usually have some kind of educational component but they’re always entertaining. Stan has explored the Savanah and Rain Forrests, he’s sky dived and scuba dived. He’s done a lot

He has a side channel for his love of birds because how can I not throw this in here?

When Anti semites started showing back up in the world Stan started to dedicate more of his channel, and his other platforms, to Judaism. He’s uses his popularity and fame to educate people and create awareness around the issues Jews face

As a result, he blogged his Birthright to Israel. It was a weeks worth of videos, some candids that he just uploaded on the whim, and some he took the time to edit. They were adventurous, educational, and full of his personal journey

Stan has also faced a lot of backlash for his involvement with the jewish community. He voices this in his videos. To combat the threats against him, he recruits other members of the youtube community to collab with and talk about issues. He makes it fun. He’s cooked Jewish foods, celebrated Jewish holidays, and had fun discussions with other personalities. 

Bev 

is a famous fashion designer and makeup artist. She got her start on Instagram, posting her designs and outfits that she created. Sh started young. Like 15 years old. As she grew up and went to school, her fashion instagram grew. People got to see her skills improve and they watched as she turned into a teenager designing clothes in her bedroom to a design student to a professional

She gives fashion tips to people and her favorite hobby is making posts that help girls and boys create fun, new, and exciting clothes out of what they already have in their closet

She firmly believes that you don’t need to have money and status to dress well. She wants fashion to be accessible. 

She started a youtube channel out of request from her followers. She got a lot of comments about her makeup and she started to do makeup tutorials there (Think Sailor J)

People really started to see how funny she was, then. She would always throw little bullshit videos onto her story but this was the first time she posted video content that didn’t disappear after 24h

Her youtube is not nearly as active as her instagram. That’s where you can find all of her content

She is also a vocal activist against child abuse on her insta. She frequently donates to various organizations and she does it very publicly. She runs clothing drives for those in need and has even hosted makeover days for young girls whose families can’t afford good clothes/makeup. 

She has recently expanded her fashion designs to male clothing, promoting Non Binary, Trans, and other identities in her lines. She says “Clothing has no gender” and pushes that despite advice to lay low on the issue. 

Mike

is a super unlikely case of internet fame. His instagram is composed almost entirely of his farm animals. He really didn’t think he was going to get famous from it. He just loves his farm so fucking much

The first half of his internet fame just consisted of pictures and videos of his animals. Namely, his dog Mr. Chips and his cow, Barely. They were best friends and Mike posted pictures of them napping together, playing together, and helping him run the farm

Once he started to gain an unreasonable about of followers he would pepper in posts that were educational. He talked about the importance of farmers, the work that he does, and how he maintains his animals. He worked to debunk a lot of myths about farming and really promote the work that he does. 

He still posts a lot of videos of him with his animals being all cute, but he uses his activism to reach large numbers of people at a single time. 

He also promotes healthy eating on his instagram. He talks about balanced diets and how to moderate sweets intake. 

Eventually he talks about working out (because Mike Hanlon is ripped sorry I don’t make the rules) and helps build an all around healthy lifestyle for his following. He kind of accidentally becomes a life coach of sorts. Motivation, healthy living, and cute animals. 

He has no idea how it happened but he doesn’t regret a single minute of it

Ben

is a singer! This sweet old mother fucker started out on youtube when he was 16. He bought a Ukulele and started writing love songs for the girl he was pining after

We all know that one mother fucker who owed a Ukulele in high school

His voice was like velvet, though. He wasn’t popular enough for anyone to really see it so he didn’t get teased in high school for it. His first couple videos got only a handful of views

What kick started his fame is a cover video. When he decided he wanted to do an acoustic cover of Lady Gaga’s Love Game

He did it on Ukulele

It ended up being such a fun and unique cover of such a popular song that he got noticed. Like. The video fucking blew up. He ended up getting over 5 thousand views overnight and the number just kept growing

Ben ran with it. He covered other popular songs (I Kissed a Girl, Viva La Vida, So What, etc) 

He blew up so hard and fast that people started to notice his original works

He got noticed by a label and signed the summer after he graduated high school

His first album was a love album because it’s Ben come on

He doesn’t have much of a social media presence after his youtube channel. He has the mandatory instagram and twitter that all famous people seem to have but they’re fairly inactive

Collabs

Richie and Bill

Richie and Bill were the first to collab with each other. Richie acted in Bill’s first webseries and it built a friendship that lasts a lifetime. 

The two of them do stupid youtube challenges with each other whenever they’re in the same city

Bill used to guest on Richie’s channels and play improv games to help both of them work on their comedy. They always turn out ridiculously funny and normally involve some level of alcohol

When Bill lost his younger brother in a car accident (sorry georgie dies in like every single universe) Richie flew out to see Bill and spend time with him. The two of them filmed a vlog together where they talked about the loss and then they both donated to anti drunk driving campaigns and urged their followers to do the same and never drive drunk

Richie and Eddie

They met for the first time at vidcon when they were first starting out. Richie was already pretty big but Eddie was working on his following. They hit it off immediately and they filmed a video for Eddie’s channel that focused on Eddie debunking stereotypes surrounding the LGBT community. Richie added a tasteful comedic flair that brought in views and he taught Eddie that things don’t always need to be serious 100% of the time

They kept in loose contact after that, always meeting up at vidcon and filming a ridiculous video for Eddie’s channel

2 years later, Richie reached out to Eddie and asked him to film a video for Richie’s channel

He wouldn’t tell Eddie what it was until they were in front of the camera, but Eddie readily agreed. He loved working with Richie. He thought he was fun and witty

When they got in front of the camera Richie revealed that he was bisexual and that Eddie’s videos helped him learn about bisexuality and come to terms with it

They spent the video talking about Richie’s journey to self acceptance, why he decided to come out, and Eddie’s knowledge surrounding sexual identity development. The video ended up being 15 minutes long and had the highest comment numbers Richie had ever seen. Not every comment was positive, but he took the experience in stride and started doing little bits of advocacy here and there for his and other channels 

Richie and Eddie end up dating, but not for a long, long time after that video when they’re both living in LA and well established in their youtube careers. 

Bev and Mike

An unlikely combo for an unlikely youtube star! Bev and Mike do a collab that focuses on self esteem and loving yourself!

Mike gives health tips and Bev gives fashion advice, but both of them talk about the importance of self worth and how external image means nothing if you don’t love yourself first. They both talk about their own journeys. 

The collab starts because Bev finds out about Mike through insta and she ends up contacting him about wool. They partner up business wise and Mike helps provide wool for her fashion line while Bev promotes his farm work. 

They don’t do many intentional collabs after they one, but they do show up on each others stories and in pictures together very frequently. The two become best friends

Ben and Bev

They don’t collab. But they do get married. 

They meet through the fame and bustle of L.A. Ben’s music career makes him end up at the same Gala as Bev, where they’re introduced to each other. They hit it off immediately, connecting with their childhoods and such. 

They date for 3 years before Ben proposes via Flash Mob and song written just for Bev

Bev loves the song so much she insists Ben release it. It becomes a Billboard hit

Eddie and Stan

Stan finds himself in NYC where Eddie lives and he reaches out to do an educational collab on LGBT politics in the Jewish community. 

He takes Eddie rock climbing and the two film the video with go pros. 

Eddie is terrified at first and it makes for a funny introduction but he eventually gets his bearings and the two of them scale a cliff together, talking about issues and getting to know each other. 

Stan and Richie

Eddie introduces them after the Coming Out Video. 

They collab as frequently as they can

They do ridiculous shit and Stan films Richie’s commentary. Its hilarious

They have a natural chemistry and they feed off of each other. Stan didn’t know he was a funny guy until he met Richie. Then it just kind of came out of the woodwork. Richie really highlighted Stan’s eccentric sense of humor. 

Everyone

Richie and Bev are childhood best friends

Eventually, they all end up meeting. They don’t really film videos with each other. Sometimes there’s a vlog that includes more than two of them but very rarely are they all in the same video at the same time. 

It happened intentionally once. It was chaos. Everyone was drunk. The video had to be edited so severely that it was only 1 minute and 30 seconds

They do however show up in snapchats, insta stories, and pictures as a group. By the time they’re all 30 they’re very, very good friends

[kindredcandy]

Mate | Lucien x reader

Summary: You ran from Lucien when the bond snapped into place. It's been torture being without him.

Request: Could you do Reader x Lucien, where reader is his mate not Elain? I can never really find any and he's my favorite. Thanks for your time

TW// angst in the beginning, brief mentions of difficulty eating, feeling rejected, kissing with consent, super fluff at the end, mating bond.

A/N: always happy to write for Lucien! I agree that there aren't many mate!reader x Lucien fics, so I hope this fills a little bit of that need. Sorry if it's short, I hope it meets your expectations! This is unedited, unproofread, and Tumblr was being a bitch when I was writing it! Happy Easter, Happy Passover, Ramadan Mubarak, and if you don't celebrate any of those, then have a wonderful day <3

==================

Lucien Vanserra is many things.

Tall, muscular, witty, gorgeous, former emissary of the Spring Court, friend to the Night Court, the youngest of the seven brothers.

Oh yeah, and your mate.

And okay, it snapped into place so suddenly, so unexpectedly, you really couldn't be blamed for reacting the way you did. There was an incredibly attractive high fae male in the townhouse kitchen, it's a wonder you didn't turn and run away the moment you set eyes on him. No, you waited until after the bond snapped in place, that strange draw towards each other making both his and your eyes go wide. You didn't know how to react, didn't know what to do. And when your mate spent just a few seconds too long staring at you like you were a bug that learned how to speak, you bolted upstairs.

Feyre followed, her footsteps not enough to drown out the disbelief in the low rumble of his voice. "She's my mate."

You had heard about Lucien before that encounter, and afterwards Feyre assured you he was a good male, but you were nervous. You'd never had a mate before, and it felt weirdly like an arranged marriage to you. Even if you had nothing against him, or the mating bond, they both terrified you. This worsened when a month passed with no contact between the two of you. You weren't sure what his reasons were for refusing to seek you out, but yours kept you indignantly silent.

You could feel the bond. Lucien was mostly quiet on the other side, but you could feel him. From the moment he left the townhouse your chest grew into a black hole, sucking up anything and leaving you hollow inside. You felt like you were dying, like a sickness had taken over you. Though you continued with your normal life, everything was more difficult with the presence of an absent mate. Even eating, sleeping, everything was harder. You wondered if he could feel you too, if it was consuming him alive the way it was to you. Occasionally, an emotion would spike down the bond, like it had unintentionally slipped from the leash of his control. Fear, anger, sadness. They made your heart beat faster and your mind race whenever they flashed. A few times it happened at night, forcing you to pace the room all night, any thought of sleep gone like dust on a breeze.

And somehow, even though you hadn't said a word to him, even though nothing had changed in the month you hadn't seen him, you began to feel something resembling love. Lucien was constantly present with you, even if he wasn't there physically. He was constantly on your mind. As much as it all terrified you– the longer you were apart, the more desperate you became for him.

It was halfway into month two when Rhys decided to intervene. Every member of the Inner Circle was worried about you, about your deteriorating condition. That space between the day that Rhys said he was going to invite Lucien, and the day that Lucien confirmed he would come... You thought you were going to die in those three days. And when he finally decided to come, the date and time he chose were almost immediate.

"This will be good for both of you." Feyre assured, sitting on the couch beside you.

Your stomach clenched nervously at the mere mention of Lucien. She hadn't even said his name and your mind inflamed with thoughts of him.

"What happens if he rejects it?" You said, your mouth dry. Then realizing the insecurity you just voiced, you added. "If I reject it?"

"Then we'll deal with that. Just give him a chance, talk it out." Feyre said, and you knew she was probably speaking from experience.

Her head whipped up to Rhys and they exchanged a silent conversation. Lucien had arrived. You could tell, if not from their faces then from the bond that alerted you to his nearness. You pushed your hands beneath your thighs, sitting on them to keep from jumping up and running to meet him. You were desperate for him but you couldn't reveal that until you knew he felt anything for you.

Lucien entered, and it was like time stopped. His eyes immediately met yours, and the face that had been burned into your memory was infinitely more beautiful when stood in front of you. His eyes roved over you, fixed as if you were the only person in the room. Your legs trembled to keep from jumping into his arms. You didn't even know if he wanted you, and yet you wanted nothing more than to be with him, close to him. Whatever this bond was, whatever the Cauldron had destined for you could be damned. It didn't matter if it was fate, or just primal instinct, but you loved him. A male you didn't even know.

"I guess we'll leave you two alone. If you need anything, give a shout." Rhys mused, leading Feyre out of the room with a hand on her back. You had forgotten they were even there.

You couldn't think of anything except him. His tanned skin, the brightness of his hair, you wanted to run your hands over all of it.

"Y/N." Lucien finally said. Everything inside you guttered out at the sound of your name on his lips. The others must've told him about you, you distractedly realize.

"Lucien." It's the breath of a whisper over your tongue. His name is so much more beautiful when you say it to his face. The sound of it seems to siphon some of the life out of him, his eyebrows pulling up barely perceptibly.

Lucien clears his throat and refocuses himself. You can tell this is more difficult than he expected it would be, yet ever the trained socialite, he schools himself into focus. He's still on the other side of the room, but he take a few steps closer, his scent wafting. Like honey, and wood and grass. You almost arch towards it. He notices.

"I suppose there are some things we need to discuss." His voice sounds like he isn't completely present. His head is in a world somewhere else.

You nod, a harsh snap to reality when you remember he might be here to reject you.

"You ran away from me." He was closer now, making his way to the couch but scared to be in such proximity to you.

"I was scared." You whisper honestly, as if under a trance. You don't know how Rhys resisted the bond for so long, how he kept it a secret. "I'm sorry." You apologize, knowing it must've felt awful to have someone actually run in the opposite direction after realizing they're to spend their life with you.

"Scared of me?" He freezes, not moving any closer. You pat the cushion next to you, knowing he wouldn't move any closer if he thought you feared him. Lucien sits down, his compliance a small comfort.

"No. No, definitely not of you." You shake your head adamantly. "The bond– it surprised is me is all."

He looks down at his hands, turning them over in his lap. It gives you a chance to study his features, the scars, the intricacy of the metal eye. Everything about him is so sharp, so starkly beautiful. A beautiful male deserving of a beautiful mate.

"You didn't seek me out." You ask.

"I didn't think you wanted me." It was as if you could hear your heart shattering over his words. He glanced up and the genuine empathy in your eyes urged him to continue. "I was scared too." Lucien admitted.

"Not of me," You hoped, joking.

He scoffs a light laugh. "No." The amusement lowers from his features as he answers honestly. "I was scared of what happens to people close to me. I was scared that maybe if there was some way you wanted me, I would end up losing you before I even got to have you."

You didn't know what to say. You didn't know how to comfort him, assure him you would be fine. Those words would be meaningless to a male who could see through such pleasant lies. There was nothing you could say to make him want you, nothing you could say to convince him that a life together would be worth it.

"You don't want me." You concluded.

His head whipped up, brows narrowed together, his eye whirred. "No, I didn't say that." You give him a pointed look to explain. "I want you more than anything I've ever wanted. I've never felt this way before."

You reach over and place a hand over his warm, tanned ones. His nostrils flare and he looks down at it, studying where you skin meets his. It's the first time you've touched your mate.

"Tell me what you're thinking, Y/N." He sounded broken and you never wanted him to be like that again. It destroyed you.

"I'm thinking that I don't know how this is possible. I don't even know you and you're the only thing I think about. I couldn't eat or sleep for the past month because I've been so consumed by how much I need you."

His eyes were beautiful up close. His scent was torturing you, and fighting to keep from kissing him was the hardest thing you'd ever done. His skin was like a magnet to yours, begging to be touched, begging to worshipped.

"Tell me, whatever it is you want I'll give it you. If you tell me to leave and never come back, you'll never see me again. Whatever you want, Y/N." Lucien promised and the passion in his voice had you dragging your hand up to his forearm. He was addictive and sensual, your eyes drooped half-lidded and you whispered with every ounce of you.

"Kiss me, Lucien. Please."

It took him only a moment before his lips were on yours, a warm hand cupping your jaw. Your hand found his knee, and the other traced up his broad chest. It was sparks and fireworks from his lips, but also fuzz and static so loud in your head you couldn't hear. He was glorious. His lips were plush, devouring yours like he needed you to breath. The suffering that came from separation was nothing compared to the euphoria of joining with him. If everything in your life had led to this moment, it would've been worth it a million times over. Lucien's hand scraped up your scalp and you gasped against him, the touch so much more magnified coming from your mate. Your palm against his chest arched to scratch down it, a shuddering breath releasing from the male. You had the same effect on him. He pulled back, the only sound both of your panting against each other. His scent was so intoxicating, so strong up close you had to keep from burying your face in his neck. You were halfway climbing into his lap as it was.

"My mate." Lucien whispered, his eyes studying the emotions whirling in yours. You nearly crumbled beneath his words.

"You smell good." You whispered, a smile breaking across your features when he pulls back and laughs. Happiness on Lucien was your new favorite thing in the world.

"So do you." His smile is so beautiful it makes your heart swell. Looking at him feels like looking at the sun. "You know what they say about mates?"

"They say a lot of things about mates." You countered, unable to even attempt to hide your beaming smile.

"It's been said that your mate is the only one who can truly see your soul, unhindered. It's why we're so protective over them, why we fall in love so quickly." Lucien's eyes flicked to your lips when he said 'love'.

"What do you think of my soul, Lucien?" You were almost teasing, though curious to hear his answer. You couldn't tear your gaze from him.

"I think it's the most beautiful thing I've ever seen." And the way he looked at you, you could tell he wasn't just talking about your soul when he said it. You pressed your lips to his in short affection, unable to resist him for any longer.

"So..." You trailed, mischief sparkling in your eyes that made Lucien draw back, suspicious. "You want some soup?"

[thatsalrightprettymama]

Be My Once In A Lifetime (Part 1)

A/N: Here is the first part of the 60s SugarDaddy Elvis series, I hope you all like it! This can be read as Austin!Elvis or real Elvis whichever you prefer. I'm excited to write out the story I have planned for this reader and Elvis, and I hope you all enjoy this and later parts! As always it's unedited and unproofread lol. I hope you like it!💙.

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: None

Tiredly you sigh as you walk in the dry California heat after another long shift at Fred’s. As you mindlessly walk along the bustling throng of people, one of the few constants you’ve found since coming to L.A., you couldn’t help but think that for some reason you just wanted to be alone tonight. Since moving to L.A. last year after you graduated high school, the one thing you’ve loathed about the town is the inability to find a truly secluded place. There always seemed to be someone around, rather it be in the city or even in the beautiful mountains around. Looking up into the afternoon sky, the Hollywood sign catches your attention and for the first time in a while it holds it. Staring at the giant white letters, an idea pops into your head. Sticking your hand into your apron you grab your tips and do some quick math. You might have to skip taking the bus home on some of your closing shifts if the week stayed slow, but you had enough for the bus route to get you closer to that sign. Cause surely there wouldn’t really be anyone directly at those letters, and you might find some solitude.

Despite your aching’ feet, your steps gains a slight pep as you go to the closest bus stop. Luckily you manage to get close to the sign with only having to jump on a few buses. You were thankful for the moments off your feet as you rode the crowded buses. As you get off the last stop closest to your destination, you noticed that the sky started to turn into hues of pink and orange among the blue. Pausing you wonder if you should call it waste of tips and turn around, you couldn’t help it walking home at night still scared you. Then you thought of the wasted money, you worked damn hard for every penny at that diner, and not a penny should be wasted. Pushing that slight worry aside, you go forward on your trek. A little over a mile and you come upon the massive letters, but your heart drops when you see a car. Your plan instantly foiled as you see the nice black Cadillac. After a moment you stepped on your heels to see if you could see the owner of the car around, secretly hoping maybe the owner just parked there and was on a hike or something.

At first your secret hopes feel like they may be filled before you see a figure on one of the “wood” O’s, slashing your hopes of solitude again. Biting your lip for a moment you decide fuck it, this was the closest to solitude you were destined to get in this city. Quietly you made your way down the hill to sit in front of the H. Thankfully the figure either doesn’t notice you or ignores you, as you two silently sit. As you sit on the harsh dirt, you let your mind wonder over the past year and how different everything is now. How different you are now. When you came out to L.A. from your small southern town, you were so bright eyed and hopeful. You honestly believed that you’d get into some Art School here and galleries would be interested in your art when you first arrived, but as more time went by you started to think maybe your Mama was right and you came out here and wasted your future on a silly little dream. Then you remember your Papaw, and how he told you that there’s no time wasted chasin’ any dream.

Letting your thoughts wander you enjoy the quietness as you out over the city. As it starts to get darker, you get dusting your uniform off and walk back up the hill. Passing the nice car again, you silently thank that the owner allowed you to finally have some peace in this town. As you make your way home you can’t help but feel happy that you finally maybe found a quiet place. While others may find it odd, you were so used to going into the woods behind your house or other of the sanctuaries at home to get away from everything, but it irked you when you couldn’t find a place like that here. On your way home you decide to make that place your sanctuary, seeming as it’s one of the few quiet places you’ve found.

It isn’t until almost a week later after you pull a night shift at Fred’s that you make your way back to the sign. Too fed up with your night you didn’t care how late it was when you got off the last stop. Determined you make your way to sign, thankful that the car from last time wasn’t there so you can grab an O to sit at. Making your way you lean on the metal and sit at the curve and stare out at the bright city below.  You don’t know how long you sit there against the metal just staring at the lights when you suddenly hear a car pull up. Turning you see blinding headlights pull up before shutting off, and you see the black caddy from last time. Turning back around you stare back at the lights and decided to ignore them, as childish as it was you had the O this time, they could take another letter.

Shortly after you hear the door faintly shut you hear steady footsteps shuffle through the dirt. Stomping any bit of curiosity in you, you keep your gaze forward. Even when you get that familiar tingle when you feel someone staring at you flares up before you briefly hear the steps stop. Biting your lip, you internally stomp the curiosity that flares up before the steps continue toward the O next to you. From the corner of your eye, you see a tall, darked hair man take a seat on the metal letter next to you. Pulling your eyes back you try to focus back onto the lights below and try to ignore the man next to you. Staring at the distant lights of L.A. below you’re slightly perturbed that he didn’t choose another letter when you start to feel a bit awkward on your perch. Despite being slightly aggravated that your solitude was interrupted, it felt impolite to just sit there and not acknowledge the other person near you. Though most of that was probably due to the manners ingrained into you from home. Fidgeting with your apron you hear those southern social standards scream to you that you were committing high social sin; being rude. Biting your lip, you look away from the lights and decide to break the silence.

“What’s more important, the music or the lyrics?” You randomly ask the first question that didn’t sound silly as you stare toward the man, only seeing his black hair from your spot. “What?” you hear a deep southern voice ask. “With music, what’s more important? Is it the music itself or the lyrics?” You ask again, as you watch the dark-haired figure sit up. “How can you say one’s more important than the other, they’re equal.” The deep voice answers you, piquing your curiosity even more. “Well just say you had to choose, which one would it be?” You ask curiously as you lean forward, trying to get a better peak at the man. “Hmm, I guess it would be the music, though they’re equal I tell ya.” He answers after a moment, you bite your lip to keep from giggling at his slight insistence on their equality. Still trying to get a clear look at the man in the dark, you hear him begin to explain his answer, “The most beautiful lyrics in the world wouldn’t come to life if there were no music to make em’ live.” He explains, and you couldn’t help but notice how his voice seemed to hold a brightness to it as he talked about music.

“That’s a good answer.” You plainly tell him making him chuckle before he asks, “Thanks, is there a right answer little lady?” “There’s only good or bad sir.” You quip hearing him chuckle again, and you couldn’t deny you didn’t like the sound each time you heard it. Though it gnawed at your mind why did he sound familiar? “Well, what’s your answer? Also don’t call me sir, I ain’t that old.”  He tells you making you pause in thought. “While your answer’s good and I can agree with it, mine would have to be the opposite. While yes just music can move you, sometimes you need to hear someone add to that with feelings you feel, or words you wanna say. “You tell him as you start to fidget with your apron again. . “I think the lyrics make you fell less alone.” You add as you continue to fiddle with the slightly worn white fabric. “That’s a good answer too doll. “He tells you making you smile before he adds, “Though it proves my point they’re equal.” You throw your head back and laugh at his insistence on his original answer. “Alright they’re equal then, but still it was a good question.” You tell him as you giggle. “Yeah, it was a good question, which speakin’ of what kind of a question was that to start with?” He asks with a chortle of his own prolonging your giggles.

“It’s the kind of question that gets someone talking. Plus, it’s better than asking what you’re doing up here.” You tell him as you calm your giggles, thinking you’re glad you came up here after you shift tonight. “You’re right darlin’ but speaking of that, why is a little lady up here all alone at night?” He asks and you hear curiosity flow into his deep voice. “Sometimes a girl just needs to have some quiet.” You answer simply causing him to briefly hum in acknowledgement before softly concurring. “I get that, I think sometimes people just need some quiet. Try to think without so much noise.” The man comments as you instantly agree. “Exactly! Not a lotta people get that, sometimes you just need to think without noise or anyone around.” You tell him smiling, glad you finally found someone in this city that really got it. “Yeah, you’re right. Though if you don’t mind me asking whatcha coming here to think about this late?” You hear the deep voice ask causing you to shrug, not knowing if he could even see the movement in the dark. “Eh work, I guess. “You tell him as you start to slowly swing your leg. “My shift wasn’t the best and I wanted to I guess decompress before going back home.” You explain as you swing your leg, faintly seeing him nod. “What about you?” You simply ask before you start to look back at the lights.

“Sorry to hear you had a bad shift doll.”, He kindly comments before he answers you, “I guess work would be my reason too, I love what I do but I just feel like there could be more.” “Thank you, and I’m sure you’ll get that more you’re looking for you just gotta keep chasing after it.” You tell him honestly, barely hearing the hum he lets out at your words. “What if sometimes you feel tired of running after it cause no matter how hard you run it seems outta reach?” He honestly asks you, making your heart go out to the mystery man. “Well, how bad do you want whatever more is? If you want it bad enough, you’ll keep chasing it. If you really are tired of chasing it and you’d be fine with stopping, then maybe that more isn’t what you really want. “You tell him after a moment, hoping it might help him some. “My papaw always said that there’s not time wasted when you chase your dreams.” You add before a brief silence falls over you two.

“Thank you. Your Papaw sounds like a smart man.” He tells you after a few moments making you smile as you think of the loving family patriarch. “Nothing to thank me for and, he is. He’s probably the smartest man I know.” You simply say making the man give a light chortle. “I’ll take your word for it then.” He tells you lightly before sighing. “I think it’s starting to get pretty late doll; I think maybe we should call it a night.” He tells you causing you to glance at your watch, slightly surprised how late it had gotten. “Yeah, you’re right. It’s been nice talking to you.” You tell him as you swing your legs over the metal to softly plop onto the dirt. “It’s been nice talking to you too darlin’. “ He tells you as you watch his silhouette do the same thing. “Wait, I didn’t see anything up there when I pulled up. How’re you getting’ home?” He asks making you briefly pause in your steps. “I’m just gonna walk, I don’t live too far.” You tell him mixing a lie with the truth as you look toward the tall figure.

“Now wait a moment doll, how far isn’t the issue with what you just said.” He tells you, and you start to slightly get anxious when he continues,” The thing is how am I supposed to let a lady walk home alone at night.” His point, bringing the glaring truth to your mind but also debating because he was a stranger. Sure he was interesting and nice, but that didn’t mean anything. “I appreciate the sentiment, but we don’t even know each other’s names or what we look like.” You point out shuffling your feet in the dirt. “I honestly mean no offence.” You add as you see the figure nod and start to walk forward. “No, I get it doll. But we can change that. Allow me to introduce myself.” He tells you as he walks towards you as your nerves slightly build. As he comes closer, he becomes a bit clear to see in the dark and your heart stills as he walks up in front of you. “It’s nice to meet you, I’m-“ He starts to introduce himself before you blurt out, “Holy shit you’re Elvis.” Your starstruck moment making him let out a full bellied laugh as you flush with embarrassment at your slight outburst.

“Sorry, I uh didn’t mean to blurt it like that.” You shyly stutter out the apology as he chuckles, your minds still reeling from the fact that the mystery man is Elvis. “It’s fine darlin, though we established my name, you still haven’t given me yours.” Elvis tells you as he stares down at your blushing form. “Oh, I’m Y/N.” You rush out still slightly embarrassed by your outburst as his laughs die down. “Y/N, that’s a pretty name doll. “His words making your blush worse as you utter a nervous thanks before he asks, “Now that we know each other can I give you a ride home? I don’t care if it’s not that far I can’t let a lady walk home alone at night.” He tells you honestly and unintentionally calling out your lie in this surreal moment. “I-I thank you for the offer, but I really don’t want to put you out. I’m sure it’d still be outta your way. But I do hope that we meet up here again one day. “You politely decline not wanting to admit your lie, because where would you have him drop you off that you could pretend near here? You barely knew this area, your small apartment on the outskirts of town.

“Y/N please, outta my way or not I don’t want you to walk alone this late. Blame it on how I was raised.” He tells you making you chew on your lip. “Only if you let me give you gas money.” You tell him knowing you’ll have to admit your lie, and also not wanting to take advantage of his kindness. Your statement shocked him making him say what, “What? Gas money? You ain’t gotta do that.” He tries to brush off as he starts to lead you to his car. “No, I have to though. It takes gas to run a car and you’re giving me a ride.” You begin to explain as he opens the car door for you. “Plus, I uh kinda live near Silver Lake,” You admit to you him as you look up at him. “I thought you said you didn’t live too far?” He asks curiously as you get in and he closes the door. “Well, I mean to be blunt that was before I knew you were Elvis and very definitely not a killer, and not Mr. Nice Stranger that could be a killer.” You admit looking up at him through the window, you’re answer making him let out a small laugh before he bit hit lip to stop them.

You can’t help to giggle as he fails and ends up laughing as he walks over and gets into the car. “I’m sorry darlin’ I get that, but the way you said that.” He tells you in his defense makes you giggle and shake your head. “No, I get it now I think back on what I said.” You admit with a smile as he starts the car. “Well still even if I’m Elvis definitely not a killer, you don’t have to give me gas money. “He tells you as buckle up, making you shake your head. “No, even if you’re Elvis you’ll take gas money. If it was anyone else that I would trust to take me home, I’d give gas money too.” You argue as he begins to back the car up and pull onto the road. You watch as he smiles and bites his bottom lip, and you really couldn’t help to admit to yourself he was more handsome in person. “Y/N, I promise I don’t need gas money.” He tells you as he glances over at you, liking the little huff you give at his remark. “That’s not the point! Just like you can’t let me walk home, I have to give you gas money. Even if I have to hide it in the seats.” You stubbornly tell the older man.

“Anyone ever tell ya your more stubborn than a mule?” Elvis teases you, liking how you smile at his jab. “Ain’t that the pot calling the kettle black. You got me into your car, didn’t you?” You tease trying to further your point which makes him laugh as it proves his. “You’ve gotta little spunk there Ms. Y/N/ “He teases as you bite you lip and glance at him before he adds, “I like spunk. Though don’t matter. I ain’t gonna take your money doll.” You roll your eyes and smile and just end the argument with a quick, “That’s what you think.” making him laugh. While you still found it surreal, you also oddly felt comfortable as you two talked and laughed as you drove away from the place that was becoming your favorite spot. As you two started to drive away you reached toward the radio and asked, “Care if I turn it on?” Seeing him nod you turn and spin the dial, going through the stations till you hear the familiar sound of Bob Dylan lowly fill the car. “Well moving on from the gas money, I do have a burnin question now.” You tell him with a smile as you begin to tap your foot to the low music.

“Oh? What would that be?” He asks curiously with a small smile. “If you’re a singer, why would you choose music over lyrics?” You ask as you stare over at him, making him laugh. “I thought we agreed they were equal.” He points out with a laugh making you shake your head. “That just proves your stubborn too, but still. You would think a singer would favor lyrics.” You point out as the music softly plays. “They’re equal, and we’re both stubborn but that’s besides the point. “He teases making you laugh. “I already told you why though and look at you provin’ my point.” He says point at your tapping foot. “The music is what’s makin’ ya move darlin’. “He tells you making you smile and nod as you look at your foot. “Alright, you’re right. Don’t get used to hearing that from me though.” You tease making him let out a full heated laugh. “Sure darlin’, I won’t, but to throw your words back, that’s what you think.” He tells you making you smile.

The rest of the ride was spent in an odd comfortable mood. You two continued to talk and tease as he drove through L.A., your conversation slightly lulling as you directed him towards your apartment. “Thank you, Elvis, for the ride, and I honestly do hope to run into you again. It’s been really nice talking to you.” You tell him honestly as he parks outside your building, secretly slipping three dollars into the seat as you started to unbuckle. “I’ve enjoyed meeting you Y/N, and I’d like to run into you again too.” He tells you as you fight not to blush, knowing it has to be friendly or something. The man could have Natalie Wood for crying out loud, he couldn’t ever seriously flirt with you. “If you don’t mind me saying I think you’re one of the most real people I’ve found in this town. I really would like to spend some time with you Y/N.” The older man tells you finally making you blush. “Would you wanna maybe go to the beach with me and some friends Wednesday? I know a spot that we won’t get spotted or bombarded with people” He asks reminding you again how surreal this night has turned out to be.

“Well, to be honest that sounds like a hip time. I work a shift at Fred’s that day though, I won’t get off till three.” You tell him honestly, as he nods with a smile. “Perfect we weren’t gonna go till six, so why don’t I pick you up here at five?” He asks you making you smile and nod. “Sounds great to me. Thank you again for giving me a ride home. “You tell him as you open your door. “No problem, Y/N, I’m glad I went to the sign tonight.” He tells you making you blush as you close the door. “I am too, so I guess I’ll see you Wednesday?” You ask smiling as you stand outside his car. “I’ll see you Wednesday doll.” He confirms with a smile as you nod and wave before heading to the door. You glance back at the black Cadillac as you open the apartment building door, waving toward it you slip into your building and head to your apartment. As you went into your apartment, you closed your door and leaned on it for a moment. You couldn’t believe how surreal this night had been. Not only did you meet THE Elvis, but you also couldn’t believe how nice and funny he really was. Also, as weird as it was, you couldn’t believe how real he was for as famous as he was. As you got ready for bed you thought of how crazy the night ended up being, and excited for Wednesday.