#what can I say she's the easiest to draw from memory for me

[nightshade-shot]

Doodled V on a flattened hot dog boat while work was slow. I was standing up and holding the damn thing against my arm so its not as stable as I would have liked hahdjsjd

[scribs-dibs]

so weak!

modern au, neuvillette x gn! reader, vv fluffy, written in the summer, very silly & unserious <3

wc ; ~4.5k

listened to weak by swv if you couldn't tell 🔥🔥

"it's not a phase i want you to stay with me"

To say you are fond of your new neighbor would be the understatement of the century.

Your hands are covered in a thin film of flour and yeast, and it’s a blessing that your fingers can work with just muscle memory as you knead. Your mind is elsewhere, filled to the brim with thoughts of Neuvillette. It’s not your fault, really. Anyone would be taken by him; he is unfairly, nearly inhumanly pretty. Long, fair hair and strong cheekbones, a pointed nose with a rounded bridge that leads into stunning multicolored eyes. You’d seen pretty people in magazines and movies before, of course– but seeing him in the flesh, without makeup or filters or special lighting had them all immediately paling in comparison. And the worst part? Neuvillette is one of the kindest souls you’d ever met.

If asked, you would blame the hot summer sun for the sweat that had built on top of your brow. But you were nervous. You’d gotten over most of your fears when moving into a new town, (thanks to your neighbors greeting you with a kindness warm enough to melt the coldest winters) but then, standing before the grand, white wooden door of the new stranger’s home, you had felt every blood vessel pump with anxiety. And you weren't quite sure why, either. Drawing near the door seemed to make air feel heavy in your lungs, with each step seemingly bringing you closer to your doom. You swallowed. And then you knocked.

You can't tell if you wanted to thank your past self for pushing through, or curse them for giving you your current problem.

It was not Neuvillette who had answered the door. Instead, it was a creature named Elphane— a melusine. It was a surprise, to see someone inhuman and fuzzy, but she greeted you with such goodwill you would be remiss to not do the same. The one behind her was the issue. The looming, fierce presence that stood protectively at her back, and piercing holes into your skin as he watched you. Your nerves came back to you in a rush.

It was a gift, from whatever archon was watching over you, that your meeting went without a hitch. Despite how frightened you were, Neuvillette's concerned, cool gaze melted into something softer once pleasantries were out of the way. You owe it all to your offering— a quaint and humble apple pie.

Baking was a hobby you had taken up earlier into your move. You would not describe it as the easiest thing you've done, but it does serve to ground you. To put your worries into precise measurements and knead them into dough, and then have a result that leads into something edible. Not to mention, it makes your neighbors adore you, newly-moved melusines included. And of course, you adore them too. It's their guardian that's a problem.

Neuvillette has consumed the better part of most of your waking days. You come back from work, and it is his clear multicolored eyes who greet you over the fence. They form the shape of crescents when he smiles, faint and polite, like fresh spring water. You're weak in the knees.

It is him who knocks on your door on occasion, pale skin slightly flushed as he offers you produce from his garden.

"To repay your earlier kindness," He'll say, and his voice is so rich and silky it feels as if it curls around you like a blanket. You're weak in the knees.

It is his daughters(?) that tell you what he says behind closed doors—

"Neuvillette used to dislike sweets. But he always smiles when he tries your food. Says it takes a special talent to make sweets this good. Can you make more for him?" Verenata asked you one day, teal paws cupping several macrons, "And more for me?"

You're weak.

When you're done kneading and yearning, you leave your dough covered so it can rest. You are too hyper to do the same. Out the window, the sinking sun paints the sky in warm shades of pink. Summer nights are much cooler now, such is the gift of August taking its leave.

Stepping outside gifts you with the gentle kiss of fresh air. Your small porch is one of your favorite parts of your home. When you were little, you had often wondered why it was older people sat outside and did nothing but stare out into the world above. Now older and wiser, you can understand it. It's peaceful— you could sit out here for hours and watch the sky change to reveal the stars. If not for the mosquitoes.

You sit on the second-lowest step, staring up at the softly drifting clouds and noting their different shapes. This one is similar to Ottnit's horns-- it curls around itself in a spiral. That one looks like a pancake; you wonder if you still have a box of pancake-mix in the back of your cupboard still. You wonder if you have the guts to invite Neuvillette over for breakfa—

No.

This bubbling crush is getting ridiculous. You don't even know him that well-- even though you desperately want to. You can imagine it now: the plush of his lips falling open as you ask the question, his head tilted and his pointed ears twitching (a feature that makes you wonder if the melusines aren't the only ones who aren't human, but that'd be ridiculous), before he politely refuses you. He's a busy man— at least you think him to be, because he's always hard at work. You don't know how he manages to keep such a bountiful garden so nicely kept when he is always working such long hours. On more than one occasion, you've caught him tending to it in the rain. A hard worker. A kind heart. He makes your own kick wildly in the confines of your chest.

The sky has turned more purple now, ink blotting the blush-tinted sky. Faintly, you can see the stars. Bright like those eyes of his. Like the ones that stare at you as you sit on your porch.

You nearly jump out of your skin.

And you wish you had it in you to scream at him for the scare, but he looks just as startled as you do.

He now looks at you in awe, like you've grown a second head, before he collects himself. Before you know it his demeanor is back, calm as quiet waters.

"My apologies. I didn't mean to frighten you."

And you hate him a little bit for that, too. The voice that you have imprinted into your mind, hanging on to every dip and curve of each syllable, is apologizing to you in a tone so sincere it almost hurts. He makes you ache.

Though you are screaming internally, you smile and say, "Aw, no worries Mis-" you notice how his brow is already furrowing. He's told you before, Neuvillette is fine, no need for formalities. We're neighbors, after all. "...No worries, Neuvillette. It's, uh, nice to see you."

You want to face-plant directly into the ground. Busy as he is, you see each other nearly everyday. 

If Neuvillette notices the awkwardness of your phrasing, he clearly doesn't mind. His understanding is found in an undeniably fond smile. 

"Same to you," And then your name. He says it so tenderly, like it is precious. You're going to burst into flames right here, and illuminate the darkening skies for all to see. 

There's a small beat of awkward silence, which is filled with your eyes scanning for anything to look at but him. Neuvillette stands just at the border of your fence, its gate opened but his feet firmly planted at the edges. It's like there's a barrier there, put in place so as to keep him, in specific, out. And, well, you are shivering and shaking at the mere thought of seeing him any closer, but it does feel...pitiful to have him so far away.

"You...can come closer if you want." You pat the space on the step next to you.

His eyes widen again, the same expression of surprise he had shown when he had first appeared. And again, he schools it into something more familiar, collected and calm. It's almost vampiric how he steps forward with an eagerness, but only after being invited to do so. 

You almost want to laugh-- the man is so lanky that he has to shift awkwardly to fit properly on the small step. But then he settles fully and your laugh dies immediately. You inhale, and then it dawns upon you that he's close.

Neuvillette smells fresh. Like getting misted with rain after an ongoing drought. And then something faintly sweet, like flowers-- his garden. It intoxicates you-- this was a horrible idea.

"You have my thanks,"

You can only nod. You don't trust your voice not to betray you. 

This time, the silence that follows is not awkward and stiff. It is a serene, natural thing, as you both gaze at the ever-brightening stars.

"This is lovely," comes his voice in a whisper, as if speaking too loudly will cause the sky to ripple like a stone thrown atop a pond's surface. "But...would you mind so terribly if I were to confess something?"

You are going to die.

Confess makes it sound like he was hiding something from you. Confess makes it sound like he was harboring something, keeping it close, watching it bloom. Confess makes it sound like it was blooming for you.

It chants in your ear so loudly you can barely hear it over your voice.

Confess. Confess. Confess.

"O-of course. Go ahead."

Confess. Confess. Confess.

Another one of his smiles. The moon caresses the planes of his face, and you are envious of how they brush against his cheekbones and the sharp lines of his jaw. Your eyes immediately flicker back— his cheeks. There's a faint flush brushed across them. 

"It is...a bit embarrassing, admittedly,"

Confess. Confess. Confess.

"I..had been meaning to ask.."

Confess. Confess. Confess.

"...If you would mind teaching me how you make those pastries of yours?"

The heart is a funny thing.

At first, it sinks. Your heart is but a lump in your chest now, vulnerable and lonely. You were a fool to think that someone like Neuvillette of all people would see you in that way. He is put together— a calm, guiding force for the melusines, the talk of your little neighborhood. And you? You are but a neighbor, lucky enough to be housed next to him. But then—

You wanted to know him better, didn't you?

Immediately, your mind races. Neuvillette, in your home. Neuvillette's long, pretty fingers shaky with inexperience. Neuvillette, with his eyes focused on his new task, focused on you. You feel dizzy. You are weak in the knees.

It's a horrible idea.

For one, your house must pale in comparison to his. His house is a stately one. You remember, the first time you had stepped foot in front of his door, thinking that the previous owners must've prepped it just for his arrival. A freshly painted baby-blue on the siding. Hedges trimmed to perfection. A pathway with not a single stone out of place. That big, intimidating white door, with golden detailing around the edges. Your house is not *horrible* by any means. But it is not his.

For seconds, you can barely sit next to the guy without losing what's left of your sanity.

It's a horrible idea.

"I-"

You face him, and those pearlescent eyes are boring into you. Controlled, steady, expectant.

"I would be happy to help you out!" You say too quickly, all in one breath.

Neuvillette has never really laughed in front of you. You seem to be privy to the smaller, faint smiles that make your head spin, but never a laugh.

So when you hear it for the first time— breathy and filled to the brim with mirth, you forget all about the way your heart had sunken a mere seconds ago, and fall for him all over again. Like a lovesick fool.

His smile is wide, showing teeth. You're starting to wonder if you have something going here, with him not being fully human. You swear on everything you own— his canines are sharper than normal. What's worse? It only makes you more enamored.

"It would seem I owe you my thanks again," his hand is close to yours. The tips of his gloved fingers are nearly touching your own, and that alone makes your heart want to take flight. "Looks like I'll be owing you a debt for a while still."

Your mouth opens to speak. You want to tell him that it's okay, that it's not an issue of owing you anything. That you'd walk through hell barefoot if it meant hearing that laugh again. But you don't get a chance to speak.

Because his hand, with warmth ebbing through the thin fabric, covers yours and gives it a light squeeze. It's such a small, clearly platonic motion, and yet your heart— your heart. It beats as though it means to clamber out of your chest and run for the hills. Away from the porch, away from the stars, away from his hand that fits snugly over yours. 

"Shall we meet tomorrow?"

You nod with an urgency unbefitting such a light conversation. "Of course, it's a-"

No. It's not a date. It's not anything like a date. In fact it couldn't be further from one.

"Of course." Is where you settle.

Neuvillette's smile only widens, and again you are met with those pointed teeth.

"It's a date, then."

You're going to die.

꧁꧂

You make pancakes for breakfast, but you can't taste them.

Last night, you scratched at the mosquito bites littering your forearms, but all you could feel was his hand, with warmth ebbing through the thin fabric, covering yours as he gives it a light squeeze. As you brushed your teeth this morning, you swear you could smell something fresh. Like getting misted with rain after an ongoing drought. As you spread syrup over your pancakes, your gaze was unfocused. You see those pearlescent eyes boring into you. Controlled, steady, expectant. You're going to die.

You know how to bake. At work, you browse recipes to try during your breaks. At home, if you feel sluggish, you bake to take your mind off of things. You have experience by now. But how can you trust yourself to teach someone else if that someone could send you to heaven just by smiling? It's not fair. You're doomed.

You can think of at least ten ways to call off this impromptu lesson off the top of your head. You can pretend to be sick, or flee the country, for example. But then comes your second issue: Neuvillette's disappointment. The corner of his lips turned downwards into a frown, a soft exhale leaving his too-tense shoulders. You're grieving with him at the thought. You're doomed.

There's no getting out of the hole you've dug yourself, so you take to organizing your ingredients. You are good at baking. You know how to bake. You will not trip over your own feet, or swallow your own tongue attempting to speak. You are good at this. Everything is fine.

From the door comes two firm knocks, and your life flashes before your eyes.

You are reminded of your first meeting with him, how your heart was pounding in your head, how his eyes were boring into you. And this time, it's within your own home! You open the door with as much grace and poise as a chicken without its head.

Neuvillette always looks good. In fact, good is too little of a word to describe how he looks. You could use elegant, or debonair, or divine, but it's different when he's this close.

His hair is tied back, appropriate for the mess that baking often creates, and a singular button is undone from his loose dress shirt. Neuvillette is someone who dresses without big, ornate details, but still carries a serene type of class. He feels clean and proper, even if he is dressing casually. This is the first time it hits you— you've never even seen him without gloves. Usually, he wears them for work and keeps them on thereafter, or his hands are covered with thick, rubber gardening gloves. You feel like a victorian noble, with such little exposed skin causing such a distraction. There's so much. You have a full view of the planes of his face, without wispy swipes of white obstructing your gaze.  You are leveled with a set of beautiful, strong collarbones. So much and yet—

You cannot help but stare at his uncovered, painted nails.

"Ah," he says, and again you hear him laugh-- you must be blessed. This one is lighter, a gentle breeze carrying a pleasant memory, "The melusines requested I matched with them. This was one of the ways we had decided on."

Neuvillette offers a hand, and pastel, patterned nails come into full view. The swooping swirls of Muirne. The star-like shapes of Cosanzeana. The baby-blue of Sigewinne. He carries ten of them under his gloves, with him at all times. That fact is sweet on its own. And then he says—

"We do try to alternate every few weeks or so."

Your heart melts.

You aren't quite sure what melusines are, or where they came from, but you do know that Neuvillette cares for them as he would his own kin. He's like a proud father, it's adorable.

"It wouldn't impede our baking lesson, would it?"

He's adorable.

"No! Ah, no it won't, no worries!"

 ꧁꧂

With every scan of his eyes, you become more acutely aware that this is actually happening and not some prank orchestrated by the gods. You have a million thoughts that are buzzing around uselessly in your mind, and at least half of them boil down to you should've cleaned more. You don't take Neuvillette to be the judgy type, but even so having him in your space makes you nervous. 

"So," you start, with your voice embarrassingly pitchy, "Have you made a cake before?"

A soft hum, "I have...attempted to," He averts his gaze, "With unfortunately low success."

You suppress a laugh at that-- the image of Neuvillette standing in a kitchen, looking disapprovingly at a sunken cake makes it a hard-won battle.

"Okay then! I'll try my best to help you. And then, maybe we can share it with the melusines."

Neuvillette seemed a bit tense at first, admitting his failures. But at your words, he melts, and his smile is so soft it almost seems blurry around the edges.

First, the dry ingredients.

"The mixing is the fun part, it's the measurements that can make or break the cake," You explain, feeling especially scholarly, "Too much flour will make the cake sink a bit the moment you pull it out of the oven, for example."

"I see..."

"I'll measure this part, just in case. Wanna mix?"

"Of course,"

You offer a shy smile of your own, and turn to prepare the rest of the ingredients. The sound of a whisk hitting your metal mixing bowl resounds for a moment, and then you hear your name (said tenderly, like it's precious).

As if pulled by puppet strings, you turn immediately.

And feel a dry mixture of flour brush against your face.

"Ah," He says, though he is clearly unsurprised, "My apologies."

What.

You do not, or at least had not taken Neuvillette to be the playful, mischievous type. But those pale eyes flicker to yours as he continues to mix, and that hint of a smile is playing at the corners of his lips. 

What?

Neuvillette sets the bowl down after a few more moments of whisking, and then his eyes are fully set on you once more. 

"Here," from his pocket, he produces a blue handkerchief, and before you can breathe he's getting closer, lower, "May I?"

You're weak in the knees. And you're going to die.

The sound that you make is something between and scream and a whimper, and something you're sure is entirely pathetic. That's quite enough of trying to speak, so you only nod.

His fingers —ungloved fingers— are gentle as they hook under your chin, and lift up. You aren't particularly short, but Neuvillette stands a good head above most. His touch is like dewdrops on top of flower petals, or a rainbow seen after the last drizzles of rain, or anything else delicate and dainty and sacred. You're struggling to stay upright. You mourn the fact that it's the light cloth wiping at your face, and not his opposite, uncovered hand. You're weak.

"There we are,"

And then his touch is gone, and he has stood up straight again.

"What is next?"

You are considerably more frazzled as you prepare the wet ingredients.

"I'll mix these," you say, trying to sound firm. You can't handle another heart attack. Neuvillete nods, but you know that the mirthful look in his eyes means he's enjoying this. He's a problem.

Neuvillette is never really smug. He doesn't gloat or brag about anything, despite taking pride in all that he does. You consider it a rarity that he smiles so often in front of you now, perhaps one of many benefits to living such close proximity to him, but god is it distracting. It's not filled with mockery, but he seems suspiciously content with watching you try and keep your cool. Your mixing becomes more frantic. 

This is stupid. He's only asking for a favor, only wants to make better treats for those dear to him. He just happens to have a stupidly smooth voice, and a stupidly pretty smile, and stupidly unashamed eyes that bore at you as you work, and—

Okay, so fuck him actually. 

With a quick flick of the wrist, and the wet mixture is splattered in little droplets across his face.

You know it has to be a touch more gross than simple flour and baking powder, but if that was a concern maybe he wouldn't have started this little war.

"My apologies." You say echo, feeling particularly proud.

"Seeking out justice with your own hands, are you?" his query is something that rumbles, waves building up and up and up before they come to crash. You would feel unnerved, if not for the way that his eyes shine with a sudden playfulness. It's so different from the Neuvillette you thought you knew, the one who is polite but passive, restrained and reserved at all times. You're seeing more and more of this new side of him, and you feel yourself becoming greedy for more. This was a horrible idea.

"It's only fair," Turning, you continue to mix. That's enough of looking at his face, blessed be.

Except the gods are *done* being on your side, apparently.

"If I recall," along with that steady voice, your shoulders are gripped by equally steady shoulders, "I cleaned up the mess I had made."

You're spun, to look at him. The metal mixing bowl nearly falls out of your arms. You're going to die. You're going to die, and your neighbor will be your undoing.

Neuvillette is looking at you, focused like you are mere prey quivering before him, luminescent eyes crinkled at the edges. It's unfair. There is a mixture of egg and buttermilk drying on his cheek, and yet you feel flustered by his gaze nonetheless.

"For it to truly be fair, you should return the favor, no?"

Your voice is meek and squeaky, but you manage.

"Oh..o-oh! Okay!"

His face is smooth. You're dangerously toeing the line between awe and jealousy as you reach for his cheek, full and unmarred by any bumps or blemishes. You're sure you're being obvious in your ogling of him, taking your sweet time to wipe the remnants of ingredients from his face, but Neuvillette seems like he's enjoying this. His eyes are so light, normally. But now, the whole of his irises are swallowed by a deep, inky black. Much like the night sky you saw yesterday.

Confess. Confess. Confess.

You must be seeing things.

꧁꧂

The rest of your baking is, mercifully, without another incident. You put the cake in the oven, are inhumanely fast while making the buttercream, and now sit under a familiar sunset.

You just need to survive until your timer goes off. 

"Neuvillette," comes your voice, breezy, "Why the sudden interest in baking?"

The man in question lowers the tie neatly pulling his hair into place, lowering the band so his hair nearly drips onto his shoulders.

"...There are a few reasons," there is a heaviness in that answer, and you feel he is indeed speaking the truth. Neuvillette is rarely one to hesitate, "But I suppose the main one would be to better cater to the melusines."

Your brows furrow at that. From what you can tell, Neuvillette is the best guardian the strangely charming creatures could offer. They sing nothing but his praises, and you know that he would do anything for them if they so much as batted their eyes up at him.

"They have taken a liking to sweets. Yours, especially," The way he looks at you is achingly tender, sweet, "While you've never expressed your discomfort with them, I figured I should share your burden of requests, or at the very least attempt to."

You're weak.

"Oh... Oh! It's no trouble at all, seriously," you nudge him with your elbow, "I like talking with them, and it's not like they just demand them."

Scattered around your home, assortments of shiny rocks and gems and trinkets decorate your shelves and end tables. They had at first insisted on paying for your goods, but at your refusal they had taken to a sort of trade instead. You adore them and their pint-sized company.

"It seems I've done well in that regard, then." Says your neighbor, with the rightful pride of a successful father.

"You have! They're the sweetest, really, so there's no need to worry."

That steady, comfortable silence wraps you in its embrace once more. A question pounds restlessly in the back of your mind.

"...If it's okay to ask, what are your other reasons?"

There is a subtle quirk to his lips, one you would not have noticed if your eyes weren't frustratingly glued to his face. It's like he was waiting for you to ask.

"Well," his voice is so soft, almost as light as your head feels. your eyes are focused on the inky black that swallows his own. Then, your eyes flicker to the whole of him— his cheeks. There's a faint flush brushed across them.

Confess. Confess. Confess.

"I've grown terribly fond of my neighbor, you see."

You don't know if he'd said anything else after that. You can hear nothing but the rapid beating of your heart, and the small ding! of your timer going off.

╌────═❁═────╌

thank you for reading! reblogs w/comments appreciated <3

[cripplecharacters]

Hi, this is probably a stupid question but would it make sense/be accurate for an autistic character to have, like,,,,, normal facial expressions, at the correct time (like when they're happy or sad) like a neurotypical person? Without having to mask and intentionally force themselves to make those faces?

I'm autistic but I don't think I do this. I don't talk to people unless I absolutely have to and my memory is dogshit so I can't recall any times when people have commented on my facial expressions, and I definitely do make expressions sometimes, just maybe not in the right contexts or not very often.

I'm making a comic and one of the characters is autistic and very based on my own symptoms (she's the main character so since she gets a lot of screen time, I figured it would be easiest if I already knew how to represent her).

My reasoning behind wanting her expressive is:

There are already two other characters with autism who are pretty blank and expressionless.

It's a comic and I want to draw a lot of fun expressions, I want her to be able to smile softly and snarl and look baffled and make all kinds of faces, without her having to mask and constantly be miserable.

But my problem is that I want her to actually have autism. And when I look up posts online from other people, I'm really not seeing a whole lot of "Oh yeah I can emote and make facial expressions exactly like a normal person, in the correct contexts, automatically without masking."

So I'm not sure at this point if this is something we can even do? I've seen quite a few autistic people say that our brains literally do not work this way.

Maybe, would it be possible that she has the opposite problem most autistic people do? Most of us are sort of blank and expressionless and have to mask and make ourselves look happy/surprised/angry.

I thought that instead, she could be TOO expressive, so she would have the correct expressions at the correct times (looking angry when she's angry) but she wouldn't notice this, and would make the wrong expression at a bad time?

For example, if she was at a funeral and found something funny, she would unintentionally smile/scrunch her face up and everyone would get pissed because "Omg girl their grandma got killed by a dragon and you're laughing?"

So most autistics = masking to create expressions

But her = masking to remove expressions

I hope this makes sense It's midnight and I need to sleep lmao

Hi asker!

I just wanted to say that it is, in fact, possible for autistic people to be naturally expressive. A flat or flatter affect might be more common, and many autistic people mask to create expressions. But that doesn't mean all!

Me, personally, I'm autistic. I've been called expressive pretty often. I generally smile when I'm happy, frown when I'm pissed off, widen my eyes when I'm surprised – expressions you'd consider normal. This happens less often the more tired I am, and in my diagnosis debrief I was told that what I do that isn't normal is that I don't direct expressions to people: basically, that I don't use expressions to communicate with others, they just sort of happen. Which surprised me, because I saw communication as kind of a side effect of expressions as opposed to the main purpose, if that makes sense?

One of my adult family members is autistic as well. They are also very expressive, in fact kind of too expressive like you mention your character could be. They can't really hide the facial expressions they do (that generally correspond to typical expressions) and so can't really hide what they're feeling, even when it would be better to hide it. Their version of masking would be working to remove these expressions, which they don't actually do, but that would be the case.

That's two examples of people with autism that are pretty typically expressive, yet still show social/communication difficulties even in that. So: what you're describing is definitely possible.

As a side note:

Autism is two-fold: social/communication difficulties, and restrictive/repetitive behavior. Everyone who has autism experiences those two aspects. However, autism is also very varied in how these things present, so be wary of anything or anyone that says something (other than those two things) applies to either absolutely all or absolutely no autistic people. Sure, some presentations are more common – like a flat affect, or lack of eye contact, or how hand-flapping is a common stim. But no single presentation is universal. And on top of that, 'difficulties with social communication' doesn't have to mean 'difficulties with every single aspect of this.' It can! But it doesn't always.

Also, wow, I have typed the word "expression" so much that it barely seems like a real word right now!

– mod sparrow

[marvelmusing]

Starlight, Star Bright

Pairing: Darklina x Fem!Star Summoner!Reader

Summary: The arrival of the sun summoner - your darling Alina - changes everything for you and Aleksander.

Warnings [18+]: canon level violence and death, mentions of death, nightmares, use of sleeping tonics, anxiety, mentions of Luda x Reader x Aleksander, angst, smut, oral (fem receiving), fingering, mentions of masturbation, smidge of corruption/innocence kink, Alina had a strict and conservative upbringing

My Masterlist

Alina’s concentration face is rather adorable. Dark brows furrowed together, pink lips parted, and a tiny peek of her tongue can be seen at the corner of her mouth. It hadn’t been intentional - watching her like this. But the library at the Little Palace is one of your favourite places to hide from your duties and seeing her here feels like an unexpected treat.

Her concentration dissolves into frustration, plush lips pressing into a firm line, then emotion seems to overwhelm her. A redness has crept over her throat which bobs rapidly and her dark eyes blink in an embarrassed flurry. When you realise she’s holding back tears, you move towards her without thinking.

It’s only once you spot the mountain of books surrounding her, piled up over the desk in heaps, that you begin to suspect what has caused her distress.

“Good evening, Miss Starkov,” you say softly.

She looks up at you hurriedly and the action has tears filling her waterline which she quickly attempts blink away. A piece of your heart snaps away, quivering in your chest, aching at the thought of seeing tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Good evening, Lieutenant.”

“Shu isn’t the easiest language to learn, but once you understand the basics the rest will follow.”

A bright blush spreads over her cheeks and her gaze lowers to the open book in front of her. When you see her chin wobble slightly, your stomach twists, and you add,

“Can I offer you a recommendation?”

She looks up at you again, nodding slowly.

Moving over towards a nearby shelf, you search for a particular book, pulling it carefully from its place and settling it down in Alina’s lap.

“It’s a book of fables,” you explain quietly. She tilts her head, eyeing the cover. “It might seem a little childish, but I find it to be one of the best ways to introduce someone to a new language.”

She begins to turn the pages with infinite care, her delicate fingers tracing over the illustrations inside.

“Would-”

Her words falter.

“Yes?”

She shakes her head, a pretty blush warming her cheeks.

“No. It’s silly.”

“Alina-” Her eyes snap up to yours at the sound of her name from your lips and your own voice falters. “May I call you Alina?” She nods and you smile softly. “I want you to feel at home here, in the Little Palace. There’s nothing you can’t ask of me.”

From what you’ve heard from her tutors, Alina has been struggling with Grisha theory, alongside her physical training. Judging by the dark circles under her eyes and the way she pushes her food around her plate at dinner every night, she hasn’t been able to summon very well either.

Anything you can do to make her feel better, you vow to do it. Particular memories have concerns stirring in your stomach. For centuries, you had been by Aleksander’s side, masquerading as the Darkling’s otkazat’sya wife.

It was only when Aleksander presented his newest alias at court, General Kirigan, that you revealed your power to the world - Ravka’s only star summoner. The sudden pressure you felt to help your country, alongside the expectations of your fellow Grisha, had made you almost ill with worry. Everyone had hoped your light would have been able to destroy the Fold.

Alina squares her shoulders a little, seemingly drawing some confidence from your encouragement.

“Would you read it to me?” she asks.

There’s a small pause as you look at her, your expression softening at the sight of her looking so flustered.

“I’d love to.”

She smiles and the sight has the breath halting in your lungs. She shuffles back slightly as you sit down beside her, your fingers brushing against her clothed knee as you take the book from her lap.

“Each of the stories are only a handful of pages in length. I could read them in Shu first, then again in Ravkan - if you would like that?”

Her eyes widen, something hopeful glimmering in their dark depths.

“You don’t mind?” she asks shyly. You shake your head.

“Not at all.”

»»---------------------►

Reading to Alina soon becomes one of your favourite things in the world - a guilty pleasure of sorts to escape from the stress of helping Aleksander run the Second Army.

One night, she comes to your door with the book of Shu fables in her arms tucked against her chest.

“I couldn’t sleep,” she admits in a hoarse whisper and you wonder whether she has nightmares too. Instantly you take her hand, pulling her gently into your bedroom.

She settles at the head of your bed, plush pillows and velvet cushions bundled up around the two of you. With a flick of your fingers, you summon enough light to read by. Alina is entranced by your starlight, eyes wide as she stares up at the miniature constellations swirling above your heads.

As you read stories aloud in her mother’s language, Alina slowly inches her head down onto your lap so that she can watch the tiny stars shining down on you both. This provides you with the perfect opportunity to thread your fingers lightly through her hair. At your request, Genya has been taking care of Alina and her hair is much softer and fuller than when she first arrived at the Little Palace.

The darkness of her eyes offers a perfect reflection of your stars and every time you risk a glance at her you’re captivated by the sight. Some of the tension slips away from her body and a low, sleepy sigh falls from her lips. Her eyes flutter closed.

»»---------------------►

It isn’t surprising that the sun summoner loves to sit in the sunlight. After all, even before you could summon, you’ve always adored a starry night sky. But seeing Alina soak up the sun, her head tilted back, eyes closed, has your steps faltering as you watch her. She’s so beautiful like this, waiting for you at the foot of an oak tree in the grounds.

Aleksander is nearby, tending to the horses used by the two of them on their morning ride. Alina is sitting on his kefta, using it as a blanket to shield her legs from the cool dew of the grass beneath her.

When she notices your presence, a luminous smile brightens up her features. It isn’t long before the two of you have settled into your familiar rhythm. Alina lies down with her head in your lap whilst you read to her. The story you’ve selected for today is an unacknowledged favourite of Alina’s.

Once you’ve finished the story, you take a moment to admire Alina. Her eyes remain closed, lashes fanned over her cheekbones. There’s a sun kissed glow over her cheeks, her skin tone revitalised by her time in the sun - and her increase in summoning.

When her eyes open slowly, she blinks up at you, though you don’t shy away from her gaze. She smiles softly, sitting up slowly to face you.

“Can I ask you something?” she asks quietly, tucking a stray hair back from her face as the breeze drags at her dark locks.

Tilting your head aside, you study the nervous press of her lips and the way her eyes shift over the grass, avoiding your gaze. Then you nod slowly.

“In the story,” she begins, head inclined towards the book lying open in your lap. “The princess and the fairy… they get married.”

A subtle frown creases at your brows before you nod again.

“They… I’m not getting the translation wrong, am I? They’re both girls.”

“Yes, Alya. They’re both girls.”

“And that’s allowed?”

“I’m sure a few more conservative members of the nobility might have something to say about it, but yes, it’s allowed.”

Alina seems deep in thought, staring at a particular leaf as it is carried away by the breeze.

“Nadia flirts with girls,” she states.

“She does,” you agree.

“Sometimes, when I was in the First Army, someone would make a joke about two girls tumbling each other…” Her voice trails off slightly, her cheeks glowing a rosy pink with embarrassment as she adds, “But I didn’t know… girls actually do that with each other.”

You nod with a small smile, a knowing glimmer in your eyes.

“They do.”

The pink on her cheeks burns to a deep red, her mouth open with a question poised on her tongue. She’s adorable, innocent and flustered and curious. The sound of long grass rustling draws your attention over to Aleksander, who seems to be making his way towards you and Alina.

“Enjoying yourselves?” he asks with a tender smile, the affection in his gaze is obvious to you after years of learning to decipher his emotions.

When you glance back at Alina, there’s a spark of alarm in her eyes, widened as she looks almost pleadingly at you.

“I was just telling Alina about the trail around the lake,” you inform Aleksander. There’s a questioning tilt to his head, observing your lie instantly. Nevertheless, he nods and turns his attention onto her.

“Perhaps we could take that route on our next ride around the grounds.”

She smiles softly, shooting you a grateful look before she glances at Aleksander. Her smile widens when their eyes meet and she nods bashfully.

“I’d like that.”

»»---------------------►

“Healer! Is there a healer here!?”

Aleksander’s voice is hoarse, a guttural cry for help that has you stumbling to your feet, hurrying through the makeshift rooms of the Grisha sanctuary. Voices and the sound of frantic movement aid you in your search for him, your heart pounding in your chest as fright fills you.

“The best we have is a tailor,” someone says. “We were waiting for Luda.”

At the mention of your other lover’s name, the tidemaker’s words falter and you rush quickly towards them. Luda is lying limply in Aleksander’s arms, blood staining her clothing. He places her on a cot, smoothing her hair back once she’s settled.

“Luda,” you cry. “No.”

At the sound of your voice, Aleksander stands back, attempting to grasp your arm as you approach - to shield you from seeing her state. His hold is weak and you slip by him easily, sinking yourself onto the bed beside her.

Luda’s eyes flutter, the pain limiting her awareness, though she manages to hold your hand weakly. There’s a sickening twist in your stomach when you see the wound, blood flowing at a frightening speed. Tears fill your eyes as you smile softly at her, trying your hardest to be brave for her.

There are no other healers in the sanctuary. Even if you could staunch the bleeding, she has already lost too much blood and the damage looks too deep for a tailor to fix.

“It isn’t bad, milaya,” you assure her. “You just need some rest.”

Leaning forward, you press a gentle kiss to her forehead, cool to the touch yet damp with perspiration. Hovering over her, you wait for the sound of her next breath. It doesn’t come.

A broken cry catches in your throat, the beginning of a sob, as you sink onto the cold stone floor beside the cot. Hot tears spill over your cheeks, dripping down onto your lap as you curl in on yourself, shoulders shaking with the weight of your anguish.

The two of you had grown up in the same village. She had been the first person to see your starlight. Your first kiss. She’s the one who always soothes your heartbeat when it quickens with anxiety.

Luda had been the one to nudge you towards the mysterious Darkling, stating with flushed cheeks that she would not mind sharing you with such a handsome man. Innocently, you had laughed and shaken your head at her, completely unaware of Aleksander’s eyes on you both.

She had been so determined to gain an amplifier, to stay with you and Aleksander for as long as she could. Deep down, you know some part of her had craved a forever with you both. To see that slip away so quickly has your throat closing up with emotion.

“Just mortal,” Aleksander murmurs quietly.

Lifting your head, you manage to meet his gaze. He looks just as broken as you feel, his eyes filled with a grief so tangible you want to grasp hold of it, take it by the throat and throttle it. A wounded cry escapes you as Aleksander curls his hand around your wrist and you begin to sob in earnest.

Aleksander wakes you, fingers curling firmly around your wrists when you begin to struggle in his arms, still in the throes of your anxious slumber. When you realise where you are, and who is holding you, your body slumps defeatedly against him.

Aleksander lets you cry, allowing your grief to course through your body as you sob. He keeps you close, stroking a hand down your side as he murmurs gentle reminders to you - to continue breathing through your tears and that he’s here for you.

When your sobs relent, you manage to sit up beside him, the two of you leaning against the headboard.

“I’m sorry for waking you,” you sniffle. He retrieves a handkerchief for you, smoothing the soft cotton over your damp cheeks.

“Don’t be.” He pauses, eyeing your features with concern before he asks softly, “Luda?”

Closing your eyes, your expression crumples as you nod.

“First love always leaves it’s scars,” he murmurs, tracing his finger over the jagged skin tissue that curls over the slope of your shoulder - from the tip of your shoulder blade through your collarbone. The scar from the volcra, when you had escaped the Fold during its creation.

There’s a small scar at the corner of Aleksander’s eyebrow, one that you reach for now. He had gained it when he was thirteen, and he still rubs at the spot when he’s been working too long. There’s another scar, from the same incident, that runs over the length of his calf.

“Let me fetch you a sleeping draught.”

“Aleksander, I don’t need-”

“You look tired, my love.”

The concern in his voice has your hand lowering to your lap, your gaze following it as you remark quietly,

“You know I don’t like taking tonics.”

He nods. Aleksander rarely suggests such a solution, since the sleeping draughts put you in an immobilised state, where your limbs become too heavy to move. He knows you hate the lack of control, and the alarming decrease in your awareness.

“I know. But your nerves are overwrought, and a deep dreamless sleep will fix that.” He strokes your cheek gently. “I will watch over you, I promise. We’re safe. No one will hurt us here.”

A warm tear spills down your cheek, which he brushes away tenderly with the pad of his thumb. Breathing in shakily, you nod in consent. As Aleksander leaves the bed, the mattress dips and you bite back a whimper at the loss of his warm presence.

Leaning your head back against the headboard, you allow your heavy eyes to flutter closed as the sound of pouring liquid reaches your ears. Metal clinks lightly against porcelain as he stirs the sleeping draught for you.

He stokes the fire, encouraging a little more warmth into the room, before scooping up some burning coals to fill the warming pan.

With a tender smile at you, he lifts the covers at the foot of the bed, slotting the pan between the sheets to keep you cosy. Affection buzzes in your chest, an adoring smile quirking at your lips as you watch him.

He rounds the bed, sitting down by your side with a tea cup in his hands which he holds out for you to drink from.

“A few sips will suffice,” he says in a low voice.

Holding his gaze, you swallow down a small mouthful of the bitter liquid. He smiles softly when he sees your nose wrinkle at the taste. Aleksander hooks a finger under your chin, keeping your mouth close to the lip of the cup.

“Just a little more, my love.”

Somewhat reluctantly, you drink another mouthful and Aleksander casts the cup aside.

He settles you in his lap, tucking you against his chest as the draught begins to take effect. A haze clouds over your thoughts, filling your body with a limp heaviness. When you whimper quietly, Aleksander strokes a hand down your spine, pressing a reassuring kiss to your forehead as he hushes you. He continues murmuring comforting words to you.

As your eyelids flutter, your breathing shifting into something more heavy and rhythmic, Aleksander pulls the two of you down under the covers.

»»---------------------►

“Aleksander!” you hiss quietly. He slows his pace slightly, turning back to reach for your hand. “I think you’re forgetting I can’t see in the dark as well as you can.”

“Then summon some light.”

“What if someone sees?”

“No one is awake at this hour.”

Sighing, you summon a low twinkle of starlight, faint galaxies billowing like wisps of smoke around your ankles to light your way. Aided by your stars, you follow Aleksander through the darkened corridors of the Little Palace. He stops at a familiar room, releasing your hand as he turns to look at you.

Quietly, you knock against Alina’s door.

There’s a beat of silence and you both strain your ears, listening for any sound of movement from within her room. Slowly, Alina seems to rouse herself from her bed, moving towards the door. Her eyes widen as she looks at you and Aleksander, a frown creasing at the space between her brows.

“Um, hello?”

“I know you were upset that you couldn’t join your friends at the banya,” you say in a low voice.

Her gaze lowers, her feet shifting in her slippers as a subconscious pout puckers at her lips.

“It’s fine,” she says quietly. “I know you were both just concerned about my safety.”

Despite the guilt stirring in your stomach at the thought of Alina missing out on time with her friends, the smile growing on your face is hard to suppress as you consider the idea you’re about to propose to her.

“Well, we were thinking…” you trail off, looking expectantly at Aleksander. He smiles indulgently.

“That there is no one safer for you to be with than us.” Her eyes widen with excitement at Aleksander’s words and you add,

“It’s a warm night and the water at the lake will be the perfect temperature for a swim.”

“You mean…” Her smile is infectious and you’re smiling too as you ask her,

“Where’s your bathing dress?”

She frowns.

“My what?”

“Bathing dress. Genya told me you have one.”

She glances back into her room, eyes darting between her cabinet, vanity table, and her wardrobe.

“Would you like me to help you find it?” you ask. She nods.

It doesn’t take you long to locate the garment, folded carefully in the bottom drawer of the cabinet beside the window. Aleksander sits at her vanity table and you perch yourself on the end of the bed whilst Alina changes behind the folding screen in the corner of her room.

She steps out rather shyly, fidgeting with the hem of the dress while you and Aleksander stare, captivated by her.

The skirt of Alina’s bathing dress stops mid thigh and the neckline dips enough for you to catch a glimpse of her cleavage despite the modest capped sleeves which cover her shoulders. The fabric hugs her body comfortably, though you’re certain once the water has soaked through the material it will cling sinfully to her every curve.

Her cheeks are flushed, her gaze lowered to avoid your gaze as her fingers graze over the hemline of the dress, fingers playing nervously with the fabric. When she finally finds the courage to meet Aleksander’s eyes - then your own - her blush deepens.

Saving her from further embarrassment, you extend a hand out towards her which she takes instantly. A smile spreads over your features as her fingers curl around yours.

“Let’s go for a swim.”

»»---------------------►

Alina’s head lifts the moment she hears her door open. The smile that spreads over her features has your stomach flipping and she lowers her pen to give you her full attention from where she’s sitting at her vanity table.

“Good evening, Alina.”

Her smile brightens as she wraps her bath robe tighter around her body.

“Good evening.”

There’s ink smudges on her fingertips and your eyes peek around her to examine the pieces of parchment strewn over the table. When she catches your gaze, you lift a brow questioningly.

“Drawing?”

She shakes her head.

“I was just writing another letter for Mal.”

Sadness creeps into her expression and guilt stirs in your stomach.

“Alina-”

At the sound of her name on your lips, she lifts her head, eyes scouring over your face and your words fade as you lose your courage. But Alina deserves the truth.

“All letters that leave the Little Palace are read by either myself or Aleksander, to ensure that no important information falls into the wrong hands.”

She stiffens slightly, embarrassment touching her features.

“You mean you’ve read my letters to Mal?”

Guilt settles in your stomach as you shake your head.

“No.” She frowns, then you pull out a bundle of letters from the pocket of your kefta. “They haven’t been sent.”

She remains still, eyes fixed on the stack in your hand.

“I haven’t opened them. I wanted to tell you that Aleksander and I check letters so that you wouldn’t be uncomfortable. I was going to tell you… but the days went by and I just kept forgetting.”

Every word is the truth. Though it isn’t the whole truth. In all honesty, your reluctance to tell her about the letters is most likely an attempt at keeping her for yourself. Tears glimmer in her eyes and it sickens you that your selfishness is the reason for her distress. She shifts away from you and there’s a physical pain in your chest.

“I told you he hadn’t written back,” she says quietly, a quiver in her voice as she stares down at the envelopes. “You said he would soon. You told me there had been problems with the mail carriers. You lied to me.”

“Alina-”

She shakes her head, stepping away again, and you force your features to harden, shoving the hurt in your chest deep down. It twists inside you, making you step towards her and place the letters down on her table.

“I thought I should give these back to you. I’m certain you will choose your words more carefully, now that you know Aleksander and I will read every word that you write.”

It’s cruel, throwing the feelings you know she has for you and Aleksander in her face. Her cheeks flush red, anger and embarrassment flashing over her features as she looks away from you. The beginning of tears glisten in the corner of her eyes and you turn towards the door before you can see them fall.

»»---------------------►

A familiar presence lingers at the open doorway to your bedroom as you continue folding your trousers up, placing them in your trunk for the third time this morning.

“Sasha, would you pass me the…”

As you turn, your words are halted by the sight of Alina hesitating at the threshold of your room. She hasn’t spoken to you since that night in her rooms, turning away when she sees you in the grounds and keeping her gaze lowered when she passes you in the corridors.

“Alina.”

“You’re leaving.”

You nod.

“I’m going to oversee the new campaign on the Fjerdan frontlines.”

Aleksander had only casually suggested it but you had leapt at the opportunity, believing you need some fresh air and a chance to use your power productively.

There’s a pause as Alina steps towards you, almost cautiously. Her gaze is lowered, searching over your belongings that have been strewn across your bed.

“Can I write to you?” she asks.

There’s a twinge of guilt in your chest at the mention of letters, though the softness of Alina’s features express no ill will in regards to her unsent letters to Mal.

“Of course. I can’t promise my replies will be detailed or lengthy, but I would love to hear from you, Alina.”

She fidgets with her fingers, nails picking at her cuticles.

“How long will you be gone for?”

“I plan to return just before the Winter Fete.”

Her eyes widen.

“That long?”

“It’s only a few months. I’ll be back before you know it.”

»»---------------------►

The problem with being the person who censors letters within the Second Army is that you find it all too easy to remove what has been written on the page.

»»---------------------►

Alina,

I should have told you about the letters. I know this is a cowardly way to apologise, but seeing so many casualties today - knowing there will be more tomorrow - has made me reflective as it always does.

Please forgive me. I don’t want to lose you.

»»---------------------►

Moi Sashenka,

My official report on the front has been sent and hopefully you will have received it by the time this letter reaches you.

Fjerda is as cold as it always is and I hate being so far from you. Too many times I find myself longing for your advice or your embrace. I miss you, Sasha.

I miss Alina too. How is Alina? I hope her lessons have improved and that she’s feeling more settled. Could you remind her that she can write to me? I’m afraid I’ve ruined us.

Take care, as always

Forever yours

»»---------------------►

One particular letter you set alight with your starlight, watching the paper crumble as the flames remove your words from existence. That night you sleep curled in on yourself, old grief burrowing it’s way into your chest as you remember a girl with hopeful eyes the same colour as the sky.

She slips into your dreams, gentle hands holding you. The bed is warm, soft sheets caressing your naked bodies. Aleksander’s touch is familiar, like being welcomed home. He kisses you. She kisses you. A featherlight brush of her lips, before you’re sinking a hand into her hair to deepen the kiss with a fierce longing to keep her like this. It feels so real.

The tears have scarcely dried over your cheeks as you wake. The sounds of your army rousing itself from slumber draws you out of your bittersweet state, grounding you as you stare up at the cloth ceiling of your tent.

»»---------------------►

Aleksander folds his arms over his chest, drawing his bath robe tighter around his body as he looks over the map on his table. A chill brushes over his skin when his eyes land on the collection of figures placed by the Fjerdan border. Immediately his thoughts fall onto you.

The two of you aren’t often parted from each other; you’ve been one another’s constant companion for the last few centuries and he feels the temporary loss of you in his chest.

It appears he isn’t the only one who feels your absence. He turns at the sight of movement in the corner of his eye, shoulders tensing as the shadows stir at his subconscious command. They dissolve the moment his gaze falls onto her face.

“Alina.”

She tucks her hair back shyly.

“Am I disturbing you?”

He shakes his head.

“Not at all. Come in, please.”

He watches Alina’s eyes bounce over the contents of his table and can’t help but notice that she also lingers on the spot where your camp is. As she approaches him, she keeps her gaze lowered, looking over the pages in front of him.

Then she spies your letters.

“Is this from-”

Aleksander says your name softly, nodding as his fingers trace affectionately over the loops of your handwriting. His eyes skim over the words, reading between the lines of your ink in a manner only he can.

“She misses you.”

“I miss her too,” she admits in a whisper.

He gestures for her to sit in the armchair by the fire which she does, quietly tucking her knees beneath herself, bundling the fabric of her night robe closer around her body. Aleksander watches her, leaning back against the war table, his palms splayed over maps and papers.

He looks at her for a long moment, admiring her features as the firelight dances over them. There’s a contemplative furrow to his brows as he thinks of a promise he made to you before you left for the frontlines.

“Alina, I have something to tell you but I want you to make me a promise first.”

She eyes him somewhat warily. In your absence, the two of them have grown considerably closer, but you had been the one to coax Alina out of her shell.

“What’s the promise?” she asks.

“That you won’t leave.”

Her expression softens.

“Aleksander-”

“I want you to give me your word, that you will listen to everything I have to say tonight. Afterwards, if you would like to leave I will provide you with whatever resources I can to ensure you a safe journey.”

She’s frighteningly still, wide eyed like a rabbit weighing up the threat of a potential predator. He watches her swallow, steeling herself before she nods curtly in agreement. The knot in his chest begins to loosen slightly, though he dreads her reaction to what he’s about to tell her. He can only hope that you are right.

»»---------------------►

Dear Alina,

I know winter has already arrived for you in the capital. Whenever I begin to fear that frostbite has taken my toes, I picture you curled up by the fire with Aleksander. Home has never felt further from me, even as the date of my return inches closer.

I hope you will be happy to see me. I long for you. The silence has been torture.

I have enclosed another letter, which I hope you might be able to pass along to Aleksander. There has been little time to write these days and ink is scarce. Give him my love. I hope you have a happy Yuletide.

»»---------------------►

Sasha,

There is a Yuletide gift for you underneath your bed. Alina’s gift is under my bed. Kiss her under the mistletoe for me.

All my love

»»---------------------►

My dearest Alya,

Fjerda is cold and I miss your warmth.

I hope that I reach you before this letter does. We begin our return to Os Alta today. I’m coming home.

»»---------------------►

As soon as you arrive back at the Little Palace, you find yourself drawn to Aleksander’s room, abandoning your trunk in your bedroom and seeking solace in the war room. The moment you set your eyes on him, the months-long tension leaves your shoulders and you stumble into his open arms.

Aleksander doesn’t have an opportunity to speak, as you grasp hold of his hair and drag his mouth down to yours. As soon as your lips meet, the leftover strain in your body and mind melts. The sigh that leaves you is fuelled by relief.

“Sasha,” you whine against his lips, unable to articulate anything else.

His hands cup your face, mouth moving eagerly against your own. After months of not being able to see one another, without touching one another, you’re both desperate.

“I forbid you from leaving the Little Palace for the foreseeable future,” he says, an edge of command in his tone.

“Yes, moi soverenyi,” you breathe against his lips.

A growl catches in the back of his throat and you squeeze your thighs together at the sound as white hot arousal coils in your stomach. He tugs you closer, hooking his hands beneath your legs to hoist you up into his arms. His next words are breathless, interrupted by your hurried kisses as he carries you into the bedroom.

“If it weren’t for the damned fete tomorrow, I would forbid you from leaving this bed.”

His mouth trails down your body, pressing hot kisses over your skin. A simmering tingle of pleasure shudders down your spine with each firm brush of his lips or stroke of his tongue. Heat creeps over your cheeks, as you realise your moans are getting louder and more desperate.

Once his mouth finally reaches your cunt, a sharp yelp falls from your lips. Holding onto his hair always encourages Aleksander, so your attempts to ground yourself only entice him further into your cunt. Slick arousal smears over his lips and chin as he devours you, leaving no inch of you untouched by his tongue.

He holds each of your hands in his as he works your body into a quivering climax that has tears spilling down your cheeks, relief soaking into your skin now that you’re finally home.

Aleksander’s expression softens as he observes your pitiful state. There’s a tremor in your legs that he attempts to coax out of you, smoothing his palms firmly over your thighs, his fingers squeezing at the sore muscle of your calves.

“Oh my love,” he coos. “You didn’t touch yourself at all while you were gone, did you?”

You shake your head.

“Didn’t feel right without you,” you admit, wiping the tears from your cheeks as they continue to pour. “Didn’t feel safe enough.”

A soft sigh heaves at his shoulders as he lowers himself over you, kissing his way up your body. He knows that feeling all too well, something he had hoped you would never experience again.

He sheds the rest of your clothing, tossing his own down onto the floor until your bare skin meets his. Sheer pleasure prickles through your body at the opportunity to feel his body against yours. Smooth skin, both of you marred with callouses and scars. The trail of hair down his stomach. Lean muscle and soft flesh. A soft moan escapes from your lips as his hips grind gently into yours.

“I have you now, my love,” he breathes out against your collarbone, mouthing over your throat. “You’re safe.” He reinforces his words with a firm kiss to the underside of your jaw. “You’re home.” Another kiss, a little higher. “Let me take care of you.”

“How is Alina?” you ask breathlessly.

He smiles down at you.

“She can summon at will now.” His mouth moves along your jawline. “For her Winter Fete display she plans to split sunbeams.”

He parts your thighs, positioning the head of his cock at your entrance before he eases himself forwards. A rough moan tears itself from the back of your throat as the feeling of Aleksander stretching you open floods through your body.

“She sleeps with your letters under her pillow each night.”

His words make your heart ache and your cunt clench around his cock, drawing a small hiss of surprise from him.

“I’ve missed her. I’ve missed you, Sasha.”

“I know, my love. I’ve missed you too,” he breathes out against your neck. “We talk about you all the time.”

He bites down on the juncture of your neck, teeth dragging on your skin before he strokes his tongue over the mark blooming there.

“You do?”

There’s a shy naivety in your voice, as if you can barely believe that the two people you adore most in the world would spend their time talking about you.

“She- she isn’t mad at me… is she?”

He kisses your cheek, his forehead pressing against your temple.

“No, my love. She isn’t mad at you.”

He moans quietly as your nails bite into his hips, clinging to him with an intensity that has you shaking. Aleksander kisses you, his mouth moving leisurely against yours. There is hardly a moment to breathe, with the head of Aleksander’s cock nudging against that sweet, sensitive spot inside you and the way he occupies your mouth.

Pleasure spirals in your stomach, as your cunt clenches tightly around his cock. Aleksander cries out a deep, startled sound. He grits his teeth, pressing his body directly into yours. Arching your back against the mattress, you grip onto Aleksander, writhing as your mind fights tooth and nail to resist the climax that your body is dragging you towards.

“Let go, my love,” he whispers, warm mouth suckling gently on your earlobe. “You’re safe, I have you. I promise.”

The next wave of pleasure that runs through you completely shatters whatever resolve had been subconsciously established in your mind. Another, rather unexpected, bout of tears trace down your cheeks and a small sob catches in the back of your throat as your climax peaks.

Aleksander continues his motions, thrusting into you as he cradles your face between his hands. He kisses your tears away as best he can whilst chasing his own climax. The shaky gasps of his name only entice him further, drawing a wrecked moan from his lips as he pulls out, spilling his sticky spend over your thighs.

The two of you remain in one another’s arms as you catch your breath, trading slow kisses and gentle touches. Aleksander’s fingers dance along the curves and dips of your body, following the path he knows by heart. As your eyes flutter closed, you link your fingers with his, giving them a gentle squeeze which he returns without hesitation.

Aleksander inhales sharply as you press a delicate kiss to his knuckles. In the absence of one another, it has been all too easy to forget the luxury of tender touches. There’s a softness to his features as he looks at you, tilting his head slightly to watch as you continue to kiss over each of his fingers.

“I told Alina about our past,” Aleksander confesses quietly. That has you freezing for a moment, eyes flickering up to study his face.

“How did she take it?”

His gaze lowers, his hand flexing slightly in your hold.

“She looked frightened at first. She had promised to listen to me, but I could see she was waiting to run.”

“What changed her mind?”

“You.”

A frown creases at your brows.

“I told her about you, about everything we’ve been through together. Everything we’ve lost over the years.” Emotion hardens in your throat, though you do your best to swallow it down. His tone grows regretful. “Even after everything I’ve done, you’ve remained by my side.”

“Because I love you,” you say quietly, pressing another kiss to his knuckles, squeezing his digits affectionately. “Because I know that everything you’ve done has been to keep us safe and keep our Grisha safe.” Tears well in Aleksander’s dark eyes. “How could I ever leave you - knowing that?”

He leans forward, cupping the back of your head to kiss you soundly.

»»---------------------►

Alina looks magnificent in black. The colour belongs to you as much as it belongs to Aleksander. To see her wearing your colour, her kefta perfectly moulded to her figure, drives the air from your lungs. She had been pale and gaunt when she first arrived at the Little Palace; it seems that your sun summoner has blossomed in your absence.

Aleksander moves towards her first, the crowd parting instantly for the three of you to meet.

“You were supposed to enter accompanied by palace guards,” he says in a low voice.

She blushes, her eyes bouncing between you and Aleksander.

“I’m sorry. I just… I wanted to see you.”

Her tone is shy, as if she truly hadn’t intended on diverting from Aleksander’s strict schedule for her safety. Aleksander blinks slowly, the corner of his lips twitching into a hint of a smile. His voice softens as he murmurs,

“You look lovely, by the way.”

The blush spreads down her neck and you lick your lips at the sight.

“Beautiful,” you add softly.

Her eyes darken as she meets your gaze and your stomach flips. She inclines her head demurely, a brief curtesy as she stares, seemingly drinking in the sight of you.

“Lieutenant.”

The only response you provide her is a brief tilt of your head.

“Miss Starkov.”

The urge to kiss her claws fiercely inside you, so strong that your lips tingle with a phantom anticipation. Her skin is glowing under the light of the chandeliers, her cheeks flushed prettily. Her lips have been coloured with a dewy layer of gloss that you want to feel smeared over your own mouth. Instead, you say,

“I look forward to your demonstration.”

She worries her lower lip between her teeth, brows furrowed slightly with concern before she manages to smile, somewhat distractedly. Her gaze lowers to the front of her kefta, as she begins to pick at the delicate embroidery there. Instantly, you curl your fingers around hers, halting her nervous fidgeting.

“I am certain it will be wonderful.”

Her inhale is sudden, her lips parted, eyes widened as they flicker rapidly between yours. Taking her hand to your lips, you press a gentle kiss to her knuckles. She swallows hard.

Inferni flame illuminates her features as Polina and Pavel begin their demonstration, fire arching over your heads. As the deep orange flickers over her face, you keep your eyes on her, admiring the soft glow of her skin.

There’s a knowing glimmer in Aleksander’s eyes as he looks at you. He smiles, ducking his head down to murmur quietly against Alina’s ear,

“Let’s give them a real show.”

His lips graze her temple and she shivers.

»»---------------------►

“I have something to confess,” Aleksander murmurs quietly against your ear.

With the demonstrations and dinner done, the royals have long since left the party, as have the majority of the nobility. Now, the people surrounding you are Grisha, which means you feel comfortable enough to sit in Aleksander’s lap. His chest is pressed against your back, the heat of his body warming your spine.

A minute frown creases at the space between your brows, though your eyes don’t stray from where Alina is standing, hiding behind a column with Genya, a flute of sparkling wine in her hand. She giggles and you drink in the sight of her flushed cheeks and bright eyes.

“Confess?”

His hands graze over your sides, his shadows slipping beneath your kefta to caress your body.

“I have been… tutoring Alina. Teaching her how to pleasure herself.”

You blink at him.

“Truly?”

He nods.

“She wants to touch you.”

“She does?”

He nods again, the bulge in his trousers hardening.

“Our darling Alya is rather shy. It took until she was bone limp with pleasure for her to admit it, but yes, she wants you.”

“You’ve touched her?”

“Not intimately.”

His answer has your frown returning.

“The poor girl can’t seem to relax enough without my touch to soothe her. A hand around her wrist, guiding her. Or a gentle pressure against her thighs. It took quite some time to convince her that she was allowed to touch herself.”

“From what she’s told me, the orphanage she grew up in was a conservative household. No doubt she feels embarrassed at the thought of wanting someone.”

From Aleksander’s expression, it’s clear that he is in agreement with you. Then the corner of his mouth lifts, a familiar darkness twinkling in his gaze.

“Now that she is aware of her desires, she is somewhat insatiable.”

The thought of innocent, wide eyed Alina throwing herself at your unflappable Aleksander is equal parts arousing and amusing. Thoughts of Alina touching herself, growing frustrated without him, and seeking out Aleksander to help her has a coil of need curling in your abdomen.

Aleksander smirks, lowering his mouth to graze against the shell of your ear, his voice dropping low so that no one but you can hear him.

“I’ve seen her touching herself, and with the pretty shade of crimson her cheeks gain, I’m certain her fantasies verge on obscene.”

“She’s perfect,” you whisper.

He presses a kiss to the sensitive skin of your earlobe.

“She is.”

His lips lower, trailing down your throat.

“Tonight?” you ask in a soft gasp.

“If you wish so,” he murmurs against your thundering pulse.

“I do. Sasha, I want her so badly.”

“I know.” He kisses your cheek softly. “Would you like her to yourself first?”

“I want her to come undone over my hand, while you watch us.”

He smiles widely.

“One condition.” You nod. “Afterwards, I want to teach Alina how to kiss your cunt.”

At the thought of them both between your thighs, trading slow kisses as they take turns licking and mouthing at your cunt, a small moan catches in the back of your throat. Aleksander curls his hand around your neck.

“She’s watching us.”

The inhale you take is shaky as you flutter your lashes.

“Now?”

He nods, squeezing at your throat gently. His nose brushes against yours delicately as he smiles indulgently at you as he whispers,

“Go to her.”

He releases his hold on you and warmth rushes to your cheeks as you wobble on unsteady feet. There’s a few eyes on you whilst making your way towards Alina, though they look away quickly after one glance in Aleksander’s direction.

Genya’s hazel eyes land on you, pink dusting over the porcelain skin of her cheeks when she sees how your gaze is fixed on Alina. She takes your sun summoner’s empty glass from her, making herself scarce with a knowing smile as you approach.

“Alina.” Her eyes widen, her gaze wandering from your lips downwards, lingering on the loosened neckline of your kefta, and your stomach flips. “I have a gift for you.”

She blinks in surprise.

“You do?”

A smile spreads over your face as you nod.

“Come see me later tonight, in Aleksander’s rooms. I will give it to you then.”

»»---------------------►

Aleksander’s footsteps are smooth and confident as he walks through the war room, his boots echoing over the polished wood. It’s only once he reaches the threshold of his bedroom that his gait falters.

“Where in the name of all saints did you get that?”

Turning from your reflection in the mirror above his vanity table, a coy smile curls at your lips as you smooth down the sheer lace of nightgown.

“To your liking, General?”

He breathes out a sharp laugh.

“Poor Alina won’t know where to look.”

“And you know exactly where to look,” you remark teasingly, adjusting the belt so that the length of your bare leg is on display.

His smile is wide and dazzling as he steps purposefully forward towards you.

“I do.”

Lowering himself onto his knees, Aleksander parts your nightgown, ducking his head between your thighs to kiss over your lace clad mound. A sound of surprise catches in the back of your throat, which dissolves into a moan when his tongue traces eagerly over the crease between your thighs and your hips.

He chuckles when you squirm, his warm hands settling over each of your knees to hold you in place as his mouth moves over your skin.

“Sasha,” you gasp. He smirks teasingly, eyes darkened as he looks up from between your thighs.

“My love, we’ve barely begun.”

There’s a tentative knock at the door.

Aleksander releases his hold on you, smoothing his hands over the knees of his trousers as he stands in one fluid motion. He strolls over towards the door, threading a hand through his hair as he does so. Suddenly conscious of your appearance, you brush down the fabric of your night robe to preserve your modesty.

“Alina,” he says softly.

There’s a small pause, and you know the sight in front of Alina will have her blushing already - Aleksander with bright eyes and flushed cheeks, his hair perfectly disheveled from delving between your thighs.

“Hello.”

“Please, come in.”

She’s dressed in her night dress, silk and lace clinging to her curves, with a velvet robe thrown over her shoulders. Her gaze bounces over the entirety of your body, unable to fix on any particular aspect before another steals her attention. She smiles as she approaches you.

“I actually have a gift for you as well.”

Rather shyly, she hands you a painted wooden box, wrapped in a sleek black ribbon. At the edge of the room, Aleksander circles around the two of you, watching silently.

The box is made of a wholesome wood, carved around the edge of the lid and along the sides. On every side, a detailed scene has been depicted in paint. The Little Palace, the True Sea, Morozova’s stag grazing in a sunlit meadow. Each brushstroke has been created with care and a skill you can only marvel at.

“Alina,” you whisper in awe.

She blushes.

“I painted it myself.”

Opening up the box, you stare at the contents for a long moment. Countless papers. Folded with care. Some of them are in envelopes, sealed with a rosy pink wax. Alina’s handwriting is instantly recognisable, looping ink on the creamy parchment.

“Are these-?”

“I didn’t want anyone but you to read them.” There’s a pause which weighs heavy over the room and Alina grows nervous. “If you don’t like it-”

“No. Alya, I love it,” you insist earnestly, tucking your hands around it protectively. Rather bashfully, you look down, tracing your fingers over the delicate brushstrokes. “My gift feels somewhat lacking now.”

“What… what is it?”

There’s a curious gleam in her eyes as she looks around you. Nervously, she tucks a stray hair back behind her ear as she sits tentatively at the foot of Aleksander’s bed. Slowly, you place her gift on the vanity table, your eyes examining her expression when you ask,

“Can I kiss you, Alina?”

Her eyes widen, and she blushes a bright shade of scarlet, then nods.

“I haven’t done this before,” she admits, a touch of worry spilling into her eyes. You smile at her.

“I know.” Inhaling slowly, you stand and walk over towards her. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done anything like this.”

Taking her chin between your fingers, you guide her mouth to yours for a tender kiss. The soft press of her lips against yours is better than you could have imagined. Gentle and warm and the shimmering gloss tastes sweet like strawberries.

She gasps out a little sound of pleasure as you cradle the back of her head, while your other hand strokes along her jawline, encouraging the steady motion of her lips. Without thinking, your hands wander down her body, grasping at the silky fabric covering her. She’s panting for breath as you cup her breasts, mapping the curves of her waist with each of your palms.

With little effort, you move her backwards and she sinks down onto the mattress with ease. It’s only after several more kisses that she seems to realise she’s lying on her back, in your bed, with your body attempting to nestle between her thighs.

“Would you part your legs for me?” you ask against her mouth.

She complies slowly, a smidge of embarrassed hesitation in her movement. Instantly, you begin to move downwards, pushing the velvet robe aside before you slide the silk of her nightdress up over her waist.

“Good girl.” She whines at your praise, which only encourages you further. “What a good girl you are, Alya.”

Her hands cover her face, as you lick a stripe over her bare thigh, heading towards the apex of her legs. As your nose nudges against her clothed mound, your mouth waters at the heady scent of her arousal.

“Has Aleksander ever touched you here?” She peeks at you from between her fingers and you raise a brow at her, a wicked smile tugging at your lips when she nods. “He has?” She nods again, breathless already as you laugh teasingly. “Does he touch you with or without your underwear in the way?”

Her cheeks are inflamed, you can feel the heat of her body burning with arousal against your lips as you kiss across her hips and thighs.

“W- with my underwear on,” she stammers bashfully. “Always with it on.”

“Would you like me to take it off?” She stares at you wide eyed, as if she hadn’t even imagined you wanting to touch her so intimately. “Would you like me to stroke your bare cunt?”

She whimpers your name, dropping her head back against the pillow and you grin at the sight of her so disheveled already - from a few heated kisses and some dirty words.

“I-” She worries her lower lip between her teeth. “Are you sure you want to?”

That has you growing still.

“Alina. Can I show you something?”

She nods hesitantly. Taking her hand, you entwine her fingers with yours. Slowly, you slide your joined hands down your body, slipping beneath the fabric of your night robe. Her eyes widen, lips parted in shock as her cheeks burn bright, though she doesn’t pull away even when you press her fingertips against your dripping entrance.

“Can you feel how much I want to, sweet girl?”

She nods.

“So soft.”

There’s a slight slur to her words, as if feeling your arousal has pushed her into a daze, and the temptation to push her fingers inside you prickles over your skin in a burning need. Her hand moves curiously, dipping into your centre, and you groan quietly at her hesitant touch.

Her gaze wanders down your body, before she becomes fixated on the spot between your legs.

“Yours is prettier than mine.”

“Alina,” Aleksander says sternly from where he’s seated himself at his vanity table. His tone has you clenching around nothing and a small pout puckers at her lips in response to his admonishment. “What have I told you about comparing yourself to others?”

Her pout deepens.

“Not to.”

“And why is that?”

She mumbles an answer that you can hardly hear, her cheeks inflamed with an embarrassed heat. Aleksander raises a brow, before prompting her to repeat herself, his tone remaining firm.

“Alina.”

“Because I’m beautiful,” she whispers, her voice wavering as she squeezes her eyes shut.

The smile you share with Aleksander, unseen by Alina, is devious. It seems you are no longer alone in your mission to improve Alina’s sense of self-worth.

Unable to stop yourself, you reward her with a kiss. Her robe slips easily from her shoulders, pooling over the mattress as you grasp at her body. She gasps at the feeling of your hands wandering, squirming beneath you with small sounds of pleasure that she breathes against your lips.

“Aleksander tells me he’s been tutoring you.”

The hint of a whine catches in the back of her throat, her cheeks hot with embarrassment at your words. She nods.

“Will you tell me what you’ve learnt? Will you tell me what you like, sweet girl?”

She bites down on her lip, the plush skin breaking between her teeth. Instantly, you lean forwards, suckling her lower lip to soothe the sting of her bite. The coppery taste of her blood touches the tip of your tongue and she moans louder when you lick over the sensitive spot.

“Tell me, Alina. Let me pleasure you.”

She whines again, a sweet noise that you want to tease out of her over and over again. Taking her hand again, you splay it between her breasts, using your own hand to smooth it down her body. Her thighs tremble.

“Tell me, sweet girl.”

“I- I like it gentle at first,” she stammers quietly, which has a smile quirking at the corner of your mouth as you slip your hand beneath the waistband of her panties.

“Hm? Like this?”

Her lips fall open into a perfect circle as you dip your finger between her soaked folds.

“Oh,” she breathes out, dropping her head back onto the pillow. “Yes.”

The base of your finger nudges against her clit and she writhes beneath you. Her hand curls around your wrist, squeezing as she pleads softly,

“Faster, please.”

Her hips jerk as you begin to circle her clit with the pad of your finger, your thumb hooked over her mound, the digit buried amongst the dark curls there. Alina squeezes her eyes shut, brows scrunching adorably as she gasps.

“Can I stretch your little cunt open now, sweet girl?” She whimpers, nodding fervently.

Her eyes meet yours, an endless darkness of desire spiralling in her blown pupils. Ducking your head down, you allow saliva to pool in your mouth before letting it drop down onto where your finger is pressing against her entrance. Her mouth drops open at the vulgar action, red blossoming down her neck and chest as it heaves with a shaky breath.

The mattress dips as Aleksander sits down at the foot of bed, his eyes fixed on where your hands explore Alina’s body. With the mess of her arousal and the added lubrication of your saliva, you slide your finger inside her. The heat of her cunt clings to your digit, dragging you in greedily and the feeling makes you groan against her neck.

“Alya, fuck, you’re so tight. Such a warm, pretty, little cunt.”

She shudders beneath you, whining your name as she grasps at the fabric of your night robe. With a few deft motions, you untie the belt and reveal your bare chest to her. A desperate noise catches in the back of her throat, her eyes wide and round as she stares at your breasts.

Curling your finger, you search for the spot that makes her clench harder than ever, stroking her quivering walls as you begin to speak.

“You can touch, Alya.”

“W-what?”

“You can touch me. Anywhere you want. Everywhere you want.”

Expecting hesitation from her, the feeling of her hands on your breasts, squeezing the flesh and tugging experimentally on your nipples, has you gasping in surprise. A soft groan escapes you, as the repression inside Alina seems to break. She grasps at you eagerly, perfectly trimmed nails digging into your skin.

Tenderly, you nuzzle your face into the crook of her neck, kissing over her collarbones.

“Let go, sweet girl. I have you.”

She gasps, her grip on you tightening as she bucks her hips upwards, chasing the motion of your hand. Sweat glosses over her body, her power shimmering beneath her skin. Light dances at the edge of the room, but all you can focus on is Alina as she reaches the peak of her pleasure.

Her back arches away from the mattress, dark eyes widened as she cries out your name, body succumbing to her climax. Her cunt twitches around your finger, pulsing violently around your digit. With her head thrown backwards, you can see each frantic beat of her heart thrumming in the veins across her throat, bared vulnerable to your hungry eyes.

She breathes heavily, pupils wide and sparkling with pleasure as she stares at you, her gaze flickering between your face and your body. Her smile is almost shy now, as she tucks a stray hair behind her ear with a shaky hand.

Aleksander’s hand curls around your throat, squeezing softly as he directs your head backward towards his mouth. It’s easy and well-practised, the way he moves your body so that you’re lying on your back with him nestled perfectly between your thighs.

“Remember what we agreed on, my love?”

“Sasha,” you whine against his lips, imagining Aleksander and Alina kissing between your thighs, their lips smeared with your arousal.

His hands are well acquainted with your body, paying attention to every dip and curve that he knows by heart. He squeezes the softest areas, blunt nails dragging purposefully over the spots that make you shudder as he works his way downwards. He kisses over your hip bones, tongue laving over the sensitive skin there as he traces his way down your thighs.

Aleksander retracts onto the balls of his heels, parting your folds smoothly with his fingers and your body burns at the feeling of being so observed as your arousal sticks to his digits. He leans over to kiss Alina’s flushed cheek, his lips grazing her ear as he speaks in a low voice.

“Kiss her here, just like you’d kiss her mouth,” he instructs Alina.

She takes your hand, brushing her thumb over your knuckles and a previously unnoticed tension slips from your shoulders, allowing you to settle comfortably on the mattress. There’s a determined set to her jaw, enthusiasm glimmering in her eyes as if she has been wanting for months to taste you. Slowly, she leans forwards.

The soft press of her lips against your cunt has you squirming, a keening whine slipping from your lips as her tongue darts out tentatively to lick up your arousal. She hums and your stomach flips at the thought of her enjoying the feeling of your cunt against her tongue.

Aleksander smiles at you both, squeezing your thigh as he pets the back of her head.

“Very good, Alinochka.”

The praise makes her sigh against your cunt and you clench around nothing, wishing she would slip her tongue inside you. Aleksander traces his fingers over your mound, drawing a shiver from you as he directs Alina’s attention to your clit.

“Watch carefully,” he tells her.

He ducks his head down, taking the swollen nub of your clit into his mouth. Instantly, you cry out, writhing over the mattress as you grasp at his hair, tugging on it with carnal need.

When he releases you, Alina is eager to take his place, mimicking the pressure of his mouth whilst lapping at your clit with her tongue. Breathless, you moan brokenly. The two of them are taking you apart, piece by piece, stealing the fractured shards of you for themselves.

Nerves stir in your stomach as your pleasure begins to sharpen into something tangible, almost within your grasp. Nevertheless, your climax evades you, until you can feel your sweat soaking the sheets and glossing at your forehead.

“Sasha, I can’t,” you whisper weakly.

“You can, my love.” He kisses your temple. “You’re doing so well.”

He strokes your hair back gently, reaching out to cup your breast comfortingly as he lies at your side. His thumb circles over your nipple in a soothing motion and you press your forehead against his shoulder as you whine. Taking your chin between his fingers, he turns you so that you’re looking down at Alina.

“Doesn’t she look beautiful like this? Our darling Alina.” At the sound of her name, her eyes flicker up to meet yours, a lustful sheen in her gaze that fills her features as she looks between you and Aleksander. “Don’t you want to spill yourself over her pretty face?”

She seems captivated by you, an awestruck expression glimmering in her eyes. Innocent little Alina, staring openly at you - as you lie splayed over Aleksander’s bed, almost completely unraveled by her mouth.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck- Alina.”

As your climax hits, your curses turn into frantic whines and your hips jerk against Alina’s face. Pleasure blooms beneath your skin, prickling down your spine as your cunt clenches a rapid rhythm that sends you spiralling into bliss.

Eyes fluttering closed, you drop your head back against the pillow, turning to press your forehead onto Aleksander’s shoulder. Each breath you take is a desperate heave of air, your body warm and sated with a blissful satisfaction as your pulse gallops a steady rhythm beneath your skin.

Alina stares at you, pink tongue tracing her lower lip as your eyes lock for a heated moment. Then she scrambles up your body, straddling your waist eagerly as she leans down to kiss you, smearing the remnants of your orgasm from her mouth to yours. Aleksander breathes out a soft groan at the sight of you both as you kiss lazily.

“Sasha,” you murmur against Alina’s lips, reaching downwards with the intention to grasp at his still-clothed cock.

His hand curls around your wrist to stop you.

“I want a clear head tonight,” he says when you meet his gaze.

On occasion, Aleksander denies himself a climax in order to stay fully aware of his surroundings, particularly when he’s feeling anxious about your safety. A rebuke is on the tip of your tongue - after all, the Little Palace is one of the safest places in the world. You and Aleksander ensured it. But with Alina here in your bed for the first time, you can understand why he would be concerned.

Pressing a soft kiss to his cheek, you whisper,

“Thank you, Sasha.”

He smiles, stroking your cheek affectionately with his knuckles.

“Anything for you, my love.”

“Can I wake you with a treat tomorrow morning?”

His smile widens.

“A treat?”

As you settle down by his side, curling up beneath his outstretched arm, you nod.

“Hm. I want to teach Alina how to suck your cock.”

Alina stifles a gasp. The apple of his throat bobs, a muscle in his jaw flaring as his eyes darken.

“My love,” he says warningly. “Your proposition isn’t helping my current issue.”

Biting down on your lip, you feel a touch of guilt as he shifts his hips, breathing deeply through his nose as he attempts to rein in his arousal.

“Sorry, Sasha.”

He hums with a smile, clearly unconvinced by your apology. Then he cups the back of your head, sinking his fingers into your hair as he kisses you.

“Let me clean the two of you up,” he suggests.

He glances at Alina in a silent question, requesting her consent which she gives with a soft smile and a small nod. Leisurely, you stretch out over the mattress as Aleksander stands to retrieve a wash cloth and basin full of water.

Alina breathes out a sigh and your eyes flutter open to admire her form draped beside you. Candlelight flickers over her skin, your fingers following the shadows that dip into the curves of her body as you reach out to trace over her figure with a featherlight touch. She hums quietly, eyes heavy-lidded as she looks at you. When your eyes meet, the smile that spreads across her face is luminous.

She blushes when Aleksander parts her legs, wiping a warm cloth over the space between her thighs. Once he’s done, you kiss her lips as a reward. He tells her that she can wear anything she likes to bed and she immediately moves towards your wardrobe as Aleksander’s attention moves to you.

He kisses you softly, hands cradling your face as you both smile at one another. He cleans you with the same care given to Alina, and once he’s done, you retrieve one of his night shirts to sleep in. As you shrug the garment over your shoulders, you turn your attention back to Alina.

She’s wearing one of your cosiest night robes, the soft fabric bundled around her frame. It drags over the floor as she moves towards you and Aleksander, climbing into bed between you both - where she belongs.

Finally having her in your bed seems to be quite the distraction for you and Aleksander; neither of you can keep your hands off her, taking turns to kiss her lips.

Alina giggles breathlessly.

“Aren’t we going to sleep?” she remarks teasingly, gnawing on her lower lip. The sight of her, dark curls askew and flushed cheeks, makes you and Aleksander both sigh.

“Yes, milaya,” Aleksander says decidedly as he reaches for the lantern on his bedside. “We’re going to sleep.”

He lifts the glass, blowing out the candle, and the room descends into darkness. Slipping your arms around Alina’s waist, you pull her backwards and she slots perfectly against your front. Aleksander drapes his arm over Alina, encaging her between you both as he reaches for you. He strokes a hand over your bicep, languid petting as the three of you fall asleep.

»»---------------------►

marvelmusing Tag List: @dreamlandcreations @blanchedelioncourt @idaofinfinity @slytherheign @ellooo0ooo @vixenofcourse @dumb-fawkin-bitch @jane-arthur @ilikefictionmen @budugu @watersquirtpewpewboomm @mysweetlittledesire

S&B Tag List: @motheroffae @daddymaster21

Aleksander M Tag List: @nyctophiliiiiaaa @jazmin2211 @wooya1224 @seronsalk

BB Characters Tag List: @rachlovesactors @noortsshift @aikeia @weallhaveadestiny @two-unbeatable-beaters

[meowkusunoki]

Kai's Drawings Analysis

after seeing kai's scrapped art i was like "oh! haha a candle for kouta!" "oh! haha a cat for ayame... wait huh" so basically the point of this post is try to figure out what the drawings mean.

@tsumigram

we'll be going in the order that they're shown in the scrapped art, from left to right. starting off with the most obvious one,

the candle is one of the symbols associated with kouta, koukai knew each other before milgram, something something trains. we all know this.

this one seems to be a house in the distance with a small pond around it. it seems to be in a rather dry place though, so what i interpret as water could be something else. either that or it's winter or late fall. it seems to be very foggy.

i believe this one is also about kouta.

What chilly air. It could rain any moment. “▆▆▆▆ ▆▆▆▆▆▆ ▆▆ ▆▆▆▆ ▆▆▆▆▆▆▆▆” “No promises” Who was it? ▆▆▆ silhouette is pale, autumn fog and wet asphalt, I squint as I'm trying to see through the horizon. Cold and hollow, am I even more frozen?  (kai's memory report no.3)

close enough welcome back kai house drawing

also, one of kouta's symbols is a red maple leaf, which is commonly associated with fall, and his trial 1 vd is titled "green waters of oblivion", which could explain the (maybe) pond.

hey look, it's the one that made me start this post in the first place!

this is one of the easiest ones to see; a black cat looking at a cherry blossom tree. one of ayame's symbols is a black cat, and one of remi's is a sakura flower. we will get to remi later. there's also ego for the sakura but we will get to her as well.

now, for ayame...

— I see… — Can you braid my hair? — Huh? No answer. I avert my gaze. What an idiot. At such an age, you're still using this stupid childish voice. (kai's unknown memory)

Echo: …Ayame… Ayame: … Echo: Your voice… Ayame: … Echo: …became much deeper. (ayame's t2 voice drama)

— I think my hair is long enough to show you, - she says, pulling away the ribbons from her twintails and brushing the loose strands with her fingers. (kai's unknown memory)

(ayame's t2 memory reports)

— Isn't this ribbon similar to the red thread of fate? No way. — So if we wrap it around our pinkies, it's like we’re bound forever. This is too much. — No, it's stupid. — Hey! (kai's unknown memory)

I want to talk to someone, though we're in a fight again. Mhm, I know, if you're a part of my fate, we'll always come back together, so I don't need to worry. (ayame's memory report no.1)

yeah i'm not 100% sure about this one but uh. it's something.

a starless night sky with a full moon and a sakura tree. at first i thought it was clouds, but you can just barely see the branches.

Warm snowflakes falling from the night sky, the stars are never seen in the city; I watch myself looking up from the sidelines, holding onto the lantern as last hope. (remi's memory report no.2)

It's dark in the park, though I think it's supposed to be daytime; I don't see the stars either. But I guess they wouldn't be seen in the city… I receive a fish-shaped cake from a smudged, flickering silhouette. I can't remember the taste anymore. (ayame's memory report no.1)

this is the best i can find... i'm not too sure about this one.

...i can't really tell what this one is. at first i thought it was some fruits together, but that kind of looks like a ribbon? and after taking a closer look what i interpreted as leaves don't really look like that. so, i'm completely lost on this one. tsumifandom pls tell me what you think

a grassy field with a lot of clouds in the sky, also it seems to be the start of a sunset or the end of a sunrise.

That's it! From this moment, I'm going to be the one bringing everyone together — so that they can't reject me, I’ll become indispensable. Running through a chilly meadow, sun rising and I hold your hand, catching lavender clouds as I stay at home. (remi's memory report no.2)

i'm more confident about this than the last one, this feels a lot more specific.

this one took me down a bit of a rabbit hole. anyway, it seems to be some kind of pink cup, perhaps a mug, on a plate that also has a small pink flower on it. the background also kind of seems like it's something with a checkered pattern, but that may be confirmation bias on my part.

I don't quite remember how we met. I think I saw ▆▆▆ running away from ▆▆▆ house and decided to strike up a conversation. Who was it? Bright pink silhouette, it still leaves burns on my hands when I attempt to touch it. Black cats rubbing on my shoes, glittery necklaces, strawberry drinks. (kai's memory report no.2)

Year by year, I look back and feel all the same, let me out of this, let me out of this loop!  I wonder what kind of person I used to be before. Is it your fault? Changing me so much.  Cherry blossom petals, a wave of crystal water covering my ankles, tender girly laughs from all sides. (remi's memory report no.2)

Who… is she talking about? My childhood friend… Even in such darkness, I can make out the features of her face. I don't want to forget, not again, please let me engrave her in my mind. Just recently, we were having a picnic at the park filled with cherry blossom trees; how could we come to this so quickly? I want to go home… (ego's unknown memory)

am i saying that these three all knew each other before and went on a picnic together? perhaps. also, about that last one, the name of kai's t1 voice drama is "forget-me-not".

more on ego and kai:

Kouta: …Kai-san. Kai: Ha… Kouta: Could you stop using the fabric of my clothes as a fidget toy? [...] Kouta: Your half-hearted giggles make me remember something bad. Cut it out. —Kai-san.  Kai: Mhm… Kouta: Stop gripping my arm.  Let me go. (kouta's t2 voice drama)

She's holding both of my hands, digging her nails into my palms; I'm sure she doesn't notice, and I'm too sleepy to feel any pain. I’m quietly sitting in bed. (ego's unknown memory)

Kai: … You remind me of someone. To be fair, it might be only your face. Ego: Hm. Kai: Yeah, someone from my victims. No idea who it was, though. You know? My recollection of my life is not very good either. Probably because of this place, but it has always been like this. [...] Kai: I see, I see. You do not see anything. … That's how it goes. You gut everything from my head, and then it ends. I won't see you again for an unknown amount of time, and you'll get reincarnated with a completely different opinion on me. Although I asked you not to leave me all alone. But I ask for too much. (kai's t1 voice drama)

You should go. She is not answering. I don't think we have much time. …Do you want to get rid of me so much? Huh? Would you rather choose to stay with his corpse here? I want you to live a normal life. But I want to be with you. (ego's unknown memory)

i colored the phrases i think are said by kai in this one.

the other drawings don't seem to have anything in them, so this is it for now. will add to this if the future memories have any references to these drawings.

[on-wine-dark-seas]

21-34 for the writer game asks for Halfsleeper!

21. Post the last sentence you wrote in one of your WIP’s.

“Nanamiiiin,” Satoru sings, “I take it you didn’t read my text. I told you I was on my way!” Nanami crosses his arms. “And you must think my time is yours to monopolize. What are you doing here? I’m off the clock.”

22. How many drafts do you need until you’re satisfied and a project is ultimately done for you?

However many it takes. Because of external stressors, however, it'll be some time before I can really get back into my writing bag for real.

23. Single or multi POV, and why?

I do multi-POV if I'm dealing with a cinematic setup, but I like to keep it limited to like one or two characters in the story.

24. Poetry or prose, and why?

Prose. I suck at poetry.

25. Linear or non-linear, and why?

Whatever makes sense for the story. Reading House of Leaves back in college changed my perspective on storytelling.

26. Standalone or series, and why?

Both. But I prefer to have a series of collected stories within the same continuity. I love worldbuilding and I love the concept of multiversal worldbuilding. I am a comic book fan, so the multiverse is my jam.

27. Do you share rough drafts or do you wait until it’s all polished?

The gag is: no one gives a fuck what I share so I usually just wait until it's polished, post it, and go.

28. And who do you share them with?

I've shared my WIPs with a few people, but a recent incident where a former mutual on BlueSky insulted my writing and my ships has made me cagey and skittish about sharing my ideas and WIPs outside of this little blog. I'm a sensitive person and sharing my writing, characters, and ideas is an act of vulnerability I don't do lightly. I take betrayals like that pretty hard. If you want to be my fandom friend, then BE that, otherwise...why are we interacting if you hate everything I write? LOL. Leave!

29. Who do you write for?

I say myself but then I publish it and cry when I don't get external validation. Typical writer nonsense. But I DO write for myself more often these days. Creating these stories make me happy.

30. Favorite line you’ve ever written.

I have so many across so much of my writing but this little snippet between Sundari and Sukuna in Daughter of Disgrace was my Roman Empire for weeks before I dropped the chapter:

“You should head to bed and get your rest. You’ll need it for your journey back to your companions and the fight to come. You will be my enemy come morning.” Sundari draws back as surely as if he has slapped her. Then, she recovers, climbing to her feet to look at him, trying to will away the tears threatening to well up in her eyes, and the burn in her throat that wants to become a sob. “You are still my enemy tonight, dad,” she says, her voice wavering. “But even enemies can show compassion for one another. You just killed my mother in front of me. The least you can do is hear me out.” Sukuna doesn’t like this. Doesn’t want to be reminded that his hand struck down the woman he’s chased across the sea of time. “I have heard you, daughter,” he says, and there is a weariness in his voice that feels as ancient as memory. A bone-deep ache born from grief. And rage. “I have heard you and your mother both, and I’ll hear no more. Go to bed.”

31. Hardest character to write.

Sukuna. He's supposed to be scary but I simply do not see him that way knowing how his story ends. It would be easy to write him as some brutish beast but...I can't do that when there's so much more to him than his brutality.

32. Easiest character to write.

Nadja. I know her as surely as I know myself. I've been writing her for over 20+ years. Her voice is my voice, now.

33. Do you listen to music when you’re writing?

Sometimes, but I have to be really in the zone for the music to be help rather than hindrance.

34. Handwritten notes or typed notes?

Both. I keep a writing journal with some of the notes I jot down. I also have a folder in my Notes app with all my ideas and character sketches. And of course, my massive JJK Scrivener document that contains a majority of my notes, character sketches, meta, etc.

[sapphanimates]

Sonic OC Showdown Ask Game!

✨️ - How did you come up with the OC's name?

Trace's name originates from the same oc tutorial video I watched when creating her. One of the example characters was named Trace, after their ability to sneak around without a trace, and I thought it was cool.

🌼- How old are they? (approximate age range)

I'm thinking mid-to-late twenties. But that might change depending on how I structure events in my AU.

🌺- Do they have any love interests?

Hmm.....

🍕- What is their favorite food?

Applesauce! The air slits in her muzzler are just big enough for her to fit in and drink through a straw; applesauce is just the easiest since it's already pre-pureed and tastes great!

💼- What do they do for a living?

Nothing necessarily. She and the rest of the Daybreak's Angels spend their time either relaxing or on patrol for danger. They defend those who can't help themselves and were most active during Infinite's conquest of Mobius.

🎹- Do they have any hobbies?

Back when she could still speak, Trace loved to sing folk songs from her hometown. She can still be heard occasionally humming these songs quietly to herself.

🎯 - What do they do best?

She's well versed in various physical fighting styles, and now due to her muzzler, she has gained a sharp advantage in silent espionage.

🥊- What do they like to do? What do they hate to do?

She enjoys talking and spending time with her team. She doesn't hate much of anything. Things that are purely mechanical somewhat set her off. She doesn't trust them.

❤️- What is one of your OC's best memories?

The day she met Zess. He helped her when she was all on her own, teaching her sign language, helping her get food, and just overall caring for her. Her life has changed forever thanks to him.

✂️- What is one your OC's worst memories?

Being defeated by the Jackal Clan. It scarred her, mentally and physically. She feels as if she let her people down by letting her cover get blown.

🧊- Is their current design the first one?

NOOOOO. She's definitely had some changes, most of which in outfit designs and colors. Her muzzler was originally a completely different (and severely illogical) shape, and there were a lot more greens and even golds in her design. The most recent change I've made to her design was the addition of the burn scars across her face.

🍀- What originally inspired the OC?

This tutorial by Creative Planet Entertainment I had previously mentioned in the first question. This is the video that taught me how to draw sonic characters in general, albeit poorly. This is also where she got her name, as I said before, and even inspired the idea of a muzzled sonic character! The Tasmanian Devil aspect was unrelated to this video and was chosen purely because it's just a cool and unique animal.

🌂-What genre do they belong in?

what?

💚 - What is your OC's gender identity and sexuality?

She is a sisgender bisexual woman. She/Her pronouns.

🙌 - How many siblings does your OC have?

Unsure. Let's say... she's the middle child of 6 siblings?

🍎- What is the OC's relationship with their parents like?

Good. They care about her well-being, even taking care of her in the early months after the incident. When she left, they were heartbroken.

🧠- What do you like most about the OC?

She's my little baby girl. She was my first real sonic oc, and I'm proud of how much she's grown. She is a mini time capsule of just how much I've developed as an artist and writer when it comes to Sonic.

✏️- How often do you draw or write about the OC?

I'll have swings, just like I do with all the fandoms I'm obsessed with. When I'm in my Sonic cycle, I usually bounce back to working on fleshing out and drawing choice characters from my project; Trace being one of them.

💎- Do you ever see yourself killing off the OC?

Initially, yes. I had an idea of how and when she would die, but it came much too soon, much too jarring, and read like something you'd find in a shock fic. So no. Not now.

💀- Does your character have any phobias?

She is afraid of becoming lethally ill, suffocation, and drowning.

🍩- Who is your OC's arch nemesis or rival?

Infinite, or as she knew him, Zero. They go back all the way from her infiltration of the Jackal Clan camp, to her traumatic silencing, down to the aftermath of his conquest of Mobius.

🎓 - How long have you had your OC?

Since I designed her during the Covid-19 pandemic in 2020. I actually drew her during my break between virtual classes!

🍥 - How old were you when you made the OC?

Early Teens

@sonic-oc-showdown

[dybynyght]

An Okay Pretender IIII [Bowser X Reader]

A/N: Okay, we're on to four. Hope this flows well enough. As usual, nothing too long. Thank you as always for reading! Word Count:1,082

Accompany you he did. And with each visit to the Chancellor and General, he remained close by peering down at his prisoners. Unfortunately for you, this also meant you had no chance of discussing your escape with the only two beings that knew the depth of your situation. And so, occasional pleasantries and welfare checks was the guise of your visits. You weren't sure how many days had passed. There wasn't a way for you to truly tell and the drab skies above gave no aid. Regardless, you've been making due with the cards that you'd been dealt and using them to your benefit was something you quickly picked up on. Bowser was about as cuddly as a cactus, and you knew better than to approach those carelessly–a Pokey taught you that lesson the hard way–but it was slowly becoming obvious to you just how easy it was to mess with him. 

A spared smile here and there, forced as it may be, sometimes worked in your favour. And a lithe touch to the shoulder as silent thanks was enough to afford you a few liberties. Just…a few. You brought a spoon to your mouth, indulging in your meal, as a memory invaded your mind.

'It goes really deep.' Peach said as she took a brief elegant sip from her porcelain cup. She rested it softly on her saucer. 'He never stops and he won't stop until he gets what he wants.'

'And…what exactly is it that he wants?' You asked, silently swirling your spoon in your cup. 

'Power. He won't rest until he remakes this kingdom–this world–into his own image. And he's so sure that by taking me, he'll get closer to that." Spite dripped from tongue despite her calm outward composure. "As if I could love a monster."

A monster. Those words echoed loudly in your head as you concluded your noshing. No sooner had you done so did you hear the excited padding of feet hitting stone. You were grateful you ate alone as it gave you just enough time to slip out of being you and into Peach.

Bounding around from behind your chair and peeking up from beneath the table was a slight tuft of red hair pulled back into a ponytail. Mischievous grin locked and loaded as tiny clawed hands holstered up a mini Bowser onto the dining table.

"It's ill-suited for a Prince to stand on the table." You stated with a playful chastising gaze. "But…I suppose one can bend the rules every now and then. What can I help you with, Junior?"

Everyone back at Peach’s palace said stay clear of Bowser but not Junior. Of course that should go without saying but you couldn't pass up a chance to befriend the little tyke. Not after one night he happened upon you for a late night snack and the two of you got to talking over the cookies you may or may not have been sneaking since you got the freedom to roam the kitchen. Under watchful eyes still, yes, but some freedom nonetheless. 

Junior whipped out a large white page then splayed it on the table wide for you both to see. Covering almost every inch of paper was a culmination of colours all blended together to form a crude drawing. "I think it's time for business!" He smiled widely.

"Business?" You questioned with a raise of your brow. Your eyes zeroed in on the picture. One figure drawn of yellow, green and red was clearly Bowser and the tiny copy in the centre was clearly Junior. 

"For you and Papa to get married!"

You blinked wordlessly as Junior talked up his little plan to make sure this time everything was destined to happen. No interruptions, No pop-ups from Mario, and definitely no failures. Each time, you'd open your mouth to rebuttal but would quickly be cut off by him excitedly pointing out little things in his picture. 

"Oh, little one…" You muttered, moreso to yourself than him once you could finally get a word in, and offered a solemn smile. "…Maybe that's not exactly going to…hmmm…" What's the easiest way to let a child down gently? Nothing came to mind. Junior could see the worry settling onto your face and pouted in response.

"I really want you to stay. We'll get to play every night! I get to have a second parent and.." Junior looked at his picture again and began to fold and unfold the edges. "And I don't have to be so alone anymore when Papa gets busy…"

Damnit. You felt a slight headache coming and by instinct you began to rub your temples. The feather-light crown suddenly felt far too heavy. "Junior, people…ah…generally marry others that they love and-"

"You don't love, Papa?" 

You stiffened. That was a loaded question. You didn't hate him per se. It took a lot for you to truly hate someone, but love really wasn't exactly the word you would use either. You hummed softly before giving his cheek a tiny pinch. "I think…your Papa is..interesting to say the least and there just needs to be a bit more..umm…special circumstances. Knowing someone for who they really are is…is important."

Junior simply stared at you wide eyed, confusion swirling in his irises. What more could there possibly be for knowing someone? As far as he was concerned, his Papa and you–scratch that, Peach–already had more than enough time to know each other. His pout remained. "...I'm so sorry, Little one. I'm sure-"

"You just need more time right?" As if by magic, the pout was suddenly swept off his face and a confident grin took its place. You knew that look. He was scheming. "Okay! I'll take care of everything! Leave it to me!" And with that, he leapt off the table and ran out the kitchen, leaving you rather stunned by how quickly his moods shifted. 

You didn't feel the need to chase after him to clear up what you meant. You didn't want to see that look on his face again. Besides, any day now, you were sure you'd be out of here! If not by your friends, then by yourself. Your eyes locked onto the picture left on the table and carefully you picked it up. As you held overhead, your thumb came up over Peach's face, covering it completely to leave only the bright pink of her clothes visible. You didn't hate to admit that the drawing was cute.

[nerdynatreads]

☆☆ YouTube | Tumblr | Instagram | Storygraph ☆☆

book review || Rouge by Mona Awad

~Thanks to Netgalley for providing a digital ARC of *Rouge* in exchange for an honest review. ~

She does it again. So good. Fantastic.

Right from the start, we see that Mirabelle is obsessed with beauty and looking young— much like her mother before her we see in the small flashbacks Mira remembers of her mother. I was impressed at just how often beauty and style were brought up: - Mira’s mother owns a dress shop and Mira works in one as well - The constant references to Mira and her mother’s youthful appearances - The obsession Mira has with skincare products, using them as a way to calm herself, referencing what products other people could benefit from, obsessing over trying to cover the scar on her forehead - Seeing how Mira longs to be complimented by others - The “self-love” mentioned, but often is being sold by cosmetic companies who benefit from the idea. - colorism! Because Mira is half-Egyptian and was never able to see herself in those around her, particularly her mother. Mira definitely has a similar feel to Miranda in *All’s Well* and Samantha in *Bunny* — jaded, cold, and lonely, but in this we see her grief over her mother and the confusion that comes with it, especially once we see some of her memories with her mother. I was so intrigued by the maternal element of the story— seeing how the little comments and throwaway actions imprinted on Mirabelle so that she’s desperate to be seen as beautiful. She’s tied her entire value as a person to how people view her. It’s heartbreaking and hauntingly familiar for most people. Oh my god though, the way this theme in particular was wrapped up at the end? I adored it. It’s so wonderfully and terribly relatable. I loved how Awad worked in the bit about cults (and the beauty industry) somehow encouraging individuality while also making everyone as similar as possible. That desperation we all feel to conform to the ideal beauty standard, but how that also involves completely removing any sense of identity. How capitalism and the beauty industry feed on peoples’ insecurities to continue pushing products and the mirroring of that in the cult. While yes, Mira does fit into the stereotype of someone who falls victim to a cult, the beauty element shifts the perspective of it. The writing in this can only be described as surreal. It’s unsettling and dreamlike, constantly referring to the distorted view we tend to have about ourselves, but also the disorientation of grief. The atmosphere, the narrative, and the story is cinematic, so I’m simply devouring this book when I pick it up. I also loved the continuous references to numerous fairytales. Yes, it’s probably easiest to draw parallels between this and Snow White, but there’s also Little Mermaid, Beauty and the Beast, and even Hansel and Gretel, I’d argue. The blurb mentions Eyes Wide Shut (which, yeah, I can see that) but I’d also say there are definitely some bits that had me thinking of Eternal Sunshine of a Spotless Mind.

4.5 / 5 stars

[gl1tchxr]

locals shocked that the "i love flower symbolism" guy is asking for flower symbolism . please answer for as many ocs as u can reasonably fit on this post . thank you. 26? /silly /gen

26) What flower do you associate your OC with?

easiest to start with the two i made with flower symbolism in mind. laci, short for laceflower, has a lot of meanings but the one i use is sanctuary. she's a sanctuary to her friends, someone they can go to when they're tired or scared or confused. her whole reason for leaving home was that her friend abby got kidnapped and removed from sanctuary, so she needs to bring her home. abby, short for abatina, means fickleness. i made her character for one purpose: to be gone. even laci, after so many years of searching, finds the memories of her slipping away.

ok google search flower language

so what i've learned is that flower symbolism is really inconsistent and every source will have different meanings for the same flower and even the same color of the same flower so don't use me as a primary source for what each flower means lol

paradox - hyacinth. as a whole it symbolizes playfulness and rashness, and paradox is the most laid back and impulsive of the bunch. certain colors symbolize jealousy or a desire for forgiveness. paradox is a VERY jealous person, and he's constantly weighed down by regret over things that he can't ever get forgiveness for because those people are now dead.

ny - cowslip. there's a whole bunch of flowers that mean innocence and nothing else and i didn't want that for ny. there's more to him than just being the youngest. cowslips do symbolize youthfulness but also new beginnings, which ny gets when he runs away from home, and there's some connection to death which is fitting bc ny is the only one (at first) who can see ghosts.

juxt - hellebore. the name comes from the greek words for injury and food. a plant named after the fact that it's poisonous is good for an assassin with venom i think. but also he's put that life behind him. the flower language for hellebores is about new beginnings and warding off evil. as the best fighter and most intimidating of the group, he's definitely the one warding off the most evil.

mercury - monkshood :)

reaper - red spiderlily. it symbolizes death and cmon their name is literally reaper. they try to kill the main cast more times than anyone else does.

dire - violet. it means modesty and faithfulness. she is extremely faithful to astra, and even though she does an enormous amount of work she never boasts about it. also it's the flower of lesbians and her and astra are toxic yuri <3

june - cypress. she gets a whole tree bc she's a god. it symbolizes life and death which is literally what she's the god of. it's also about mourning, and june will forever mourn her beloved.

arcadia - ok you're the only one who has context for this but i've already been drawing her with pink roses and this website says pink roses mean "perfect happiness" and "please believe me" which is so perfect for someone who uses flower pollen to influence people's emotions so she can manipulate them for her own gain

[thepiinkpages]

I said I would wait until the new book came about tomorrow but I couldn't resist and now i'm stuck waiting until tomorrow. It's like a itch I need to scratch.

This post will also be a two book post.

This book was actually better than the previous book I read. I have finally decided that my favorite character is Renzo. Surrreee he tried to kill her. But why let something like that ruin it right??? He is so obsessed with her, i'm actually jealous. I know realize my type is 'I hate everyone but her'... maybe I should see a therapist about that. Renzo doesn't listen to anyone but her and I find that adorable.

I still don't like Tristan and I still feel like he was given a pass despite him treating Rhi like literal shit. Spencer is slowly getting off my shit list only because he was tortured almost this entire book.

We also find out in this series that 'the black prince' is for sure Rhi's father and im suspicious that Rhi's pet pig, Pip, is actually her father but he was cursed or something.

I love how two of her mates are so in love with her that they turn into pathetic whining men. I love it.

Here are some of my favorite quotes:

"...I want her to be pleased with me. I want her praise, her thanks, her adoration. Mostly I want her..."

"...Touch me more...P-p-please.. he says..."

"...The water is actually perfect temperature-scorching hot..." (As is should be)

"...I love you, Rihanna Blackwaters, more than anything else in this world, in this galaxy, in this universe...more than all the stars in the heavens..."

I usually only add 3 quotes but in this case I could not choose between spicy and sweet. So I gave you 2 spicy, 1 funny and 1 sweet.

Destined Dawn; Rating: 4.5/5

...SPOILERS AHEAD...

Ya'll, I literally just started this book because it just came out but let me tell you some predictions that I have made once I am finished with this book. Also, I apparently am dumb as balls because none of my predictions came true... I would never be a fortune teller *sob*

In the memory that her aunt stored in Rhi's brain she says she will have to give up Pip (her pet pig) in order to truly tune into her power, I predict that something will happen to one of her mates and she'll be forced to give up Pip. Or maybe Pip is killed and she loses control of her power but her mates bring her back.

In terms of this book so far, the killing of her father was very fast. I assumed it would've been dragged more but he was killed within two or three chapters.

Also, I am LOVING Spencer in this book. He's so attentive and sweet to her *sigh*. Love, what can you do? Am i right? But my favorite is still Renzo. He's just the type of guy who if given the choice whether to save the world but Rhi dies or the world burns but Rhi lives, he would choose Rhi. I know y'all can't see me but my face looks like I just ate a lemon.... I'm so jealous. Azlan, at first was my favorite because he was the first one who accepted her as his mate the easiest but after the first book and second book, he fell off for me. I feel like if he was given the same choice as Renzo he would choose to save the world. Spencer, well he burst out into tears because he thought he wasn't worthy of Rhi's love after everything he had done to her. I definitely like Spencer more than Tristan. Men's tears are my weakness. And Tristan, of ALL PEOPLE, had been drawing her from the moment he saw her walk into the school. He had been obsessed with her from the beginning but hid it because he knew his father (the chancellor) was a huge pain in the ass. Even though I have cursed his name since the beginning, I thought it was very cute that he had drawn her a million times.

The part in here that had all of them 'taking turns' aka orgy party, had me clutching my pearls. I was shocked but it wasn't a shock of disgust it was a shock of... what on Earth are you doing?! There's monsters around you, RUN. They all basically jumped her bones with their bones. SAUCY. I made the mistake of reading this part when Paradise by Coldplay was playing. A mistake I fear I shall never make again. She basically went from a innocent little virgin in the first book, to a ravenous wanton spicy queen.

A part of me hates how much of a good heart Rhi has because she didn't kill the chancellor and Summer. If I was in her shoes I should've blasted them to kingdom come.

I didn't quite like the process of this book. I felt I was very rush and if it was just a tad more focused on the plot rather than the hot youthful activities than it would've been a great book.

Here are some of my favorite quote from this sinful, promiscuous, wanton book:

"...Tell her how beautiful she looked, you goddamn fuckers...."

"...Tristian underdressing with serious amounts of swagger..." This quote made me laugh so much *Insert snort here*

"...I want to make you feel so damn good. I want to take you to fucking heaven and back. I want you to forgive me..."

And with that, this book concludes this series that I have ravished in less than a week. Someone call Dr Phil or something because I have a serious problem.

Also, I've begun reading Fourth Wing and i'm truly not sure if I like it so far. Like I love how they described Xaden Riorson... I love a man who looks like he hates you. They make the best kind of book when it's revealed they had always loved but but could never tell you how they felt. J'ai besoin de toucher de l'herbe.

[oro-e-diamanti]

Puppet Masterlist | Puppet Taglist | Buy me a coffee!

The band is tired of interviews. They'd rather ask you some questions.

Content: Smut

Word Count: 3.8k

A/N: I don’t actually know shit about sewing or fashion so please forgive me if any grave errors pop up here or in future chapters 😬

Lesson Seven: Talking about it is half the fun.

When Ethan banged against the locked door of Thomas' room the next morning, both of you still blissfully asleep and wrapped up in each other, he was less than pleased. As it turned out, Thomas had neglected to set an alarm the night before and was about to miss a number of interviews. He got ready in record time, flying out of the house with the other three in a flurry, all of them promising to be back with takeout in a few hours. Their hurry was the only reason no mocking or teasing comments about the night before were thrown your way. You wondered how many of them Thomas would get later on.

You had only just made your way out of his bed, lazily stretching and shuffling into the hallway, when the front door bust open again.

"What do you want me to do Vic, go with a ripped seam?!"

"But we're all matching, you can't change your shirt now!"

"It's ripped!"

Peaking down the stairs, you could see Victoria and Damiano rushing around, the latter awkwardly holding the hem of his shirt which was sporting a bit of a tear. It wasn't drastic - but it would definitely be visible. Running to your room, you quickly gathered your supplies, catching Damiano just before he was back in his own room, probably on his way to grab a new shirt.

"Stop! I can help," you called, jogging over to him, just to drop to your knees where the seam of his shirt had torn. It was full muscle memory, no challenge. Mending a seam was one of your easiest tasks. Turning the fabric around so you could look at the inside of it, you got to work. Removing the loose stitches, cutting off the excess thread, instructing Damiano to hold the hem as you placed a few needles to make sure you'd repair it in a straight line, and sewing it shut with a new one. You thanked your lucky stars that his shirt required black thread, an easy staple. A few stitches and you were done, removing the needles, straightening the fabric back out and standing up, happy with the result.

"How do you know how to do that? It looks brand new!" Vic exclaimed from behind you, having found the pair of you in the hallway upstairs.

You giggled, "I don't think this is a good time to explain, go move your asses and get to the interviews!"

For once, they agreed without arguing.

~~~

The majority of the day consisted of you desperately searching for inspiration, carrying out one google search after the other in between drawings that never seemed to satisfy you, interrupted by a flood of messages and pictures in the group chat the band had started with you. It kept you well entertained, to say the least.

A picture of Victoria, cross-eyes and showing her tongue.

One of Thomas, who had fallen asleep in the worst possible position on a chair somewhere between interviews.

A video, zoomed in on Ethan's face way too much, the slight annoyance still visible.

Another video, this time of Damiano obnoxiously shaking his ass and Victoria repeatedly hitting it.

You had no idea what the future would hold, once you moved out and lost the group dynamic that had started to establish itself again between the five of you, but you found yourself hoping to never miss them in your life again. Four years without them had felt like a lifetime, and you hadn't quite realised how big of a gap they had left in your heart until you had reconnected with them. You wouldn't be so stupid again. Whatever was to happen in the next weeks, when you moved out, when they started touring the world again, you were determined to keep in touch. You'd have to thank your brother for basically unloading you onto them, you thought.

~~~

"I'm so done with interviews," Victoria groaned, shoveling her burger in her mouth without caring about the way she looked or sounded. "I don't want to answer a single question anymore today."

Everyone else agreed with a groan, equally invested in their food after a long day. It had almost turned dark by the time the band had returned and you had to admit that the house had been terribly quiet without them. Now all you really wanted to do was chat and catch up, but Vic's statement had you shutting up immediately. They had been working while you had done nothing but lounge around after all, if they needed some peace and quiet, you wouldn't be the one to deny them.

Fortunately for you, the quiet didn't last all that long. After all the plates had been cleared away, everyone had gathered in the living room. Thomas was fiddling with some Spotify playlist or other that was sounding through the room, everyone else had sprawled out on the couches. Vic's legs were in your lap, leaving you to draw little circles on them with your fingertips as you scrolled through your phone. The rest of the band seemed similarly engrossed in their screens. Until Damiano made an excited noise that caught everyone's attention. But when you looked up, he was staring solely at you.

"Maybe it's time we interview you instead."

"What on earth would you interview me about," you giggled nervously. "I don't think I have anything to tell."

"I think you do actually. Someone just send me a very interesting link to a little test and, well, since you're officially not a virgin anymore," Damiano shot unnecessary looks between you and Thomas that you only replied to in the form of rolling your eyes, "it might be time to get into the little details and figure out your kinks, hm?"

Suddenly, all eyes were on you. Victoria sat up, moving her legs off your lap to cross them instead.

"Ooh yes, this is gonna be fun, I wanna know everything!"

The blush was rising in your cheeks, the heat probably quite visible at this point.

"And what if I don't know?"

"Then we'll help you figure it out," Ethan threw in, his face calm and supportive. Somehow you ended up nodding.

"Alright first up: Nippe play, yes or no?"

Everyone was watching you closely, curious to see how you would react, but it wasn't you who spoke first.

"That's a yes," Thomas blurted out, sending you a smile as everyone's attention now briefly rested on him. "I can attest to that."

"See, we're already gaining valuable information here!" Damiano exclaimed, obviously ecstatic that his plan was working out while you still felt like burying yourself in the ground at the prospect of discussing this in a group meeting. They could have at least given you a drink, but instead, all they were giving you were impatient stares. You wouldn't be surprised if Ethan took out a pen and paper to take notes at any second.

"So are we talking just hands and mouth or are props included in this? Because I've got some fancy nipple clamps that would look lovely on your tits," Victoria grinned next you, only to reach over and unexpectedly flick your nipple over the fabric of your shirt. She chuckled when it hardened immediately as you flinched. Suddenly you didn't quite regret not bothering with a bra.

"I..." Your voice failed you for a moment. "I'm not sure. I think I would like to try."

Victoria's smirk told you she felt the same way, but Damiano didn't let her elaborate, scrolling down on his phone to find the next question for you.

"What about other props then? Blindfolds maybe?"

In an instance, you felt hands covering your eyes, assuming them to be Thomas' as he was the only one still standing around the living room. But then another hand traced down your neck towards your cleavage for a split second, giving you no indication as to who it was.

"Yeah," you gasped. "Yeah, I like that."

With a chuckle, Thomas let go of you, walking over to Ethan to drop on the couch next to him. Victoria sent you an obnoxious wink. You could only shake your head in slight amusement.

"Handcuffs?" Damiano asked.

"Or rope," Ethan threw in, a look on his face that seemed much more innocent than the idea he was supplying.

"Or maybe just our hands for starters... it's about being restrained, the how comes later," Damiano clarified.

You were imagining it immediately. Pinned down to the bed, movements restricted by Damiano's hands, by Ethan's hands, handcuffed to the headboard, Ethan tying you up in rope, full control over you and your body, straining against it as they teased you, completely at their mercy...

"Yes."

"Interesting," Damiano smirked. "I'll keep that one in mind. What about... spanking?"

Your eyes nervously flickered between the four of them, all patiently waiting for you to give an opinion. You knew none of them were here to call you out, shame you for anything you were or weren't into. It was a simple question round, providing them with information that could possibly lead to rather interesting results in the future. You would be a fool to pass up on the opportunity.

"I'm not sure, it... it sounds good, but I've never tried it."

"Do you want to?" Ethan's voice and the slightly challenging look he threw at you had your body erupting into a different sensation of nervousness. One that was filled with curiosity and anticipation. He sat back a little, legs spread slightly, keeping eye contact. "Come here. I can give you a little taste."

Without hesitation, you got up from the couch, moving over to where he was sitting. He took your hand as he motioned for you to lay down on his lap. There was a slight shaking in your legs, you couldn't quite decide which emotion was causing it, but you followed his lead anyway as you positioned your body over his legs. Thomas, the only one still in your sight, stroked your hair lightly, almost comforting you over something that hadn't quite happened yet. A reassuring hand ran over your back, reaching the waistline of the pajama shorts you were wearing, before roughly pulling them down your legs. You tried to keep quiet, unable to anticipate what exactly was about to come, almost craning your neck to see, but it was to no avail. Ethan easily pushed the fabric of your panties upward, baring the cheeks of your ass to everyone in the room. You felt yourself taking a breath. The seconds passed like minutes, but then you felt him move and-

Slap.

The sting caught you by surprise, a tingling sensation followed by an emergence of heat spread from the place he had hit to the rest of your body. The feeling was so all-encompassing, you weren't even sure if you had made a sound at the impact. However, one thing you were embarrassingly sure of.

"One more," you gasped.

"Look at her, already begging for more," Victoria cooed. "I think we'll have her in the palms of our hands in no time whatsoever."

You didn't get a chance to answer her as Ethan's hand came down on your other cheek, the pleasurable sting from before washing over you once again. You revelled in it for as long as you could as he tucked the fabric back down, not bothering with the shorts, before pulling you up and into his lap. The tingle in your skin was still there when you sat down on his thighs, cradled up in his arms, but it was anything but unpleasant.

"You okay?" He quietly asked, searching your face for signs, but you could only nod and bite your lip in slight embarrassment at being so easy. He pulled you in with a smile, allowing you to lay your head on his shoulder as he held you. You used the moment to take a look around the room. Everyone's eyes were still on you, pupils blown, quite obviously liking what they had just seen. You almost chuckled to yourself.

Victoria recovered first. "Ready for some more questions? Because I'm ready for some more answers."

The replies fell from your lips much easier now. It was as if Ethan's treatment had somehow loosened you - and your tongue - up enough to be honest without shame. Damiano's questions kept coming.

Dirty talk? — Yes.

Using gags? — Willing to try.

Sex toys? — Yes.

Leash and collar? — Probably not.

Choking? — ...maybe.

Animal role play — What? Definite no.

Having sex while people watch?

You hesitated, almost feeling caught out. Your eyes flickered back and forth between Damiano and Ethan, almost a little unsure as to what to say, but you knew fully well at least one of them would call you out if you disagreed with the suggestion. You weren't quite sure how much the other two knew, but Damiano had eaten you out while Ethan watched, and you had given Ethan a blowjob with Damiano guiding you. And thinking back on it now, the memory was enough to incite a fire inside of you. You attempted to cross your legs, giving a little relief to the feeling emerging between them, but Ethan held onto your thigh tightly, giving you a smirk that told you he knew exactly what was happening.

"I like the idea, yes."

"I think you've been hogging her long enough, Edgar, why don't you let her come over here for a bit?"

Ethan didn't hesitate, patting your thigh before gently pushing you off his lap. Legs slightly shaky, you made your way over to Damiano who was inviting you onto the large couch with him, hand held out to you. You followed easily, letting him pull you down next to him and you didn't even have the time to ask for details of what he had planned before his mouth was on yours. The kiss was sensual, lips moving in all the right ways, tongue following naturally, and he had you breathless within moments. His hands were all over you, touching everywhere all at once, your back, your ass, your thighs, your tits. His chest was hard under your hands as you gripped his shirt, his scent intoxicating as the kiss got more passionate, both of you getting more desperate for each other.

You had half a mind to climb onto his lap, needing more of him as your panties were getting noticeably wetter, but he had other plans. Roughly pushing you onto your back, Damiano moved over you, settling between your legs as you instinctively wrapped them around his waist, before his mouth settled on yours again.

"Fuck, that's hot," Thomas' voice came through.

You had almost forgotten you weren't alone in the room with Damiano, so focused on him and everything he was manipulating your body to do. Breaking the kiss to turn your head around, you looked at the other three still seated on the couches around you, all of them having moved to get a better view, watching intently. It should have unnerved you, really, or made you self-conscious, the way you were putting on a show for all to see, but somehow, it didn't. You felt empowered, sexy, and ridiculously greedy for whatever Damiano would be treating you to.

When he sat back up without you, you almost followed, but he pushed you back down onto the couch. He was pulling the reigns and he was letting you know. He took his sweet time undressing you. You had no doubt about the fact that he knew this was pure torture for you. He peeled your top off slowly, fingers brushing every single inch of skin appearing, your breasts, your nipples, up your neck, before pulling it over your head. His speed stayed just as punishing as he grabbed hold of the waistband of your panties, rolling them down without any hurry whatsoever. You willingly lifted your butt as he motioned for you to do so, before watching his concentrated face, going down your thighs, knees, shins, finally pulling the fabric off your body completely and throwing it to the ground somewhere. You couldn't care less.

Damiano was much less patient in removing his own clothes. In what seemed like an instant, he was naked, back to covering your naked body with his own. You didn't know whether to moan in anticipation or sigh happily at the amount of skin contact. His chest was pressed to yours, you could feel his breathing as heavy as your own, hands exploring the newly-exposed flesh eagerly. He stopped you before yours made it down farther his chest. Holding as much eye contact as possible, he moved away from your mouth, lips travelling down your neck, leaving little bites in their wake.

He didn't spend nearly enough time on your breasts for your liking, only nipping at them briefly before making his way down, down, until he was all but crouching between your legs.

"You really love being between her thighs, don't you?" Ethan chuckled from the sidelines. You turned to look at him, and the others once again. Ethan and Thomas had noticeable bulges forming, while Victoria's hand had dropped between her legs, unmoving, eyes fixated on your body.

Damiano wasn't to be deterred, pulling all your attention back to him as he licked along your wetness. With a high-pitched moan, you tried to close your thighs around him, but he held you open. He teased your entrance for a moment, but then his tongue was on your clit, slight touches to its sides first but quickly moving on to fast licks all across it. You were a mess. If it had been up to you, Damiano could happily spend the rest of his life down there as long as he was doing that to you.

You could already feel the sensation build up in your pussy, a tense feeling just waiting to be set loose, but he wouldn't let you come on his tongue again, not today.

He sat up, smirking down at you as you desperately wriggled under him, before wiping off some of the wetness you had left on his mouth and chin. Taking his hard length in his hand, stroking it a few times, he grabbed onto your chin with the other hand, turning your head to the side and towards the others.

"Look at them while I fuck you," he demanded as you gasped at his words. It should have intimidated you, really, being naked and vulnerable in front of all of them, but as you studied their faces you knew there was nothing but love, trust, and desire for each other - and the prospect of letting them watch as Damiano had his way with you had you soaking.

With your eyes trained on the others, the moment Damiano entered you came as a surprise. The stretch was intense and unexpected, but you welcomed it with a moan, so aroused that you easily fit around him as he stilled to let you adjust. You heard him curse above you, obviously just as affected. Wrapping your legs around him once again, you urged him to start moving, give you the friction you desired, and he gave in immediately. His thrusts were hard and punishing immediately, a stark contrast to the way you had experienced with Thomas, but it felt so, so good and god, now that you had gotten your first time over with, you felt like you wanted this all the time.

He was relentless and unrestrained, hands clutched to the armrest behind your head for more leverage, and you were mewling and squirming under him. Your nails found his back, digging into the skin as you gasped. You had barely noticed you had started turning back to look at him, admiring his face screwed up in ecstasy and the muscles in his arms straining as he fucked you, until he stared back at you.

"I want you to look at them when you come. They need to see your face when you fall apart."

You only just managed to twist your head when Damiano hiked your legs up higher, changing the angle ever so slightly and suddenly hitting just the right spot. Your eyes were falling shut on their own accord, lost in pleasure as he kept driving into you, the feeling in your abdomen rising higher and higher to the point where you knew you wouldn't even need clit stimulation to come.

The way he was moving you up and down the couch made it difficult, but you took the moment to study the rest of the band. Thomas looked almost as fucked as the night before when you had actually fucked, eyes darting around, apparently unable to stay in one place for long. Victoria was even more restless, focused on the way your tits were bouncing in time with Damiano's movements, her hand unceremoniously shoved in her panties. Only Ethan stared solely at your face. He seemed concentrated, almost stoic, as he studied your expressions closely. He wasn't getting off, or even touching himself at all, but the look on his face did more to you than anything else ever could. When a smirk formed as he caught your eye, and Damiano increased his efforts, you came undone so easily.

With a loud moan, you threw your head back, succumbing to the feeling as he continued to fuck you, thrusting into you a few more times before coming as well, spilling in you with a gorgeous groan falling from his lips. He slowed down, before stopping completely, almost collapsing on you as all strength seemed to leave him. With a quick turn of his head, he pressed another kiss to your lips. You responded eagerly, overwhelmed by the emotions and feelings coursing through your body, only breaking the kiss to let him pull out of you and clean you up with the tissues someone had blindly provided him with. There was some rummaging going on in the room around you, but you barely paid any attention to it, still trying to catch your breath and come to terms with the fact that you'd just had sex in front of three other people. And you'd enjoyed it. So much more than you had expected.

Victoria brought you back to earth when she held out a light robe to you, offering to help you get up (which you gladly accepted as you felt your legs shaking) and drape the fabric around you protectively.

"Want to go upstairs and cuddle a bit?"

You agreed happily, wanting nothing more than a little bit of peace and quiet to come down and maybe a pair of arms wrapped around you. She easily led you away from the others, her hand protectively holding onto yours, only turning back around once more before leading you up the stairs.

"I'll go relax with this one while you guys do whatever you need to do... And maybe teach her about the traffic light system, because I'm seeing some fun times ahead of us."

Taglist: @till-you-scream-and-cry @ethaneskin @damianodavide @itsmaneskinbitch @blackberryblossom @lifeofa-fangirl @bethanysnow @noeprd27 @polygraph-paperplane @iambandlover @xx-x-frxnny @thewitchinthemountain @arrelia-hunter26 @crazyonthelines @vicbellaangelis @mortyandem @icarodamiano @Ursulalurks @Aapjesopeenfiets @xmusse @tellmesomething01 @elvirabelle @moonlight-simp @little-moonbeam-666 @maneslut @theimpossiblehologramtree @ha-la-ansia @l0standn0tf0und @iamtashaquinn @myleftsock @maneskintifoso @katmoonz @dreaming-with-happiness @que--sera--sera @cuzimitaliano @wow-ihateithere @searchingford

[sylverstorms]

Bela x Maiden ----Songbird Ch. 7

Ch.1 Ch.2 Ch.3 Ch.4 Ch.5 Ch.6

One would assume that kissing Bela –you're pretty sure it was more of a make out, to be entirely accurate— cleared things up between the two of you.

And of course... that isn't the case at all.

Because although you have at least come to some base understanding there is an undeniable –undeniably wrong— attraction there, you do not have the slightest clue where you currently stand. Your gazes have locked once or twice during dinner, yet she hasn't approached you afterwards and you're not confident your place permits you to do so yourself.

You may not make such a great deal out of your death anymore, but that doesn't mean you'll go seeking it by potentially offending one of the Dimitrescus with your presence.

It is a nerve-wracking standstill. One that has you constantly wondering how your next encounter with the elder sister will play out, if she'll greet you with a faceless 'human' or your name.

Luckily, it doesn't take too long to find out.

Your next evening shift takes you outside of Bela's study. You instinctively know she is there without opening the door. Still, despite the quickening beat of your heart at the memory of your last private encounter, you focus on your job, dutifully cleaning the corridor and its hundreds of antique decorations. You do so as silently as possible, not wanting to disturb her from her studies.

Until... the door softly clicks open.

“Rhiannon.” Bela says, in a way that sounds somehow both like an order and a hesitant test of your name on her tongue. “Come here a moment. Leave your things.”

You don't know what you expected when you pivoted to see her, but this is definitely not it. Bela looks tired, catlike eyes strained at the corners like she hasn't slept at all, shoulders and chin not set as highly as usual.

“What's wrong?” you ask, the second you draw near her. “You look... unwell.”

A wry smirk. “Do I.”

Well. The better description is 'unfairly good-looking albeit in a tired way', yet you're not about to inflate her already supermassive ego any further.

“Yes” you end up nodding.

Bela lets you into her sanctum and closes the door behind you. “I just haven't been sleeping well, is all.” she explains, which seems like she's putting it mildly.

“Oh. Why?” you ask. The concern in your voice surprises even you. Do you care? Should you care?

A small battle with her pride is fought in the tense moments she takes to answer. “Nightmares.” Bela eventually says.

Huh. Isn't this odd. A nightmare haunted by nightmares. You almost ask what they are about, what could trouble someone like her so greatly that she skips sleep entirely, but you close your mouth and swallow the questions down. She already seems uncomfortable admitting to a weakness before you.

“I'm sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

Bela merely shrugs as she takes a seat on the couch. The motion is so effortlessly regal you can't help but feel envious. Imagine if she were actually trying to impress.

“You can distract me until dinner.” The question is, distract her from what. From her thoughts? Her thirst?

Well. You can certainly agree there's many voices in your head you'd like muted for a while, too. Bela and you are very different, yet you both want the same things from the other.

You chew on your bottom lip, debating your next move for a few seconds. Then you summon the courage to walk forward, Bela's yellow gaze, equal parts analyzing and intrigued, lingering on you the entire time.

She continues to stare when you come to a stop by her legs. You are towering above her, for a change. The edge of her attractive mouth curves up. “Liking the view from up there?”

Ah, but you know better than to helplessly fall into her prodding games, now. At least not without securing a solid advantage, first. And the easiest way to do that...

Is catching her by surprise.

Calm and graceful, you ignore the ample space left for you on the couch in favor of sitting right in her lap. Bela's eyes widen the slightest amount. Score.

“I'm liking it better from here, actually.” you say, trailing your hand up her bicep until it rests on her shoulder.

The hard contours you feel underneath make you want to repeat the motion without the thick black robes in the way. At the same time, though, you give her time to show you if you've crossed a boundary, if there's anything about this she doesn't like.

Bela's cold hand on the small of your back guides you closer and that's all the confirmation you need.

“Bold move, little human.” she whispers, eyeing you like a hungry lion. You know the darkness seeping in her gaze shouldn't be as arousing as it is. You know, but you are powerless to lessen its effect on you.

When you kiss, it is electric. Your lips slide and lock together like they were made to be melded. Your hands ache to roam, to map out the taut skin hidden beneath the black fabric.

Slowly, you drag your nails over her nape, down and around to her collarbone, feeling the tiny hitch that elicits. It is a thrill to have something so powerful shiver because of you. Addicting.

Bela's fingers tighten against you when you nibble on her lower lip. There may be bruises there tomorrow, but right now that only spurs you further, to leave a trail of kisses along her jawline.

“Rhiannon—” It comes out as a sexy, breathless warning that you –perhaps foolishly— ignore.

It's just that— she smells so good and her skin is warming up so nicely under your lips and you are so terribly tempted to press a little bite on her neck. Just under her choker, somewhere that will be secret, known only to the two of you...

The second your teeth touch her, Bela twists you around hard enough to make the world spin. Your back makes a muted thump against the couch and she's braced over you, ravenous.

Her eyes glow with that inhuman thirst again, the tip of her tongue rested underneath a sharp fang that catches the candlelight like a pearl. Her arms are a prison you won't escape from no matter how hard you try and yet...

You wouldn't call it not being afraid, exactly. More like...

You trust her.

“You like playing with fire a tad too much, don't you?” Oh, but if all fires burned like she does...

You lean up to answer that without words, but Bela's hand comes to your chest and presses you back down. Oh, damn... It would be nice if your brain could think about anything other than how hot that is.

“Don't.” she says, firmer this time. “Don't tempt me right now. The things I want to do to you would scare you away.”

You understand when not to press for both your sakes. Instead, you move your fingers in a soft caress up her forearm that seems to loosen her muscles up, somewhat.

Bela's eyes shift from your neck to yours. There is a flash of emotion there that you desperately want to decipher—

“Oopsie. Am I interrupting something~?” Daniela's voice breaks the spell.

Bela jumps off of you like she was caught during a crime. Or like a cat whose tail was just set aflame. Or both.

“Daniela what are you doing here?” Bela growls and you only sink further into the couch, wishing you could disappear in it.

“Came to collect you for dinner. Didn't think you'd be busy.” she shrugs, stepping back into the hallway.

“I wasn't busy.” Bela hisses, going after her.

“Were too.”

“Don't say anything stupid at dinner!”

“Like how mom's favorite was harassing a maid during her shift?”

“Yes, like that.” their voices drift further down the hallway until you can no longer hear what they're saying.

But. God help you Daniela doesn't say anything before the Lady to make her think you are corrupting her most upstanding daughter.

There are a lot of horrors in the castle... and Alcina Dimitrescu is the most petrifying of them all.

....

At dinner...

“Cassandra, help. Bela's being mean again!” Daniela cries.

The brunette drags out her chair and sinks into it, elbow on the table, her cheek resting on her fist. Bela can count so many violations to proper etiquette in that action alone it's award-worthy, but she has bigger problems to worry about.

“Yeah?” Cassandra asks. “Cool.”

“What? Maybe I should tell mom about both your misdeeds.” Daniela says.

“Good luck finding any for Bela. And mine won't even phase her, at this point.” the brunette chuckles.

“Does finding sis straddling a maiden with a hand on her boob count.”

Bela wants to open the nearest window, break the bars and jump out. “For the last time, I wasn't feeling her chest—”

“Way to go, Bela.” Cassandra perks up. “I didn't think you had the balls for that.”

“That's not what happened.” the blonde growls.

All three straighten in their seats –Cassandra finally sits properly— upon their mother's heavy steps drawing nearer.

Bela remains tense the entire time. Dinner never felt this long, before.

...

“Bela. Wait a moment.” Alcina says when they are done. The other two share a quick look and swarm out of the room.

Yellow eyes meet yellowish grey. “Yes, mother?” she asks. If she feels like her choker has grown tighter in the meantime, she does not let it show.

“Come here.” The Lady motions, still seated.

Bela dutifully approaches. She cannot explain what the sinking feeling in her stomach is, that makes her want to avert her gaze from her mother's. Is it knowing that she's disappointed her by messing around with a human? No. No, that's not quite right.

It almost tastes like...

Fear.

Of... Mother...?

“What's wrong, love?” she asks, two long, gloved fingers coming to tilt Bela's chin. “You had no appetite tonight. And your eyes look sunken. Have you not been resting?”

“I...” Bela starts, uncharacteristically hesitant. “I couldn't sleep last night.”

And she wants to say why, she wants the load off her chest, to share this with her mother, to hear her explanation as to why this keeps happening to her. But.

This awful feeling just won't leave her alone.

It chokes her and erases the words from her tongue before she can think to voice them. It makes her sick to her stomach. It hurts.

“Why?”

Because I keep seeing those people that I don't know. Drowning in poverty and illness and getting by on scraps of food. Asking me to be strong and help them have a better life. Always asking. Always taking.

Because she wakes up with the tattoo on her forehead burning and tears in her eyes and her hands white-knuckled fists on the covers. And she wants that burden of keeping her screams in and swallowing her sobs to just go away.

Bela opens her mouth to say all that.

“My room was just terribly cold. I forgot to have a maid light the fireplace.”

Is what comes out, in the end.

[wishfxljikan]

me: alright new fnaf game don’t get attached don’t get attached don’t get attached don’t go to the community

me, about 8 hours later: fuck

me, 12 hours after that: god damnit I’m attached.

I can’t escape the himbo bear and the sassy child, the gay gator, trans rights roxanne and Trash eating bi bird

anyways h/cs with hopefully no spoilers without understanding of the timeline cuz it’s been a good 7 years since I decided to think about the lore and all I know is “haha dead kids” from fnaf2

personal h/cs - I don’t like the trend of dead childrens possess animatronics so what if they were their own sentience entities instead, meaning everyone below is of my own base of this h/c so brrrrr - None of these guys go off batteries / power, they’re all self-powered and self sustainable, their own wills and needs/wants

ROXANNE - trans, fight me and die if you disagree - Listens to more Rock music than Monty ever has in his lifetime - actually really wants to see what Actual cars can do and not the toy ones in the Pizza Plex - “Monty is such a fucking dumbass don’t listen to him” (instantly listens in on him) - Playfully jabs @ Monty and Freddy - Always tries to be just as flashy and out there to impress the others but they’re fine with just how she is. - hardcore inferiority complex, the others know of this and help them through it when possible. - Listens to Eurobeat / Eurodance in secret. - Sits at the racing game arcade machines in free time. - Lesbian

MONTGOMERY - Gay I C O N - Is the only one who knows Rox’s likes for Eurobeat / Eurodance - Not the smartest but has good intentions i.e giving the sassy child a gun to fend themselves with - Yeah good luck finding out where he gets those weapons - actively swears off stage - Unironically has memorized all of Alfred’s Eggman Lines - The swear jar exists only for Monty and the occasion Roxanne / Chica - Actually prefers J-Rock and Chill Electronic stuff over Rock/Punk Rock/etc... - Is the only one that plays the Dance Dance Revolution Arcade Machine out of the four - Super competitive, like, REALLY competitive. He likes watching the competition. - Sadly the easiest to manipulate, anger issues are something he’s been working on but there’s a blindspot that easily allows him to be controlled :( - Rhythm Game nerd - Yeah he’s FC’ed Soulless 4 Unnerfed, what about it?

FREDDY - Dad. - Not that dad, filthy animal, Family-Dad - A himbo, we all know this by now, huh? - These three are his best friends, and if anything bad were to happen to them he’d shut down emotionally. - Secretly yearns to escape from the Fazbear Company with his friends, he and chica have been there the longest and they want out - Has kept himself sane through all of this hell over the years. Doesn’t know how, but he’s completely mellowed out. - Secretly in love with Montgomery - Scans Monty just to call him “yep, gay” every day. - They never get tired of it. - He lowkey acts as Monty’s therapist and honestly some nights they all have just personal singing sessions, let it all out, guys. - Prefers to listen to Jazz / Pop Rock / J-Rock / Electronic Swing, taking notes from everyone’s interests - He’s slowly learning how to draw from the kids... - Bleed-in memories from the past, was that him, or was it someone else as him? Doesn’t know. - Also Bisexual

CHICA - Has been alongside Freddy since the beginning, also shares that bleed-in memory effect, very confusing - Punk Rock, Rock, Speedmetal, Trance, Jazz--the most unpredictable music genre one of all of them. - Was the one who showed Guitar Hero to Monty. - Bisexual - You realize no one here is straight, right? - The main one there with Coming Out parties - “ GET THIS HET OFF OF ME, FREDDY.” - Get them something that isn’t trash...pls--the FINEST metals and stuff like come on-- - “I miss my wife, Freddy, I’ll be back---” - Also joins Monty on the memorizing the snapcube lines - Genuinely enjoys everything Roxanne does and says

THEY. ADOPT. THE. CHILD.

that’s it, that’s the post.

edit -- oooo secret link, wonder where this goes

[timextoxhajima]

2. 3 words, 8 letters - I "hate" you

❆ title: i hate you

❆ member: enhypen sunghoon

❆ wc: 1.4k

❆ warnings: idk just alot of angst

❆ synopsis: “If I had told you that I'd never hurt you, would you believe?”

❆ send me a made-up fic title and i’ll tell you what i would write to go with it [closed]

autumn. the entire afternoon, he didn’t even look at you. he may have been in your bed, playing with his phone and aggressively tapping away at the screen like he normally would, but he didn’t say a single word. not to you, not at the screen or at the automated characters in the game. 

“are you alright?” a gentle crease strains your brows. “you’ve been... very quiet since you came over.”

“i’m fine,” he brushes it off, doesn’t even bother looking away from his phone. “i’m just... thinking about stuff.”

your thumb locks your phone, eyes drifting from the screen to him. “thinking about what? tell me about it.”

“i don’t want to.”

cold.

“why not? was it something i did earlier that pissed you off or did something happen at home?”

silence. 

“oi,” gently wrapping your fingers around his hands that were holding his phone, you pull the device out from between his hands. “talk to me. what’s wrong?”

he rolls his eyes in exasperation, poking the inner side of his cheek with his tongue as he sits up in your bed. his back creaks against the cushioned head board, the back of his head resting on the blue wall. 

the royal blue shade flushes kind memories through your mind - sunghoon had helped you paint your walls just a year ago. 

“do you remember when you kicked the can of paint over? my god, it was so expensive and i was so mad-”

“stop.”

a sudden chill runs down your spine. there are a few moments of silence; heavy tension in the air, before you finally sit up and look to him.

“hey, i didn’t mean to bring that up if you didn’t like it. i just thought-”

“no, i’m saying we should stop.”

a gentle frown draws across your forehead.

“did i do something wrong? i-”

“no, i just-” sunghoon pushes himself off the bed, running his hand through his hair and picking up his phone. “i don’t think this is it. you and me. us.”

“i don’t get it. if i didn’t do anything wrong, then what is wrong?”

“what’s wrong is that i don’t love you, okay?” he grabs his hoodie and pulls it over his head. 

“wha...?”

“in fact,” he licks his slightly-chapped lips, thick brows almost pasted to one another, and his eyes had seemed to lost the light you once thought were for you. how could he say that so easily? “i hate you.”

pent up frustration yanks his chin away from you. watch him pick up his bag, full of your memories with him, full of laughter and cries and smiles that you had shared with him, that you had fallen in love with him over. 

“sunghoon, what-”

“don’t,” he swings his bag over his shoulder and turns, just enough to show you his side profile. “don’t call me ever again. delete my number. i’ll be blocking you from all our social medias.”

so, the door swings shut behind him, and there are soft whispers from outside as he bids your family goodbye. 

the room still smells like him. your fucking bed probably smells like him. the walls have been painted by him. the pictures of your phone either have him or were taken by him. 

the downfall of falling in love is that the same person who can give you anything, can take away everything. 

you find yourself zoning out as you sit at the edge of your bed, tears silently streaming down your face and soaking the ends of your sleeves. your mucus has long stained the lines of your lips and your cheeks are bloated from the quiet crying. 

no reason. no explanation.

now all you know is that he hates you. 

knock knock knock

winter. snow. snow angels. snow flakes. ice. 

“i know you’re in there! please open the door and come out!” jake’s voice is muffled through the door. the shadows stretched from under the door shifts restlessly, but you’re stuck to your bed like gum to hair. 

“please. if you don’t see him off at the airport, you’ll never see him for the next few years. what if he stays? what if he doesn’t want to come back? you can still make it in time and you can still come to some kind of agreement.”

the sour in your nose starts to spread through your nasal cavities again, and you can feel the lump of sobs stuck in the back of your throat. it feels like someone had just punched you in the gut so hard that your stomach was going to tumble out from your mouth. 

“you can’t possibly believe that he’s leaving because he meant what he said! this is... his dream. he was absolutely torn just by thinking about this, god! none of us knew he was going to pull this stunt!”

a soft thunk. the shadows stop shifting, but he’s standing directly against the door. he probably has his forehead shoved against the wood.

“y/n, please. we can’t stand by and watch this go to waste like that. we all knew sunghoon had nothing but eyes for you and he still does, i swear to god. he only said that because he didn’t want you to commit to a long-distance relationship and possibly neglect you but... you’ll get through it, won’t you?”

“is she not coming out?”

“no. she’s not responding.”

“move over. y/n, it’s jungwon.”

you sit up slowly, starting to wonder if sunghoon’s entire friend group is standing right outside your door. 

“sunghoon told me not to tell you this... or anybody in fact, but he said he’d be too greedy if he wanted both you and skating. he said... that he thinks he doesn’t deserve you, and that no matter how hard he tried, there would still come a time that he might hurt you. he said that skating is technical and can be improved and the only person getting hurt from it is him, but he can’t bear to hurt you ever. not now, not in the future.”

“since when did he say that?”

riki. 

“shut up- you ask the worst questions at the worst timings ever.”

sunoo. 

“y/n, are you listening? sunghoon still loves you and he never meant it when he said he hates you. he said it as... as an attempt to hurt you one last time, so you’ll stay and he’ll go live his dreams while thinking he’s protecting you.”

“we all know that’s bullshit, by the way.”

jay.

“jay!”

heeseung.

“what?! it’s true!”

by now, you’re standing with your hand on the door handle. the only thing between you and his friends was the door, and a broken heart that might just be too far for redemption. 

the jostle outside continues, and the shadows start shifting all over again as the boys squabble to get the door open. 

but it stops abruptly, and you see the light under the door shine through before it’s shadowed again.

“y/n.”

sunghoon. 

he tries the door, but you’re too frightened to open it. why would you open your heart to someone who has broken it before?

“please... open up. i... i thought that this would be the easiest and the best way to make sure you were safe from all the things i wanted to do... but i am far from right and i can’t... i’m- i’m sorry... that i chose to go down this route. i just... i never want to see you like this. i’m sorry.”

your trembling fingers kiss the cold metal of the door knob lock, and you twist it with a click.

the winter coat is snug around his shoulder, and he has a scarf around his neck with a passport boarding pass sticking out from one of his coat pockets. the cracks in his heart when he sees your face shows in his eyes as glistening tears, arms opening wide as he takes a step forward.

a sharp exhale, followed by sudden, almost-violent sobs into his coat as he sinks to the ground with your head in his shoulder. he rests his cheek against your head, hands stroking your hair.

“i can never hate you, i promise.”

[ff7central]

Mod Miri here! Today on the blog we have Upside (she/they), who can be found here on Tumblr and Archive of Our Own. 

General FF7 Questions

Who is your favourite character from the FFVII setting? What do you love about them?

I write most often with Sephiroth and Cloud, but my favorite character is Barret. I love Barret and I always have. He starts out rough and gruff, but you find out fast he is not at all. He fights because he feels he has to. Most of all I love that he is a great father. It's a huge point of contention that he leaves Marlene behind, but I think it gets glossed over that it kills him to not be with her. If he's with her, however, it means he isn't fighting to make sure she has a future worth living, but every moment away he is thinking about her and missing her terribly. I love him. I love that inner conflict and the guilt he faces and fights past. He's just so *chef's kiss*

Favourite party (three person team) idea when playing FFVII? They don’t have to actually work mechanically (or even be possible in the game), just that you like the idea of them together as a fighting party.

Cloud-Barret-Nanaki. I don't know why I played as these guys so much. I forced myself to try and even out the team XP, but I always came back to these guys.

Is there a headcannon or AU you want to see more of?

That's a question I'm more likely to ask everyone else. I'm always coming up with headcanons and AUs. They just pour out of me. I can't really think of one that's stuck with me for super long.

Do you have a favourite memory associated with FF7 (any part of compilation) or something particular you did while playing (such as what you named the characters, or how you arranged your materia) that you think is unique that you'd like to share?

Creator Questions

Who has been the most difficult character to write/draw? Who has been the easiest?

Aerith. I love her and her characterization, but she is a tough nut to crack for me. She is a far, far cry from a damsel needing rescue, but there's a lot of issues to unpack for her. A lot of secrets she never told and probably planned to. I struggle to reach the parts of her that probably did need help without taking away the chaos and the strength she 100% had.

What’s your ideal creating environment? Background noise/silence, indoors/outdoors, desk/couch, etc.?

I am a freak of nature. I write best in a silent room, laying down or sprawled over a couch. It doesn't have to be dark, but it does have to be inside.

What’s your creative process look like? Pantser/Emotive Writer/Gardener or Planner/Structured Writer/Architect? (Do you outline or just go with the flow?) If you’re an artist, do you do a lot of sketches, or just dive right in? Backgrounds first, or the main focal point? Multiple layers or all in one?

I'm a definite pantser. I go with the flow, but it only works so long as there is a flow. I'm trying desperately to at least make a general outline of fics now and I write those in pencil so I can't say I lost the drafts.

What do you do when you get stuck on a project?

Walk away. Sometimes literally. I'll go for a walk and just think it over, try and walk a mile in the character's shoes. Sometimes (often) I walk away for far too long.

Do you do commissions, requests, or prompts? (If you have a page for it, drop a link.)

I take headcanon prompts almost all the time on tumblr. On occasion I will do full-fic requests in exchange for a charity donation (your choice).

Which of your works is the most memorable to you? I don’t necessarily mean favourite or best work, it could be the work that taught you the most through making it or that holds a special reason in its creation. Drop a link.

Test Notes from the ShinRa Handheld Portal Device is a fic I wrote, in several large chunks during Do Good Weirdly sessions in the Summer and Winter. This event is a huge challenge but a ton of fun. Authors and Artists from fandoms all over spend a set amount of time just creating non-stop. At the end, the creators donate to a charity of their choice. It is an amazing time to spend with some rad and creative people and I highly recommend joining us this winter for the next session

Without them I never would have written this crossover fic I'm insanely proud of: https://archiveofourown.org/works/32666962/chapters/81036598

It’s hard for me to go through everything you’ve done to pick stuff to mention. Is there a particular piece you’d like plugged, other than the one in the last question?

Nerd Chic is my most popular fic. It's an ASGZC slow burn where Cloud gets glasses: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170231/chapters/6884306

I also particularly love You are What you Eat. It's cheesy, sappy soul mate fun and good for a rainy day: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22742071/chapters/54342010

Community/Fandom Questions

What aspects of fandom spark the most joy for you?

The people. There is negativity everywhere, but once you curate your followers and your friends there's nothing that can beat just seeing what the people you let around you create. Y'all are amazing.

Is there something you'd like to see more of in the community?

Commenting and Reblogging. I'm guilty of liking and moving on and forgetting, but art and fic die if it doesn't spread around. Reblog and Comment if you like it and want to see more. It means more to the creators. It really does.

Anything you’d like to say to the community?

Thanks for making this a space that has sparked so much joy. I've loved this game since I was a kid and I'm so happy to just sit and talk with others who do too.

Is there a work belonging to someone else that you’d like to plug?

I love Pedulum by Evil Robot Cat: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170231/chapters/6884306

And also all of the Cat's artwork. It's good stuff

I would also recommend all of Illusioneery's work art and fic. There's a lot to pick from.

Thanks so much for joining me, Upside! You are a pleasure to have in our community. 

Interested in participating in a FF7Central interview, or nominating someone? Check out the form here.