#what do you call a happy chain letter?

[yours-the-author]

If you receive this, you make somebody happy! Go on anon and send this to 10 of your followers who make you happy or somebody you think needs cheering up. If you get one back, even better! 🌷🌷🌷

Well, shucks, that's awful sweet of you!

[iamred-iamyellow]

⋆ ˚｡⋆౨ৎ˚ Diet Pepsi

♥ masterlist | request rules

♥ pairing: carlos sainz x fem!reader

♥ synopsis: early in the f1 season fans found their love for you, carlos sainz new girlfriend who loves to write him poems. however the fans realized the secret letters you wrote to him were nothing like they thought when you unexpectedly dropped a spicy new song with lyrics taken from the poems.

♥ smau - fc: addison rae - as always none of the pictures are mine

♥ warnings: swearing, suggestive jokes, and one hate comment !!!

♥ a/n: ME? posting TWICE in one week?! we're so back. thank you for suggesting this fic idea @1800-love-me <3

-March 19, 2024-

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liked by carlossainz55, lilymunihe, landonorris, and 230,583 more

yourusername p1 in melbourne. congrats amor <3

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carlossainz55 mi amuleto de buena suerte 😘 - (my good luck charm)

♡ by yourusername

lilymhe it was great to meet you! alex and I had an amazing time :)

yourusername same here! let me know the next time you wanna meet up 🫶

oscarpiastri @/alex_albon double date without me and @/lilyzneimer...

oscarpiastri its literally my home race

alex_albon you don't even know carlos that well 😭

oscarpiastri @/alex_albon do you??

alex_albon @/oscarpiastri ...

yourusername what did I get myself into

user8 she is STUNNING

user4 oh my gosh shes already friends with lily m? I love her already

user7 if the girls love her so do we

landonorris he finally pulled

carlossainz55 "finally"?

landonorris @/carlossainz55 yeah

carlossainz55 @/landonorris says lando norizz

landonorris 😧

user3 I know Carlos did NOT JUST CALL HIM LANDO NORIZZ 😭

user5 HOW DOES CARLOS EVEN KNOW ABOUT THAT

-Post Race Interview Highlights-

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liked by yourusername, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, and 463,949

carlossainz55 caught her in the act

tagged; @/yourusername

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yourusername i’m literally just a girl

lilymhe have some respect for your girlfriend !!

yourusername thanks lily

yourusername fine sue me for loving you too much ☹️

landonorris you hold onto her @/carlossainz55

yourusername AWW LANDO 🥹

user1 LANDOO :(

user8 he's the sweetest thing

user3 imagine your girlfriend writing letters to you

user7 she’s a POET

user6 trapped inside the body of a finance guy

♡ by yourusername

user10 oh I love her

user4 the lipstick stains-

user12 shes such a romantic

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liked by carlossainz55, francisca.cgomes, madelineargy, and more

🔒 yn.priv my boy’s a winner, he loves the game, my lips reflect off his cross gold chain

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francisca.cgomes luv you

alexandracooper can’t wait to see you ladies 😘

yourusername <3

yourbestfriend are you working on something…

jyourusername perhaps 🙈

landonorris 🤨

carlossainz55 nos vemos pronto x (i’ll see you soon)

♡ by yourusername

haileybieber you are gorgeous

yourusername no you

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APRIL 9TH

Y/n and Kika: Wag Life, Industry Parties, & Age-gaps | Call Her Daddy

Join Alex in the studio for an interview with Y/n L/n and Francisca C. Gomes. The two open up about being reduced to their partner's fame, finding independency, and working on their own public brands. They discuss chaotic industry parties, not just within modeling, but the secretive business of Formula One and entering their healthiest relationships. Enjoy!

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"Y/n and Kika welcome to Call Her Daddy, I'm so happy we're doing this, it's honestly been way too long since we've seen each other," Alex says, beginning the episode. "A lot of people don't know but I've known you for a while now, you were friends with Mads [Argy] first."

"Yeah the two of us met through her but I don't think you've met Kika yet, right?" you ask, looking over towards Francisca.

"No we haven't, so it's really great to meet you," she smiles. "Your modeling careers have been going amazing I saw Kika you worked with ALO and Rhode recently, and Y/n we've been trying to get you on the podcast for like a year now but the thing that solidified this episode in my mind was when I saw Carlos post about your little letters to him."

"Oh my god," you muttered, hiding your face as the other two girls laughed.

"She carries this pink notepad around with her in the paddock," Kika gestures with her fingers.

"We’ve been itching to read your writing so if you ever get around to releasing something definitely hit me up," Alex spoke into the mic.

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liked by carlossainz55, logansargeant, charles_leclerc, and 302,583 more

yourusername who's ready for miami?

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haileybieber me !

yourusername can’t wait to see you 🫶

user1 the collab we indeed knew we needed

user6 yn model career when

user4 @/user6 right?! she’s so stunning

user23 don’t you think it’s weird that she’d get a career bc her boyfriend is famous?

alexandracooper @/user23 looks like someone missed an episode of CHD :/

user8 clock their ass alex

carlossainz55 🕯️ ferrari front row 🕯️

landonorris @/carlossainz55 hey 😕

yourusername 🕯️ logan sargeant podium 🕯️ haas 1-2 🕯️

carlossainz55 @/yourusername …

user13 🗣️🇺🇸🦅

user7 i can’t wait to see yn in the paddock again

user10 same! i wonder how many of the girls are gonna be there

liked by landonorris, yourusername, oscarpiastri, and 1,304,843 more

carlossainz55 amazing drive out there today. proud of you @/landonorris.

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landonorris gracias cabron

♡ by carlossainz55

yourusername *sniffles*

user2 stoppp 🥹

user3 carlando!

user7 they should be a throuple

yourusername i’m considering it

carlossainz55 @/yourusername i saw that

yourusername congrats lando 🧡

landonorris thanks yn ❤️

user1 i’m gonna psychoanalyze the hearts btw

user8 i’m so normal about this 🙂↕️

user10 @/user1 they’re mclaren and ferrari colors 🥹

liked by haileybieber, alexandrasaintmleux, carlossainz55, and more

🔒 yn.priv modeling for @/rhode out here in miami

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haileybieber gorgeous as always. thanks for meeting with us 🤍

yn.priv any time! thank you so much for the opportunity

haileybieber 💋

alexandrasaintmleux literally stunning

yn.priv no you !! have we seen the pictures they took of you for the case?! phenomenal

carlossainz55 ven a casa rápido 😘 (come home quick)

yn.priv sí, señor 🙈

landonorris i wish i could unread this

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ynfan1 ok but seriously, what’s up with yn and carlos? for some reason everyone's saying they broke up but I can't find any proof at all?

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user4 something something "she's not at every race". she’s got her own life bro huh 😭

user5 didn’t alex cooper say yn was working on a project

user4 @/user5 she did! yn is probably working on that. they both have tight schedules so it’s not like they’ll be around each other 24/7

user7 I miss the yncarlos content so bad

ynfan1 don’t we all

user10 i really hope they didn’t break up

user5 im starting to think they did…

user11 this is such a non issue 😭 it’s been like a few weeks since we heard from them

user6 EXACTLY yall are making up stuff at this point

✧˖ °. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁‧₊˚ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁˖°✧

liked by carlossainz55, tatemcrae, madelineargy, and 1,843,950 more

yourusername im so grateful to announce you can now stream my new song diet pepsi on all platforms. the lyrics were taken from the poems i wrote to my lovely boyfriend @/carlossainz55 over the (almost) year we’ve been together. 🤍

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user1 when yn said she wrote poems to carlos this is NOT what i was expecting 😳

user3 SITTIN ON HIS LAP SIPPIN DIET PEPSI

user7 “my boy’s a winner” YES HE IS

user6 releasing this right before monaco? power move.

user2 she’s manifesting for carlos

user1 ferrari 1-2 cmon

tatemcrae i’m obsessed with this song actually

yourusername thank you tate 🫶

user12 CARLOS IS IN THE MV. I REPEAT. CARLOS IS IN THE MV

lilymhe @/alex_albon so this is what you were humming to today 🤔

alex_albon its catchy 🤷‍♂️

landonorris @/yourusername did alex get to hear this song before me

yourusername @/landonorris whaaattt noo that’s crazy

carlossainz55 @/yourusername mi amor he’s sensitive about these things

user8 never beating the throuple allegations

liked by carlossainz55, scuderiaferrari, alexandrasaintmleux, and 592,506 more

yourusername congratulations on your win @/charles_leclerc you really are the prince of Monaco. I'm not in person to support my team but I'm there in spirit! I love you @/carlossainz55 congrats on p3 <3

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charles_leclerc merci yn

♡ by yourusername

carlossainz55 thank you amor 🫶 I'm so proud of you as well

yourusername ❤️

user1 are we gonna ignore diet pepsi...

user2 EXACTLY what I was thinking about

alexandrasaintmleux we missed you in the paddock

yourusername missed you too !!

user8 the queen herself

lilymhe obsessed with the new song

yourusername thank you lily 🥹

user10 SOSO impressed with the song. shes an artist now !

user7 right?! the vibes are absolutely immaculate

user9 the imagery >>>

user6 carlos is a lucky man omg

liked by carlossainz55, tatemcrae, landonorris, and 1,030,180 more

yourusername I write my name with lipstick on your chest, I leave a mark so you know I'm the best 💋

comments are restricted

[shadowandlightt]

Snow and Flame -2- |Cregan Stark X Velaryon!Reader|

Following the death of Luke, Jace and his sister return to Dragonstone. What she doesn't expect is to hear from Lord Stark so soon after her departure. His missive only serves to cause her to fall further for the young Lord, and Jace tells his twin sister not to miss out on this opportunity for happiness.

Part One

A/N: Thank you so so much for your support on my first part. I have admittedly not read the books, almost bought them tonight but didn't want to spend close to $100 on the box set. SO I'm really just going off of the show. I'm sure there are mistakes in this, as I am only human and highly dyslexic. But I appreciate the love and hope you enjoy this nonetheless.

The following days are torture for you. You wished for nothing more than to return to the North where you felt oddly safe, so far away from the conflict. Your stepfather, Daemon, made a grave error in judgment and sent assassins into the Red Keep to kill Aemond, only they didn’t find him, instead killing Aegon’s son, Jeahaerys. The smallfolk started to call your mother a kinslayer and cruel. Though you know she would never order such a thing. 

“Princess, a raven for you.” 

You hum and hold your hand out for the missive, spotting the Stark sigil. A smile spreads across your lips. You can’t help but look around to see if anyone is paying attention to you before you unfurl the scroll. 

Cregan’s handwriting fills your eyes, talks of how he already misses your presence and how sorry he is about your loss. He writes of the summer snow, slowly starting to thicken as winter draws closer. How despite the cold, you might even enjoy Winterfell in it’s natural season. 

The thought of him thinking of you in his home makes heat stir in your belly. You clutch the letter close to your chest, remembering how jealous you were when he and Jace swore oaths to one another and sealed them in blood. 

You thought it unfair that you were excluded. You could understand it now though, why you weren’t allowed. They swore an oath of brotherhood, and you didn’t think of Cregan as a brother. Not with the way desire built up within you during your stay at Winterfell. 

“What are you doing, sister?” Jace calls from your doorway. 

“Jacaerys,” You stand quickly, shoving the missive behind your back, “I didn’t hear you come in.” 

“Yes, I could tell,” He smirks at you, “What do you have?” 

“No-nothing,” You shake your head, tucking the paper into the sleeve of your dress. 

“Oh, it is something,” He laughs, reaching for your hand, “Come now, since when do we keep secrets?” 

“It’s just a message,” You roll your eyes, “From Lord Stark.” 

“From Cregan?” His eyebrows raise, “Pray tell, why does Cregan write to you and not me?”

“Jealous are we?” You question. 

“Hardly,” He snorts, “So, what does Lord Stark say?”

You take a deep breath and pull the paper from your dress, smoothing it out once more. You recite most of the missive to your brother, leaving out how Cregan writes that he longs for you to return. Longs to see you once more. It makes your heart ache because you long to see him too. 

“You’re falling for him,” Jace points out, noticing how your demeanor shifts. 

“Hardly, brother,” You shake your head, trying to cover it up, “I barely know him. Unlike you who swore oaths in blood upon your first meeting.” 

He lets out a deep laugh, “You were mad that I wouldn’t let you, so you have no room to speak, dear sister.” 

You roll your eyes, opening a box to put your missive in. The box has a lock and you keep the key on a chain around your neck. It’s where you hide all of your important things. You lock it away, a small smile playing on your lips. 

He thinks of you enough to write to you mere days after you left him. The knowledge is enough to ease the pain of losing Luke. Your chest still threatens to cave in, but the pain is more bearable, knowing Lord Stark thinks of you. 

Knowing Cregan thinks of you is enough to ease your aching heart. 

“So if he asked to take you to wife you would say no?” 

“I wouldn’t have a choice, that would be up to mother,” You remind him, “She wouldn’t likely turn down such an alliance.” 

“We already have the North,” He wiggles his eyebrows. 

“Yes, well, you might as well have married him yourself,” You snort.

He shakes his head, gripping the hilt of his sword. He was older than you, just by a few moments. It’d come as a shock to the Maesters to discover that there were two of you. No one was as shocked as your mother though. The kingdom celebrated the birth of both of you, no one quite as much as your Grandsire, King Viserys. He loved you so. So much that he was blind to the truth in front of him, that his wife, Queen Alicent could easily see. 

You spent your entire life trying to convince yourself that the rumors simply weren’t true. And that you were a trueborn Velaryron, but in your heart you knew. Just as Jace and Luke knew. 

“Are you going to write him back?” Jace questions. 

“Should I not?” 

“Cregan is a good man,” Is his only response. 

You nod, knowing he’s more than right, “I wouldn’t object,” You clarify, “If he wanted to take me to wife.” 

“You’ve never been one for the fighting,” Jace observes, “You’re much like Helena in that way., I suppose.” 

You nod, biting your lower lip, “I hate that we’re at war. I wish it to stop.” 

“You wish for mother to give up her claim?” He questions, misunderstanding you. 

“No, never that. Too many have already died,” Your eyes begin to water, “But…if only there was a way for her to reclaim the throne without all of the bloodshed. At this rate the path will be paved in blood.” 

“It already is,” Jace sighs, “But I understand how you feel. I don’t agree with it, but I understand it.” 

“I wouldn’t want to leave you,” You start, “But I would welcome the opportunity to leave all of this bloodshed behind.” 

“It’s only going to get worse,” He reminds you. 

“My point exactly.” 

He nods and then turns suddenly remembering why he was here, “A council meeting has been called. I was sent to get you.” 

“And you’re only now saying something?” You gasp, moving to your feet. 

He shrugs and usures you out of the door of your rooms. Everyone is already assembled around the painted table by the time you arrive. Your mother, however, is absent. You look around the chambers. The meeting starts without her, word spread that Ser Criston Cole’s forces have doubled, at the very least. 

You listen, saying quiet as they all say a dragon needs to go to war. There is no way around it. Cole will take Rook’s Rest without a second thought. Jace is in the middle of saying a dragon must be sent when your mother, the queen, finally joins the council. 

Jace instantly demands to know where she’s been and a volley ensues. You stay quiet, as you always do, letting your twin do the talking. But even you, in your grief, took note of your mother’s absence. It worried you to no end, not knowing where she had gone or why. But upon hearing she went to King’s Landing, you swore your heart stopped. 

But when she says she’ll be the one to fly to war, you stop breathing. And when Jace urges her to send him, you swear you might faint. The thought of either of them being in danger is enough to send you over the edge. You cannot stand it. Never have been able to stomach the thought. Jace was right, you’re much like your aunt Helena in that regard. 

You’re about to say something, anything to help the fight, when Rheanys speaks up, saying they must send her. Meyles is the largest dragon that you have, and as Rheanys says, no stranger to battle. 

The meeting seems to end then, having been decided who was going to war on your mother’s behalf, you withdraw quietly. So quietly you aren’t sure anyone noticed you even left. You consider it your power, to sneak from a room, or move about the castle unnoticed by most. You’ve always been the quieter one, compared to the temper that fuels Jace. He’s always run hotter than you, ready to act at a moment’s notice. Ready to fly off the handle and do something rash. You’re more cool and calculated, you suspect you’re more like your father in that way. Either one of them. 

You settle at the small table in your rooms and begin writing back to Lord Stark. You find yourself wishing more and more you could return to the North and be far away from this conflict. So you tell him just that. You tell him that you yearn for him as well, and that you were glad to hear from him so soon. You pour your heart into the letter, not sparing anything. You tell him that the war is really and truly beginning, and that there is no avoiding it now. You tell him that you’re scared of it. 

You’re honest with him, in a way that you didn’t expect. And that night, you fall asleep holding his letter. Wanting to feel close to the Northern man. 

News breaks the following morning that Rheanys and Meleys were lost at Rook’s Rest, and that Aegon, the pretender, was severely injured and is on death’s door. Aemond is named regent in his stead, which is more dangerous than having Alicent herself on the throne. Because Aemond knows no end. He will do anything to secure his place. Including as reports say, sacrifice his own brother. 

You feel it in the pit of your stomach, the dread. It fills you as you walk the halls of Dragonstone. The mood has shifted. If the war wasn’t real with the death of Luke, it’s real now. And you find yourself wishing you could just vanish from Westeros all together and avoid all of this. You do not have it in yourself to go to war. Do not have it in you to fight on dragonback as will be expected of you. 

“Where have you been?” Jace questions, brows knitted together. 

“In hiding,” You sigh, closing your book. 

“Obviously,” He rolls his eyes, “I’ve been trying to find you for hours.” 

“Well, you succeeded.” 

“Are you alright?” He asks you. 

“Must I be?” You question. 

“I know how hard this is for you,” He replies, “But we need you, sister. We cannot win this war without you.” 

“You need my dragon,” You clarify, “You can do this without me, but not without her.” 

“No, I need you,” He reassures you, “I cannot fight this without you. I need you by my side, I always have and I always will.” 

“You cannot put this on my shoulders Jace,” You shake your head, “I cannot bear it. The thought of anything happening to you, or to Mother, or our brothers…I cannot.” 

“Nothing will happen to me,” He promises, “I’m quick, and I’m lucky.” 

“And inexperienced, as mother pointed out,” You remind him, “Anyone can be killed. We are not gods, as the smallfolk believe.” 

He sighs and joins you on your seat. There is nothing he can do to put your worries to rest, because he knows there’s a chance he will be killed. There is a chance anytime he gets on his dragon and flies off. He wishes there was something he could do to ease your anxiety. Perhaps he would pay a visit to the Maesters for a draft to help you sleep better. He knows you won’t ask for it yourself. 

“Did you write to Cregan?” He finally asks, seeking to change the subject. 

He notes the way you almost smile, the way your eyes light up a little and your shoulders relax, “I did.” 

“Good,” He smiles, squeezing your shoulder, “I am glad.” 

“As am I,” You admit. 

“Perhaps he’ll petition for your hand,” He shrugs, “Then you’ll be able to get away from all of this afterall.” 

“I’d never wish to leave you, Jacaerys,” You tell him honestly, “You’re half of my soul.”

“And you’re half of mine,” He assures you, “But I would never wish for your unhappiness.” 

You nod, knowing he wouldn’t. Jace might be hot headed, and quick to fly off, but he isn’t selfish. Never selfish. Not when it comes to you at least. He would always put you first, it was his job to protect you and keep you happy. Always had been, ever since you were little. 

He could survive without you, you were sure. But you needed to find out if you could survive without him. You knew, deep within your heart, that there would come a day when you would have to learn to live without him. You couldn’t imagine Jace as an old man, sitting upon the iron throne. You hated that you couldn’t, but it was the truth. 

“I would never wish for your unhappiness either,” You tell him, biting back tears. 

“Should he ask for your hand, don’t turn him down,” Jace urges you, “Be happy with him in the North. Be safe.”

“You’re telling me to leave?” You question. 

He only shrugs and gives you a soft smile, “I’m telling you to be happy, however you need to achieve it.” 

[allfearstofallto]

The Sweetest Spoil of War

Yandere! Demon King Kirishima x Fem! Reader

Word count: 5k

Synopsis: a war ended with an unwilling marriage. The fighting ceases, but at the cost of your hand.

TW: Forced marriage, NSFW implications, size difference, mentions for Dub/Non Con, virgin! Reader, yandere/obsessive themes

AN: another one that has been sitting in the drafts for years!! But I finally finished this first part. Hopefully I'll have the second, more smutty part written up soon!!

A brush of blush across the cheeks. A swatch of color on the lower lip. Many swipes of a comb through your hair. The tightening of your bodice fixed your posture, and you were adorned with heavy jewels and rings. All the while, a celebration was happening outside.

It wasn’t a celebration you could see, you weren’t allowed to move a muscle, couldn’t even turn your head to look out the window, in fear that you may disrupt the many people who were spending their time making you beautiful. But it was one you could hear. As the maids picked and prodded at every part of your body, cleaning you here, applying makeup there, covering this, uncovering that, you listened to the happiness of the people. Your people. Well, technically not your people any more.

They popped fireworks and sang songs. Their cheers grew louder and louder as the minutes went by, as you got more and more dolled up. Street vendors loudly advertised their wares and you could hear children playing in the streets again. It was probably the first time they’d left their house in months, it was probably the first time it was safe enough to do so, they had every right to celebrate. But at what cost?

If they knew the price that was paid for their safety, the price they paid for freedom from the war, the war that they were losing, would they still cheer? Would they still dance and sing? Would the celebration still continue?

The price was you, of course. The second daughter of the King of the land and the gem of the nation, or so you were called. Good deeds came like second nature to you, they were as easy for you as breathing. The way you donated and volunteered was like nothing the royal family had seen. Your kindness was a tall tale spread around like wildfire and marriage proposals were in abundance for you. You were like a tourist attraction. Rather than coming to visit your country for sights, people would visit to meet you, as if you were some sort of celebrity.

Your nation was small, but what it lacked in land, it made up for in stocks and trade. It was a modest business that made more than enough money. But greed is a drug, one that your father was heavily addicted to. Expanding was a bad option, you always told him so, but your words fell on deaf ears, and as the farmers marched further and further upon land that wasn’t theirs, the true owners of it fought back.

For a year, your father insisted that the war with the rival nation could be won. You always wondered why he thought that. The land that he’d intruded on belonged to none other than the demon king himself, a man feared but rarely ever seen. His endeavors were like horror stories spread across the nation, and your tiny little country didn’t even have an official army. Rather, there were a few patriotic men who were sent off to fight first. There wasn’t much of them left to bury when they returned. Then who left was decided by draft. The first men were a warning for what was to come and everyone knew that. Moral dwindled when people began running away from their own country, rather than fighting for it.

Negotiations started when the supply chain got cut off by the demon king’s army and with a nation as small as yours, no other kingdoms were offering help. The talks were started through letters at first. Your father sat at his desk, lips in a tight grimace as he read the sheet of paper over and over again before writing his response in return. Things went on this way for months, the writing back and forth as war raged on right outside your door. Until the day he showed up.

You didn’t think that the demon king himself would come, but you watched out from your front door as the carriage pulled into the town. It was large and ornate, covered in shiny stones and what appeared to be bone as well. It was a mixture of the high class of the aristocrats and the barbarian ways of life of the demons. The hoofs of the horses clopped down the road and the carriage swayed ever so slightly side to side. The windows were covered so you couldn’t see him, but you knew he was in there.

The driver of the carriage himself was also a demon. A burly blond one with piercing, blood red eyes and horns like a ram. When he snarled at one of your citizens, you could see his teeth. They were sharp like the heads of arrows, like they could bite through the flesh of a mere human at any time. It made your skin run cold as you realized that all demons shared the same few traits, long nails, horns, and sharp teeth. You could only imagine what those natural advantages were doing against the measly weapons the army was given.

You could already feel your palms sweating as the carriage stopped in front of your castle. The entire family had to come out to greet guests, as were the rules, but all you wanted to do was slink back into your room and pray that the war would end naturally. And you weren’t the only one silently wishing to leave. You spared a glance out of your peripheral to the rest of the family and saw that they too stood stiffly, or did everything they could to avoid eye contact with the large carriage that casted an almost laughably ginormous shadow over your family.

The blond boy pulled at the reins of the horses, stopping them in front of the castle, before stepping down from his seat in front of the carriage. Even for a demon, his face was easy to read. He didn’t want to be here, and he most definitely didn’t want to have to be cordial. You could see the hatred for your father in his eyes, the way he wanted to just lunge at him and end things in this very spot, but he didn’t.

“His Highness, King Kirishima Ejiro,” he said almost sarcastically. Then he opened the door to the carriage behind him.

Big didn’t even begin to describe the man. He was humongous. Not only was he tall, but he was also thick with muscles and hands that looked like they could crush your skull with ease. You looked at him and you saw a demon. His hair was long and spiky, and unlike the companion he’d brought along who had curled horns, he stood straight up, only adding to his monstrous height.

The suit he was wearing was still adorned with demon-like paraphilia, bones and bottles filled with what you could only assume were potions. His scarred hands were covered in rings and the sly smile he gave your family showed you enough of his teeth to prove to you that you’d rather die than go near his mouth.

You didn’t know where to look, you could barely even think as he stood before you. His eyes weren’t red like his subordinate, rather, his were a beady, inky black color that scanned across your family. They were taking in every single sorrowful and fearful face, until they landed on you.

You felt your heart stop beating completely when he looked at you. Your breathing became shaky and you felt yourself about to lose consciousness from his gaze alone. Why was he still looking at you? The rest of the family only got a glance, but you, it seemed like he had to forcefully peel his own eyes away from you.

“You have a lovely family,” he said. His voice was deep, yet booming, it felt like your ankles were shaking, just from hearing him speak. If not for the fact that he scared the life out of you, you would’ve scoffed at him. A beautiful family that he was going to ignore when negotiations started. But maybe that was for the better.

He was led inside, following behind your father who was shaking in his boots. He had to duck to get through the door and his footsteps on the tile floor sounded more thunder cracking inside the walls of your home. He looked around with a strange look on his face, one that seemed almost enthusiastic, but that couldn’t be right. He couldn’t be happy while he was in enemy territory, not while he could easily be killed.

And that was the plan at first. Lure him in and have the army raid the palace, he’d be powerless since he expressed through his letters that he’d only be bringing one guard. Your father thought he was stupid or naive, but casting eyes upon him showed you that one guard was enough. Anything else would’ve been overkill.

They were in talks for what felt like a few mere moments and he was coming back down the stairs with a smile on his face. You’d long since hidden in your room to keep from having to entertain the blond demon that was sitting in your living room, but curiosity made you peek your head out when you head the door to the office open. Your father was aggressively shaking the demon king's hand, but you could see the horror in his face. There was sweat pooling on his forehead and he looked like he would throw up at any moment. You later found out why he looked that way.

At the dinner table that very night he announced that the war would be ending and the supply lines would open back up. There was a unanimous cheer from the family as you and your siblings argued over who would get to tell the people of the nation that they were free to roam the streets again. You were so ignorant. The way your father looked at you should’ve told you enough. It should’ve told you that the war wasn’t going to end with a trade or an apology, it was going to end with a wedding.

The fireworks continued to boom and crackle as they filled the night sky, while a little more blush was applied to your cheek. No one else in your family knew, they thought you were getting married to some commoner who you’d fallen in love with. Only you and your father knew the truth, and resent didn’t even begin to describe what you felt for him.

Your dress was too heavy, your hair was uncomfortable, you had to stand a certain way, or makeup would get on your collar and the entire look would be ruined. You looked beautiful, that’s what they said to you, but could they not see the hurt on your face? Or the fear? If they saw, they didn’t care, and you were guided down the stairs.

Past the home that you grew up in, the walls lined with family portraits, and your family themselves waiting for you at the bottom of the steps. Your mother was crying, dabbing her eyes with a tissue. When she found out the truth, she’d be crying for real. They were going to find out eventually, you knew they would, you just wished you could see the aftermath of it.

A carriage was waiting for you, one of your family’s own. Normally in an aristocratic wedding, the carriage from the family of the groom would be sent to pick up the bride, but the story your father spewed gave an explanation. The man you loved was too poor to even afford his own carriage, but love doesn’t know money. You scoffed, but held your tongue. If it were for the sake of your family and your country, you’d go along with it.

You would ride your family’s carriage into the forest, about halfways to the demon king’s palace, then you would switch into one of his. That way, your family wouldn’t catch on, that way, they didn’t have to watch in horror as you were given away to a demon, even though your father knew that they wouldn’t allow something like this, but he did it anyway.

It was an unpleasant ride. People rarely ever traversed through the forest so the carriage shook and jolted. You were getting farther and farther away from the noises of celebration, farther and farther away from your people. If only for one night, you would like to celebrate too, the war was a horror that you were living in as well after all.

You pressed your lips together to keep from crying. You’d already cried enough and you truly didn’t know him or how he’d respond to your tears. You spent hours sitting in that chair getting ready for him, what if he were the type to get angry if just one thing was off? If your make up was smudged or your eyes puffy, would he kill you where he stood? You held it in and pretended to be strong.

The carriage stopped and your door was opened, the second he did. The driver gave you a knowing look as he offered you his hand to help you step down. His fingers were cold, that’s all you could think about as you looked over to see the new carriage that you’d be riding in. The same one that had pulled the demon king into your family’s palace. Your heart sank as you realized that he might be in there. You weren’t ready to meet him up close, not yet.

The blond demon was here again, standing at the side of the carriage. Horses from the demon kingdom always felt much larger. Like they were eight foot tall monsters and not animals. You couldn’t believe you were focusing on the horses, you were trying to look at anything, anything, that would keep you from having to get into that carriage. But he was already opening the door and the carriage from your nation had already turned and pulled away, not even waiting for the transaction to be completed.

That felt like the final straw. Being left behind by one of your own and stuck with a demon. A demon who was obviously sick of waiting for you and who looked like he was just going to force you inside himself.

“The king doesn’t like waiting,” he said, gesturing towards the door. With a meek nod, you walked towards it. Dead leaves crunched beneath your feet and the sound of an owl made the entire ordeal more ominous.

You looked to the demon, then back to the carriage door. He didn’t expect you to go in by yourself, did he? Even in your home nation, the gentleman would offer the lady a hand and help boost her up the step, a boost that was much needed, since demons were naturally taller and the step was too high for you to even reach on your own.

“What is it now?” he grumbled, eyes having already practically rolled into the back of his head.

The step seemed as if it came up to your waist in height, yet he asked you what you needed. “I obviously can’t get up there by myself,” you spat, holding your hand out for his help. You’d never felt the skin of a demon before and honestly, you didn’t want to now, but there was no other choice. The deal had already been made.

He didn’t even pass a glance at your hand, stepping closer to you, he placed his large palms around your waist and hoisted you up with little effort. You tried not to squirm in his hold, afraid that he might drop you. Even for a moment, you were so high up, before you were placed into the carriage, with the door being slammed shut in your face.

The carriage began to move before you were even fully seated and you were thrown back. If this was the way the demon kingdom treated their royalty, you could only imagine what was going to happen to you. But you tried not to dwell on it. Your chest was already tight with fear and sweat was beginning to bead on your forehead.

This was it, you thought to yourself, even as you gazed out the window, all you could think was that this would be the end of you. All alone, all by yourself. You wondered what your siblings were doing, what your mother was doing, if anyone was even thinking about you at all, of if the celebration was just too much for them to care.

The carriage swayed and thumped against the ground for what felt like hours. The pretty dress you were in had grown a bit damp from your sweat and you tried to fan yourself. You were nervous. Hot and nervous and all you could do was listen to the hooves of the horses as they hit the ground and wait for your eventual marriage.

Then everything stopped. Of course the carriage driver demon was rough with this as well and you were thrown off of the seat and onto the plush floor of the vehicle. You barely had a moment to catch your breath and regain your bearings before the door swung open quickly, making the whole carriage shake from the force.

Still on the floor, still a bit sweaty, with fearful eyes, you came face to face with the demon king. His teeth were once again what you noticed, those big, sharp teeth that were held in a mouth that was grinning at you cheerfully. He looked overjoyed to see you, even in your crumpled up, terrified state.

“By the gods,” he whispered quietly while still looking at you all over. It seemed like his eyes couldn't focus on one place. Your face, your hair, the swell of your breast, the small of your waist, from your heel clad feet, to your hair that was put into an ornate updo, he couldn't get enough, “You're even more beautiful the second time around.”

You were shivering. God you were shivering like you were freezing. Your stomach was in your ass and your heart felt like it was going to leap from your chest. All that time, all the time you spent being picked and prodded at in that chair, being made to look good for him, all that time and it just now hit you what was happening to you. It started before you could even think to stop yourself and while he looked you over like you were a gift from heaven itself, you began to cry.

Tears ran down your pretty cheeks, smearing your makeup in their wake and you started to hic and sob. You had no control over it and the way his smile fell when you began to weep, made you cry even harder. You were going to die by this demon's hands. You were going to die because your father, the coward that he was, sold you off.

Kirishima turned to look at his subordinate, his face a mix of emotions. So quickly, you could barely see it, he grabbed the blond male by the collar of his shirt and lifted him, “I thought I told you to make sure she was taken care off,” he growled those words between those closed sharp teeth.

“I did,” the blond male muttered back. His tone, his attitude, even the way he was looking at the demon king was disrespectful. He didn't seem the least bit afraid or even bothered by the fact that he was being scolded. If anything, he looked annoyed.

“Then why is she crying, Kastuki?” He spoke the words slowly before dropping the man back down onto the ground. He landed with a thud, but didn't protest, “I've told you about your driving. Humans are fragile! They can't handle something like that!”

He merely scoffed and rose from the ground, “Then do it yourself next time.”

Kirishima opened his mouth to speak, but stopped before he said anything. Instead, he focused on your trembling form, still sitting on the carriage floor, “Are you alright, darling?”

He tried his hardest to be gentle with his voice, to be quieter so not to scare you. He reached a hand out to you, but you flinched away from it. You didn't know what to say or even what to do. A part of you felt like the second you left this carriage, it would all be real, you'd really be engaged to this demon, you'd really be with him for the rest of your life.

He tilted his head at you, trying to give you a reassuring smile to the best of his ability, “I'm sorry if Katsuki scared you, but I promise nothing will hurt you.” He reached into the carriage and grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you closer to the door with ease, it was like you weighed nothing to him, “but we should really get you inside the castle and into something more comfortable.”

Your body was tense and you tried to think of what to do. A way out of this. How would you be able to run away from a demon, in the whole nation of demons? Would you even be able to go home? Would you getting away make a war start?

You couldn't even think about it to yourself, couldn't even respond before you were picked up by him and held against his firm chest. He was so much bigger than you, so much taller, being in his arms made it feel like you were fifty feet above the ground and all you could do was shiver.

He carried you into the castle. It looked nothing like your own home. It was more worn down, but somehow it was bigger. The tallest tower looked like it was piercing the clouds and the windows were the size of the doors you had back home. You sniffled and sobbed the whole time you were carried up the stairs, and when he finally reached out to open the front door, you finally managed to say something.

“P-please,” you managed to stutter out between your pathetic little hics.

“Oh, so she can speak,” he replied back a little too happily, “and here I was thinking you were mute. That wouldn't have bothered me though, you're still gorgeous.”

More tears ran down your face as you tried to regulate breathing, to get more words out, to hopefully beg for return home before the marriage was consummated, “My father…he…he made a mistake. I didn't want this,”

He kept walking into the castle as you spoke, the sound of his feet hitting the floor echoed off the walls. You were brought to a day room where he sat you down on a rather large couch, so big your feet just barely managed to touch the ground. He kneeled in front of you while you sat and cupped your cheek in one of his large hands, the more he touched you, the harder you seemed to cry, soaking his thick fingers with tears. He knew you were scared of him, but he just couldn't stay away.

“I know you didn't want this,” he cooed, his breath hitting your face, “I wanted this.”

Before you could speak, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against yours. The kiss was wet and suffocating and all you could do was sit there limply as he engulfed your mouth with his, tasting every inch of your mouth with his tongue.

He tasted of meat and alcohol, typical dishes for demons who were celebrating and his grip on you was firm. His hand had slithered down from your cheek to your shoulder, then to your waist. You couldn't pull away if you wanted to. Your strength and size was nothing compared to him, just one of his hands was almost enough to completely hold your back. You'd hurt yourself more if you fought back.

When he pulled back, you were panting, breathless. Your first kiss and it was so brutish and even worse than that, it was taken by a demon. Your eyes were still wet with tears and lips moist with saliva, but he was looking at you so longingly. The way you makeup was running from the sweat and tears, your hair disheveled from the kiss, the way your chest was rising and falling, he thought you were more enticing now than ever before.

“Such beauty doesn't exist amongst the demons,” he whispered against your lips, threatening to kiss you again, “I could've slaughtered everyone in that tiny, little kingdom, you know, and I was planning on it. Until I saw you.”

He traced up your back to where the buttons for your dress began. You could feel him fiddling with them, trying to get them to pull apart, but his fingers were too big and his nails too sharp. As more time went by with him unable to access your body, he grew frustrated until he just ripped the dress apart in the back. The fabric gave way easily to him. It was probably no harder than ripping paper.

“Your father didn't hesitate when I asked for you,” his hand was warm, almost hot, against your bare back as he kept ripping the fabric away, “a part of me was angry about that. His own daughter, his blood. He gave you away so easily. But I was also ecstatic. Even if you don't want me, I want you. I know how you feel about me, how I as a demon scare you…” the dress was pulled forward, over your shoulders, but he stopped there, “The war may be over on paper, but if you ask for it, I can kill him.”

You gasped, “Why would I want that? Why would anyone want that?” You were shouting and you didn't know why. Maybe it was because of how scared you were. Or how easily he mentioned killing someone. Or how a part of you actually wanted it. A small voice in your head wasn't upset about the idea of him killing your father for putting you in this predicament, and that scared you.

“He gave you away,” he stated plainly, “You have every right to be angry. Angry at him for giving you away,” he pulled the dress down so that it was sitting around your waist. His tongue, that large, hot tongue licked down from your neck to your now exposed breast, making your breath hitch, “and angry at me for taking you.”

“You could still give me back,” You begged quickly, hoping that maybe if he was showing some empathy, some care for what you were feeling, he would let you go.

He shook his head and gave you a knowing look, “I wish I could, but I know how you humans work.” He didn't hesitate to reach his hand up beneath the ripped fabric and tulle that was once the skirt of your dress, “you wouldn't be wed again anyways, not after what I'm gonna do to you.”

Your sobs grew even louder at the words. Despite your abstinence, you knew the implications of those words, you knew what he meant. Despite your lack of experience, you knew why he was spreading your legs and easing his body between them, you knew why he was ripping away at your bloomers, exposing your wet core to the cool air.

“I told myself I'd wait till the night of our wedding, but I fear myself slipping with need for you,” this “need” made itself known when he began to grind his hips against you, the fabric of his pants spreading your lips and rubbing directly against your clit, “They sent you here looking like this, and I'm supposed to contain myself?” he bit his lips with those sharp teeth of his, gripping the fabric of the couch so hard that he was ripping holes in it.

“I won't take you without your permission,” he stated, but he was still grinding his clothed cock against you,like his mouth and his body were two completely different entities. He was speaking one thing, but actively doing the opposite.

You whimpered as you felt him, your eyes just leaking tears. You couldn't speak a word, your labored breathing wouldn't let you. Your chest was heaving as you tried to open your mouth, with only sobs and pleads coming out. Instead you just shook your head, praying that that would be enough of him to stop.

Despite your begging he still pressed his lips to yours once more in another passionate kiss. This time he felt even more roughr than the last. Was this a game for him? You thought to yourself. Did he get off on watching you beg and plead, just to take you anyways.

But he stopped nonetheless and pulled away. It seemed like he was straining to even do that, the way he was looking back at you like he could pounce on you again. He let out a shaking, sigh and clenched his fist together before stepping back and finally giving you space away from his large form and body heat.

“The wedding will be held in three days,” he said with a forced smile. He picked up a blanket from the other couch and tossed it over you, covering your modesty. You held onto that blanket as if it were your life line, hiding your nude body behind it as you shivered and looked at him, “I can guarantee I'll stop now, but I'm not so sure about then.”

And with that, he was gone. He closed the door to the day room, leaving you alone in this large demonic mansion with only the ticking of a clock as your company. You were too afraid to move, too afraid of what was to come next. You didn't know where he wanted you to go or even if he wanted you to move at all.

But you did know what he wanted from you, and the thought sent a shiver down your spine.

[junglemindless]

okay, so. i have loved pjo since i was 12 and this can definitely be explained also by the fact percy is so freaking hot. this days i was thinking about our boy and just have to share some of the stuff i thought about him in all this years. here we go with some headcanons of bf percy and percy in general;;

• i have a thing for silver chain necklaces. you know, one of this things every hot guy has? yeah. percy does wears one. his mother give it to him probably. and he never takes it off. it reflects the sun when he's surfing, stands out on his tanned skin, touches your face when he's on top of you kissing you or whatever else

• percy IS an nba obsessed. he will invite you to watch the games with him and will give you his personal opinion about the players, the moves, even the uniforms if you want to know.

• he secretly is zodiac guy. like, in front of his friends or any public conversation he will deny it. but if you're into it, and just says something like "our zodiact signs are compatible!" he'll be happy about it and feel like he's part of something magical, you know? like he's known all along that you're supposed to be together.

• talking about interests: he definitely will listen with heart eyes whatever you talk about. books? shows? basketball or another sport? celebrities drama? taylor swift folklore's love triangle? he's here for it. laying on his bed with you sitting by his side telling him about it, and he's just staring at your beautiful eyes and playing with your hair

• he also love movies. he has an letterboxd account which he is religiously active on. also, he give extra stars to the movies you watch togheter just because he is on a good mood.

• btw, when he's calling you to watch a movie, it is to watch a movie. boy take the movies thing really serious.

• he will be watching barbie AND oppenheimer. and he will take you to both.

• percy can't sleep without being tangled with you. he's an huge touchy guy, bear hugs, forehead kisses, hands on your waist, head laying down on your chest. he just loves the feeling of your body with him

• bro is an biology princess. is the only thing he really found interesting. he loves nature, the sea, the animals.... everybody knows he's going to do marine biology. he's not an working-on-office-all-day type of person so 99% of chance of him working saving marine animals on an research group.

• his instagram profile would totally be about animals he saved. him just doing ✌️🤘👉👍with some type of turtle or an aquarium of clown fishes

• you gave him different marine stuffed animals and he keeps it on his shelf, right on the side of a picture of you and him on a beach day.

• as soon as he gets money, he will take you to a summer on greece.

• he is so fucking loyal. he CAN'T like anyone else. he just thinks about you. in a way that is almoust obsessive.

• also, kind jealous. okay, im trying to be nice with him, he's very very jealousy guy. not because he doesn't trust you or your love for him, but because he doesn't trust other people. at least, thats what he says everytime he sees this one friend of yours

• percy is a tattoo guy. he will have symbols, greek words, abstract stuff, strong animals.... and your initials on his chest once he knows for sure you're here to stay.

• i saw that jeremy allen white keeps a letter of his wife with him to read when he's missing home and i just can't get it out of my mind. percy will totaly take a small peace of paper with something you wrote to him when he's traveling to research or smth and read it before going to sleep 😫😫😫

humm alright. i think that's it for today. i love percy he's so fucking sweet. also, english is not my first language and i had never write for tumblr before soooooo sorry for anything.

hope you enjoyed and stuff 💪

HEY! we have a part. 2 :)

[pomefioredove]

*does a little dance*

vil prompts you say? Can i get your take on Vil being confronted by Yuu's real and imminent return home? And it's their only chance too (ie. the portal can only be opened with a meteor traveling overhead and surprise surprise its passing NOW they have three days max)

*does a little jig, going away*

you guys love torturing this man omg. so much angst. I'm about to pour all my abandonment issues into him ikyk

summary: yuu leaving type of post: short fic characters: vil additional info: romantic, reader is gender neutral, reader is yuu, angsty, post-book 7 author's note: my partner has been ignoring me for the past few days (I can't figure out why) so vil is about to experience pain, as he should

There are only six visible letters in lonely, and a thousand more hiding behind them.

The word carries such a weight with it, its meaning and its leaden implications, crushing the lungs of all who dare to shoulder it. It's a sore, tender sort of hurt, one that constricts the chest and numbs the limbs. Paralyzing, strangulating.

They say beauty is pain, but Vil has never felt more hideous in his life.

He had known; of course he had known. There was always a possibility you'd get your chance to return to your home, a world alien to him, and never come back. He'd been preparing himself for that reality from the moment he met you.

It didn't make it hurt any less.

Love is blind, but it's ignorant, too. Vil had pushed that thought to the back of his mind, covering it up with an if rather than a when, like throwing a veil over a tombstone. He had convinced himself that the chances of you leaving were slim, that when the time came, years from then, he'd be ready.

He wasn't counting on a few months.

"It works for about three days," you explain, a giddy smile on your face. He forces himself to share the expression. "The spell is so powerful, it can only be cast under specific circumstances... if I miss this, who knows when my next chance will be?"

Vil is an actor, yes, but this is different. This isn't something he's reading off a page to a room full of production assistants and actors. This is you and him, alone, tangled in an uncertain future with no ending in 12-point Courier.

His voice cracks. "That's wonderful,"

Sevens, is he selfish.

A part of him wants to slap you across the face and call you an idiot for even thinking about leaving him here, let alone being excited about it, but he can't even move his feet from where he's standing.

He should be celebrating with you.

He should be happy that you get to escape this terrible place. You get to go home, where you're accepted as you are, and loved, and where you belong...

But you belong with him. He accepts you. He loves you. Why do you need anyone else? What can they offer than he can't?

It's an egotistical fantasy Vil holds in the back of his mind for the rest of the day, one where you wake up and realize that your place is here, by his side, and not a world away from him.

He tries to convince himself it's not the end yet. Perhaps the spell will fail. Perhaps Crowley will change his mind. Perhaps someone else will overblot and throw the school into chaos. Each thought is more indulgent than the last, but without them, he might have lost his mind before noon.

What is he supposed to do?

Smile and wave while the only person who has ever understood and loved him unconditionally leaves him forever? Make a fool of himself pretending to be happy for you?

Every second without the certainty of seeing you the next day feels like an eternity.

It's wrong. He knows that. He can't keep you chained to the foot of his throne like a pet. You want to go, don't you? That's what you've wanted all along.

Once again, Vil only comes in second.

[ilariyalavorowrites]

Time enough for love (Bridgerton) Part One

imagine: A mission to ensure Kate and Anthony find each other during the social season of 1814. Time travelling into the past to ensure that crucial moments occur. However, you find yourself falling in love with the pair. It breaks your heart when it comes to leaving and returning to the future.

Warnings: Angst with an eventual happy ending, AU, Bisexual Kate, Scandal, such a scandal

Pairings: Kate Sharma x Reader x Anthony Bridgerton

Word count: 2,831 words

Universe: Bridgerton

Reader gender: Female

Author: Ilariya_Lavoro writes

Tagged: @agathaharknessfan96 @homie0sapien @a-lil-bit-nuts

Part one of ?

Next

1814 

Night of the Featherington Ball

It was over; the mission had been a roaring success, then why did you feel so damn hollow? You had completed every objective down to the letter and tackled each obstacle as it arose. Yet, you couldn’t shake this heaviness pressing down, refusing to budge. It was as if a lead tonne weight lingering here, chained tightly around your ribcage. A continual reminder of what had been. What could never be.

You shouldn’t be feeling like this; this should have been nothing short of a cut-and-dry race to the finish, straight from A to B, right? 

This was where you meant to jump off, go home, and simply pack away any forbidden thoughts of them. You would report in one last time with your head held high and simply walk away. Never once looking back over your shoulder, in hopes that…

No, you could not think like that. It would not do. You needed to move forward, wading through the muddle of emotions that flooded your senses. You could not let them consume you, regardless of how easy that might seem at this moment in time. How effortless it might be to simply let the rush of a wondrous collection of memories wash over you, allowing the warmth and joy back in. Living in all that had been but no, that could not be.

It was never meant to be your life, they were never yours to begin with. The unexpected result of your actions was just that, a blip in time. A second that would rapidly disappear as soon as the clock hand inched forward. Time moved on without hesitation, and so must you. You had done your job, it was time to leave and return to your own time, to that one cold and barely furnished bedroom flat that you called home.

This might have been the first occasion that you had been called up to lead an operation on the ground. For you had to be part of more missions and operations than you could count but they were nothing like this. 

For this was what you had trained for, the last ten years could and would not be wasted due to the simple fact that you couldn’t put those troublesome feelings to bed. You cursed silently as you began to pace back and forth. 

For you had been able to separate yourself before, view them as objectives to be completed.  It had been a job just like all the others. Nothing was different. Ensuring that fate's designs were painted into being, letting the breath of existence breeze through as the bright colours danced for all to see. It has been illuminating to witness the weaving of the threads upon the loom as it tightened and pulled this way and that until the artistry was revealed for all to see. 

You knew what was likely to occur when you returned to the base. Your superiors would see what was plainly displayed on your face. Labelling you as emotionally compromised and needing to be fixed before redeployment could be an option. A visit to the Doctor. He who haunts and darkens the basement corridors where few would dare to tread.  

His particular set of skills did indeed have their uses but the price was one, so steep that most would reluctantly follow through. Usually only with a gun pressed firmly in one back if not done voluntarily. That high price was relatively simple, you would lose what you desperately clung to. Any memory of this operation would be scrubbed away. Leaving a void where they had once been. A memory wipe, for it would be as if you had been restored to your factory settings.

It would be as if you hadn’t been selected in the first place. The last ten years would melt away, and false memories would be slotted in to create a new narrative—one without this infraction of the highest order. As your internal clock was wound back, all that had been would fade out of existence.

The situation was fraught, you were torn between your professional drive and your own desires. You stood at a crossroads, terrified to turn left or right. Either path would bear a heavy cost. Neither would leave you without a lick of damage in one form or another. You had no choice really. You sighed, resigned to the fact that your fate would be sealed with a click of a singular button. If you dared to press it. 

Your finger hovered over the SEND icon. This was your point of no return, for there would be no going back once you had pressed it. The signal would be sent and the extraction would begin. The very notion of finding a place within their world was next to impossible. The relationship that you longed for was nothing short of scandalous. It would be ruinous for all involved but such desires were pure fantasy.

All you could do now was to burn the bridges that led straight back to Kate and Anthony. In that split second, as you ruminated on your choices and the consequences, weighing up all the little details and avenues. 

There was a path, straightforward and painless at your feet. The true pain would be along in the days that followed as you waited for the Doctor to come calling. As the weight came crashing down upon your shoulders, pushing you further into the depths of despair until you simply could not say no.

For how can a wound of the heart bleed, if it wasn’t there, to begin with?

"All in the name of King and Country…" -----------------------------------------------------------------------------St James’s House, On the outskirts of London 2037

This was it.

You could barely contain the excitement that buzzed through your veins as you marched down the corridor towards the hanger. Your commanding officer would be waiting for you, ready to commence the next stage of the operation. This day had been just over the horizon for more than a few years, as instructions and neverending etiquette lessons were drilled into you.

Your role was vital to the mission but you would not be alone in the field. The others had long since gone ahead to establish their cover within the Ton. Now it was your turn. Your hair was tightly fashioned into what was deemed fit to meet regulation standards. No hair would fall out of place whilst you remain within these halls.

The tiled floors beneath your boot-covered feet gleamed brightly, as the rays of the midday sun shone through a nearby window. The building housing the unit had long since been converted from its original purpose. Most onlookers would have no idea what occurred behind these ornately carved stone walls.

This spacious building had once been a stately home up until the moment that the family who owned it fell into a state of financial ruin. The Department wasted no time in purchasing the land and all the buildings that were a part of the estate. Lining the edge of the expansive ground with razor wire-topped fencing to keep the curious out. Guards and officers posted at the perimeter to enforce the message that this was a military base of operation with a tight security detail.

The illustrious parties that these grand halls once hosted were often the subject of chatter amongst the ranks. One of the ballrooms had been converted into the mess, where more than a few found themselves whisked off into romantic daydreams. Imagining the musicians striking up a melody as men and women paired to dance the night away.

“Captain!” A voice called, pulling you out of your contemplation. There standing a few metres ahead was the source of the voice. Seeing the young private in his regulation uniform brought a soft smile to your lips. This young recruit nervously returned the gesture as you quickened your pace.

“Good afternoon Private” You greeted them, your tone even but tinges of warmth leaking through, trying to calm their nerves. You didn’t bite, well unless you were asked to.

“I was sent to escort you down by General Harkerl” You nodded, confirming and relaying your confirmation of the information. 

“Then lead on Private '' You swiftly responded, as the young recruit turned on their heel and walked away. You followed after them through the hallway, climbing down the metal staircase at the other end which descended into the hanger. You walked in silence as the wide open space was revealed to you. Heavy-duty wires and cable ran the length of the Hangar with various and differing pieces of scientific equipment lining the walls.

The General in all her glory, stiffly stood in the middle of the structure. The stripes that she fought hard for, were proudly displayed for all to see and aspire to. If she could achieve that rank, anyone could. She had always been one of the role models that you held in esteem as you fought to show that you deserved to be here, to be counted amongst the heroes and veterans who have paved the way for you and all who followed.

As you stepped off the stairs and onto the marble floor below, the Private halted before bowing to the General and then making a hasty exit. They had done their job to the letter, a quick escort and delivery mission for one as green and new as them. You could painstakingly remember being given such tasks way back when you had started out.

You had started from the bottom, grunts at the beck and call of your superiors, even small jobs held valuable experience. This recruit would learn this in time. Your gaze turned to fall upon the stern and weathered face of the superior officer and commanding force who had recruited each individual member of the team. 

“Ready to begin, are we Captain?” General Harker, with a cool but professional tone, addressed you. “You understand the parameters of this operation and the consequences should you fail”

A shiver of fear shot through you, as you considered the chance that you might fail. No, you could not dare to believe that failure was even an option. “Yes, Ma’am” You answered, knowing that her gaze was upon you, reading even the slightest expression that might arise. Yet, you remain hidden beneath your well-practised mask, a calm, steady but neutral expression that held even if underneath it all truly you were an utter bundle of nerves.

She curtly nodded, a small smile broke through but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared before turning her attention to the small control booth off to one side signalling them to begin.

“Good Luck Captain, Safe Travels” 

The Department had long since perfected the Art of Time Travel for Operations such as the one, that you were about to embark on. The organisation had been built from the ground up by a few remarkable individuals who had believed that it was possible to travel through time, and who had fought tooth and nail after each failed experiment. Until that one miraculous day when all the pieces fell into place.

You were aware of the existence of the founders but never had been deemed worthy enough to stand in their presence. They were a mixture of creatives, scientists and military men who were the best and brightest in their chosen fields and had long since retired and handed over the keys to the kingdom. However, their influence was still felt to this day.

A crackle of a microphone being switched on alerted you that it was about to begin. The journey through time. You took a deep breath as an unfamiliar voice was projected around the room, echoing and bouncing off the walls.

“Close your eyes, Captain, and Good Luck” Your eyes slide shut, as the familiar sounds of a machine whirring as it surged into life to carry out its task of transporting you through time. How it exactly worked was a highly guarded secret. On a strictly need-to-know basis and you didn’t need to know.

General Adelaide Harker watched from within the booth as you disappeared. The petite, stocky battle-hardened woman was firmly in her fifties. Her body was littered with scars that could pen her story but now all she could do was patiently wait. How she hated no longer being fit for active duty, her body faded with age and numerous injuries that had forced her onto the sidelines.

She had been hand-picked herself by the founders after the last bout in the hospital many prior whilst she was recovering from a lengthy and complex surgery. This had been a new lease of life, a way to serve her Country from the shadows. This operation was one of the few that the Founders had meticulously planned from the very beginning. Nothing had been left to chance. They trusted her to carry their secrets and ensure success with each of the missions.

When she had initially read through the Manila portfolio that was Operation 1814. She had laughed, confused by the need to secure a matrimonial match within the aristocracy. She pushed for answers only once. Only to meet with a gentle almost grandfatherly smile from the most senior of the founders Sir Theodore before he briefly spoke.

His words had stunned her into silence. To this day, she had never truly understood the meaning behind his wise words but she trusted his and other founders’ guidance.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------March 20th 1814

Your stomach felt as if it had been tied up in knots, as the sensation of being pulled through time and space slowly faded away. It was a bizarre and almost impossible sensation to put into words as your physical body was transported from one moment in history to the next.

It never was plain sailing, no matter how many times you had been through it. The nausea would dissipate in a few hours but the headache would linger on. You’d have to push through. Each person who used the method concocted by the Department suffered differently. Some found themselves unable to walk as their legs trembled, reduced to a feeling of being made of jelly. Others collapsed from complete and utter exhaustion, feeling as if they had been drained of all but a drop of energy.

You opened your eyes to find yourself standing in the middle of a wheat field as dawn crept over the horizon. Reds, Yellows and Oranges bled together as if they were upon an artist’s palette being blended for the next brush stroke on the canvas. 

Fragile dew drops clinging to blades of grass which had grown in between each of the shafts of wheat. It was as if you had wandered into a dream or one of the many fine oil paintings hung on the walls of a museum. 

These few precious moments were always when you could simply stand and enjoy your last moment to breathe and enjoy the stillness of the world as the sun rose to greet the day. A warmth seeped through, caressing and embracing you, the golden rays of sunlight danced through the treeline off in the distance. What a most wonderful morning indeed.

Remembering what you read before heading off to the hangar, you knew that the lead scout would meet you upon the hour of your arrival. Still dressed in your most comfortable combat fatigues, it was time to make a move before you were discovered by another.

The sound of approaching hooves alerted you to the small fact that you were no longer alone in the middle of nowhere. Was this a stranger or the scout? Concern rose within you but hearing your name shouted was enough to settle your nerves.

As the figure drew closer astride a chestnut brown mare, you tried to make out the finer features of what seemed to be the face of a scowling man beneath the hooded cloak. His dark gaze and blonde locks were barely hidden by the fur lining of the hood. He was dressed mostly finely for an early morning ride through the countryside and could easily mistaken for one of dime a dozen gentlemen just riding through but you knew better.

This was Lieutenant Commander Edward Wren, formerly of His Royal Majesty's armed forces. You had only met a handful of times but he was known for his dry wit and relentless professionalism. He could cut you to shreds with only a few words or a single look. This was not something you could easily forget. “Come, we have a few miles to ride and no time to waste” 

Once he was finished speaking, he leaned forward in the saddle, offering a hand to help pull you to be seated either in front or behind him. You reached to take his hand, ready for whatever might lie in store. This would be thrilling, no matter whatever waited for you down in good old London Town.

[astrea16]

Piers and Pirates

So I've never watched One Piece before the live action, and I was curious about the anime but wasn’t sure I’d be into it so I started with Skypiea right away. The interesting thing I’ve noted about the structure of the story is that it reads a lot like a DnD campaign: one big journey divided into story arcs with their own atmospheres and challenges, and of course the iconic “you want to go now?” that turns into a ten-episode prep before the sky islands. I’ve briefly mentioned them before, but some of the encounters are so creative. I’m thinking for example of the Swamp Priest with the body control of a toddler who can’t cross his arms on his chest and forgets to say things out loud; or the old lady at sky customs who will let you pass because she can’t do anything to stop you but then sends an entire squadron after you. It’s a shame the anime is so poorly paced because the worldbuilding is genuinely phenomenal—but then again, it’s like watching a really long DnD campaign.

You can tell that Oda put a lot of research into his manga because every piece of information feels believable, whether it be Robin’s knowledge on ancient civilizations—the fact that Skypiea itself was inspired by the Mysterious Cities of Gold makes so much sense—or Nami’s navigation skills. It feels like you could sail in any direction and find an island with incredibly rich lore and characters. I’m just in awe of how unique each of them feels. Character creation is HARD, and yet no two are the same in Oda’s world. I could only achieve this level of depth with consistent roleplay, and he did it with all of his characters. They speak for decades of reading stories and consuming art blooming into one personal mindscape.

But the most remarkable one is Luffy. As opposed to the typical hero on a journey, Luffy doesn’t stand out because of a major personal growth or anything of the kind. toraheart put it perfectly in their analysis by calling him a catalyst: the story isn’t about Luffy, it’s about how he changes the world around him. How he inspires people to break free from their chains, how he stands for an ideology. More than an actor, Luffy is a symbol. And you can see that as clear as day in One Piece Fan Letter (2024) where he receives less than a minute of screen time, yet his presence resonates throughout the entire episode. The Marine who was inspired to save his brother in a moment of crisis, finding his strength in the boy whose own brother had died before his very eyes. The little girl looking up to Nami as a beacon of hope and rebellion, the same woman who found the courage to ask for help so that she could free herself from a decade of child exploitation at last. The teenager who works at the bookstore, listening to Brook’s music to get through her day. All of these were informed in some ways by the unstoppable force that is Monkey D. Luffy. He quite literally jumped out of a fire in that episode, and we know that epic imagery is one of the most evocative means of inspiration. If the boy wasn’t an anarchist, he’d be the face of revolutionary propaganda.

Speaking of anarchy, some people have called him a terrorist and I think I can stand with that. Luffy is kind, yes, but he is also selfish and stubborn. Despite his desire to help people achieve their dreams, he is entirely unconcerned with casualties when he’s fighting. He has only one goal in mind and will do anything to see it to the end. What compels me isn’t his beastly strength or his extraordinary abilities, it’s the fact that he wants everyone to do the same. To find their one piece, and to add it to the puzzle. It may not fit the first time around, but there will be people riding the same wave as you. And if someone stands in your way, well then screw that! Why do you think Luffy was so happy to have his face on a wanted poster? I’ll give you a hint, it’s not because it confirms his power. It’s because he knows that the world finally sees him. Luffy doesn’t really care about the treasure, he wants to become King of the Pirates so that he can have a place in a world that doesn’t want him.

To finish up on Fan Letter because it’s a masterpiece and I need everyone to acknowledge it, you really get this sense of carelessness from the Strawhats making their escape out of Sabaody. Yeah, everybody knows what they’re up to and they’re not exactly subtle about it (see: Luffy), but since when do they give a damn? The whole world is watching and they’re not even looking back, they’re just feeling the wind in their backs and staring straight ahead. Doesn’t that make you want to go on a grand adventure yourself?

By the way, if you liked the feel of the animation I highly recommend checking out the Gobelins channel on YouTube. It features several shorts by aspiring filmmakers in art school and they’re all a freaking delight to watch.

[myeagleexpert]

𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕻𝖆𝖘𝖘𝖆𝖌𝖊 𝖔𝖋 𝕳𝖔𝖒𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕬𝖜𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖓𝖎𝖓𝖌 𝖔𝖋 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕾𝖙𝖆𝖗

And if you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?

Howl's Moving Castle x Twisted Wonderland Au

The starry night at NRC was a spectacle of beauty and mystery, with the meteor shower painting the sky in shades of silver and gold. Yuu walked through the dark corridors of the Ramshackle dormitory, lit only by the flickering light of candles and a few points of failed electric light. Grim, the talking cat monster with dancing fire flames, followed beside her silently, his yellow eyes glowing with an unusual intensity and worried for his friend.

Today had been one of those days for the young woman without magic: Waking up late and almost late, she was intercepted by Crowley who had given exhaustive work that he himself had not done, the chemistry test that she and the infamous ADeuce had was a disaster, her crush had given the cold shoulder, Grim got into a totally unnecessary fight with some idiots from the fourth year and as a result they lost their lunch and got some scratches, and the front of his beloved Ramsharckle dorm collapsed, the damp and old wood had given way. The bitter taste in the mouth was not enough to bring a revolt from within Yuu so that she raised a scream of fury and stepped on the floor, her tired body just looked at the mess and walked straight past, the dejected soul took a shower where she hoped for the deep in her fragile heart, the shampoo would clean the dirt she felt and the tears would mix with the hot water.

At least I Tsunotaro will come today.- the only hope she could have that night was to see her dear friend. She put on her less tattered pajamas and sat at the study table waiting for the famous green fireflies to appear.

Unfortunately he didn't show up, the prince didn't answer the call.

The lack of Malleus's gentle presence made schoolwork become heavier and the lump in the throat tightened more and more, the clock was counting down the seconds to….

“Henchman, are you okay? Your eyes are red” with the little self-control he had, Yuu nodded, avoiding his feline friend's gaze and focusing on the blurry letters of school work and just in time the light in the dorm was cut off.

“NYAAH” “It was just what was needed!” Could it be Crowley's irresponsibility? The electricity bill? Was it an attack? A short circuit? Either way, it doesn't matter anymore.

The tired body got up and silently searched for the candles until strange lights passing through the window caught the girl's attention. Ah, the meteor shower. Like a leaf carried by the wind, Yuu's steps, even without hope, led her to the front part of the ramsharckle, the same part of which fell and collapsed. Pushing aside some wood, the girl sat down on the floor and Grim followed her shortly after, not trusting that her friend would be okay alone.

“Henchman, what are we doing here?” "I don't know…"

Will I ever really go home? Will I live forever in this place being this weak? I would do anything to see my family again… I myself will find a way to find my way back, whatever the cost.

Loneliness and anguish weighed on Yuu's heart, like chains that tied her to a distant past, an overwhelming longing for her homeland. She longed for a home, for a place where she could be truly happy. Home….my home….my family….The starry night shone with a unique and mysterious beauty, the shooting stars cutting across the sky like tears of light. Each meteorite that fell seemed to echo the loneliness and anguish that Yuu felt inside her.

As she watched the shooting stars cut across the sky like sharp blades, one of them stood out, shining with a disturbing intensity that seemed to whisper Yuu's name as the golden ball of fire quickly fell towards the ground. Without knowing why the girl just followed her heart and with an irresistible impulse, Yuu ran towards the shooting star, her mind filled with a mixture of despair and hope that she didn't know where it came from.

The powerful ball of fire broke apart and reflected various colors and when the star finally fell into her hands. As she held the star in her trembling hands, Yuu felt a wave of magical power envelop her, making her tremble with emotion and fear. A magical energy enveloped her, and in an instant, the star fell apart, disappearing into her body. A warm feeling filled Yuu, and she felt her heart beat faster than ever. The star, now resident in her being, revealed its mysterious and enigmatic personality, whispering ancient secrets and dark promises in her ears and finally a deal was made between the magicless human and the fallen star.

As Yuu absorbed the star's powers, the old Ramshackle dormitory began to shake and transform in sinister and fascinating ways before his eyes. Walls contorted, furniture came to life, and the abandoned place metamorphosed into a lively castle, with sparkling towers and enchanted gardens. The magic of the falling star had awakened the true essence of the place, revealing its hidden beauty.

The animated castle, now filled with the dark aura of the shooting star, rose majestically from the ground, its dark towers rising like sharp claws against the starry sky. The enchanted garden has turned into a maze of thorns and shadows, where unknown creatures lurk in the shadows, watching with glowing, hungry eyes.

“H-henchman! What is happening??"

With an enigmatic smile on her lips, Yuu looked at Grim, whose gaze reflected a mixture of fear and confusion. "Let's go home," she whispered, her voice echoing like a whisper of unknown magic. The cat nodded silently and ran to the girl's shoulders, saving his questions for later, because maybe later Yuu wouldn't be looking like a crazy woman with a flying Ramsharckle.

The old Ramsharckle dorm floated to where the two were and the door opened waiting for the two to climb up to finally grant the previously magicless girl's heart's desire.

“I'll come back to say goodbye later”

Who knows if she would come back who knows if not

She looked back one last time, remembering her adventures with the troublemaking cat and all the friends she made there. And with a firm step the girl went up in her castle and felt more ready than ever to embark on this adventure.

As the castle floated toward the distant horizon, the lights of shooting stars and meteorites hovered above them, shrouding them in a veil of mystery and intrigue. Yuu felt a shiver run down his spine, but also a sense of determination and courage that had long been forgotten.

And so, enveloped by the darkness of the starry night and the sinister magic of the falling star, Yuu and Grim set out on a journey into the unknown, where ancient secrets and intertwined destinies awaited them in the shadows of their path. Amidst the darkness and starlight, Yuu and Grim's journey was just beginning, with the power of the shooting star guiding their steps towards their final destination.

(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥ Every like, repost and comment is very welcome and appreciated. ♥

[the-lonelybarricade]

What Do You Know About Love? - (1/?)

Summary: When Elain discovers a centuries old love letter, written in secret and never sent, she decides that she's going to be the one to finally deliver it. Even if finding its intended recipient means going on a mission with Lucien Vanserra. Set post ACoSF.

A contribution to @elucienweekofficial Day 1: Fated!

Chapter 1 - The Tide of Destiny

Read on AO3

-

The sea was never particularly calming to Elain.

And in her bedroom in Velaris, no matter how desperately she tried, she couldn’t escape its call.

As a human, the distance between the docks and the river house would have rendered its sound indiscernible. But with her sensitive fae hearing, the sea leaked through her window—despite how firmly she’d shut it before going to bed. She’d woken to its sound, how it stirred something restless and uncertain inside her.

Now, engulfed in the darkness of her drawn bed curtains, she could hear the waves lapping against the seaside on the other side of the city. She knew that if she shut her eyes, if she tried to go back to sleep, it would be impossible to distinguish between her bedroom and the shore. Some nights she would hear the swelling tide and dart upwards with a gasp, convinced it would crash over the sheets and drag her into its dark, bottomless depths.

Some nights, like tonight, she convinced herself it was not the sea calling to her at all—it was the lapping waters of the Cauldron, intent on dragging her back into its icy shackles to strip and tear at her humanity again.

Madja had once suggested that when those fears became potent, Elain could try summoning pleasant memories of the sea, instead. And as Elain stayed up trembling in bed that night, she tried to muster happy memories. She did.

Their family once lived at a charming manor by the sea. It should have been easy to think of just one moment of joy. She didn’t consider those years unhappy, though when raking her memory for anything relating to the sea itself, she could only recall one particularly unhappy day.

She remembered the smell of salty air, borne partially from the wind that blew off the harbor and stopped to tangle in her curls, but also from the tears wetting her cheeks. They worsened the longer she stared at the dockworkers hauling supply crates across the gangplank and onto The Asphodelos, her father’s merchant ship. It was the day he was leaving on a three month voyage to the continent.

Elain stood at the dockside, her favorite doll clutched tightly to her chest, and watched with wide, watery eyes as the crew raised one of the anchors at the bow of the ship. Summoned by the rattling chains, two dark claws raised from the inky surface as if a great creature had scooped at the bottom of the harbor to reveal a handful of dripping, oily sediment.

She wondered if the same creature didn’t reach into the depths of her chest, dredging up an emotion so thick and black it surely belonged at the bottom of the seabed.

In their father’s absence, Elain and her sisters would be handed to the company of their Grandmamma, governess, and nursemaids while their mother enjoyed her newfound liberties—as she called it—by making all number of visits to friends and distant relatives. During that time, Nesta would be swept away by their Grandmamma, who insisted on seizing the opportunity to offer her tutelage, and Feyre would be more inclined to run barefoot through the gardens than attend Elain’s tea parties.

Elain’s only true company would be in the form of her pink-cheeked, browned haired doll, which was a gift her father had brought from his last voyage to the continent. That was Elain’s only comfort as their family stood at the dockside to see him off—that in a matter of months, he might return with another friend from a faraway land and a fantastical story she would beg him to repeat until it was renewed during his next epic adventure.

So unlike Nesta, Elain wasn’t scowling towards their father’s back, furious with him for leaving. Nor was she like Feyre, squirming on the hip of their nursemaid, the elderly woman’s arms tightly locked around the youngest Archeron’s lithe frame to keep her from dashing down the docks and pitching over the side. Feyre was always far more interested in climbing atop places she shouldn’t than appreciating the sentiment of the occasion.

But Elain—she stared out with eyes fixed on her father and edged as close to the water as the frayed rope would allow. She clutched her doll against her chest in an attempt to soothe the ache building beneath it. Soon, their father would walk over and kiss each of them farewell, and Elain would watch his ship until its billowing sails faded into the horizon.

It was as they were waiting on a dock that a man lugging a barrel of sloshing liquid shouted at their family to move aside. Their mother grasped the sleeve of Elain’s dress, yanking her back with such force that the doll slipped from Elain’s grasp and plummeted into the dark water below.

Her tears were instantaneous—small, hiccuping sobs that surged into wails the second she registered that no one was moving to retrieve the doll. The crew continued loading the ship, oblivious or uncaring, while Elain’s mother scrunched her nose and nudged Elain toward the nursemaid holding Feyre.

The nursemaid gave a cooing noise and shifted Feyre on her hip so that she could extend one plump arm to Elain, drawing her closer with a soft hand at the back of her head. Elain clutched the skirts of her nursemaid's dress and barrelled forward to smother her tears against the fabric.

“What’s happened?”

Recognizing her father’s voice, Elain lifted her head with a weak sniffle.

“Wee thing’s lost her doll,” answered the nursemaid, rubbing a soothing circle into the center of Elain’s back. “Plopped straight into the water, it did.”

“Oh, my dear Elain.” Their father dropped to one knee, meeting Elain’s height so that he could carefully take one of her much smaller hands into his own. “Don’t fret,” he soothed, reaching to chase away a few of the tears rolling down her cheeks. “The things we lose are never truly gone. Have patience, and perhaps one day your doll will find its way back to you.”

Fortunately, Elain was a patient child. And she happened to excel at listening to her father. With her tears abated, she nodded and waited the many weeks of her father’s voyage. Upon his return, he brandished a beautiful doll from behind his back.

See, Elain? I found her on the continent. The tides must have carried her there, so that she could be reunited with you.

Elain’s doll had bright, clever brown eyes, much like her own. But the one she was handed from her father had eyes like a frozen lake, more like her sisters Nesta and Feyre. She noticed this, and frowned, but accepted the doll anyway.

She learned that sometimes lost things do come back, but not quite the same as they once were.

Now, sitting in the dark of her bedroom with nothing else to occupy her mind, Elain pulled at the aching threads of all the things she’d lost that would never come back. Her mother, her father, her human life.

Graysen.

The sting of that name lessened with time, but it was not so reduced that she didn’t hiss through her teeth as it clanged through her.

Deciding she would never get any sleep in this state of mind, Elain threw the blankets open and scrambled off the bed. The Inner Circle would likely still be awake. They’d all kept odd hours since Nyx was born and she often heard their laughter drifting through the floorbeds well past midnight. She knew that one member, in particular, rarely slept at all.

That thought nearly convinced her to stay inside her room. She didn’t wish to see any of them, not at the moment, and least of all…

Elain shrugged on a robe and hastily tied it around her waist, resolving that she was unlikely to encounter anyone on the way to the library. And in there, she could sit and read and sip tea until her exhaustion overpowered her agitation.

It was a good plan. It might have been effective, if she hadn’t been drawn short halfway down the hall by the sight of a tall male standing at the far end of the corridor, staring at a piece of fabric in his hand.

He lifted his head at her approach, and froze the moment he saw her. He was wearing his hair bound, all of it tied in a scarlet knot at the back of his head. She was used to seeing it down, spilling like ringlets of flame over his shoulders and always partially covering the brutal, slashing scar through his left eye. She didn’t know what to make of the sight of his face, completely unobstructed.

Every time Elain saw him, it was like being struck in the stomach. She couldn’t breathe—and if she did, it would mean inhaling his scent and making the whole ordeal of looking at him infinitely, insufferably worse.

“Elain,” he said. His eyes—one russet and one mechanical—scraped over her, scrutinizing every detail.

She hated how he said her name. Always on a breath, like he was being struck in the stomach at the sight of her, too.

The same emotions played out over his face that she felt waring deep in her chest—surprise, delight, uneasiness. She didn’t know he’d be here. Feyre usually warned her in advance of his visits, and even then it was odd for him to be here so late in the evening, when he had his own apartment to retire to.

Lucien cleared his throat, breaking both of them from their trance. “Having difficulty sleeping, Lady?”

There was an edge to his voice that caused Elain to shift onto her backfoot. She didn’t know why he was asking, when he would already know through whatever perverse magic tied them together. The same way she knew when he was sleeping. Or when he was extraordinarily happy, which was rare. And extraordinarily sad, which was often.

He would know in the same way she knew that in this very moment, though it perplexed her, Lucien Vanserra was seething with anger.

If not for the mating bond announcing his every extreme emotion, she still would have been able to read it plainly on his face. His red brows were pinched together, his teeth gritted, and the fabric in his hand, which he’d been staring at with alarming intensity before she’d gotten there, was gripped so tightly that each of his brown knuckles turned a soft pale color.

A dozen questions flitted through her mind. She wasn’t sure which to ask him, which he would answer. Questions were tedious. They could imply interest where there was none, or venture their conversation towards truths she was in no state to hear.

She settled with, “I didn’t know you were in Velaris.”

He crumpled the fabric in his hand until it was obscured entirely within his fist. “I winnowed in an hour ago.”

Elain’s pulse jumped in her throat. “Why so late?”

The last time Lucien had been summoned to Velaris with such urgency, it was after Feyre had nearly died in childbirth. If there was an emergency, surely someone would have come to wake her?

Lucien shifted, glancing at his closed fist as if waging some internal conflict. Then he released a long breath. “Rhysand wanted to meet at this hour—he requested discretion.”

Discretion from who? No one in the house would be asleep at this time. No one besides…

She chewed her lip, uncertain if she should be affronted. Did Rhysand think he was doing her a favor by summoning Lucien at this hour, so that they needn’t encounter each other? Or—and she knew in her heart it was more likely—Feyre and her husband were deliberately hiding something from her. If she asked Lucien, would he reveal it to her? Would she even want to know?

“If you’re trying to be discreet,” she asked, trying to make her voice sound light, “then why have I found you wandering around upstairs where anyone might find you?”

Lucien looked at her then, with an understanding that made her want to shrivel inside herself. She thought he would say that he knew. That he’d felt her panic, and knew that she would be awake, wandering the halls to escape the waves roaring in her ear.

Instead he held up his fist, opening it to reveal a balled-up handkerchief. “I found this,” he said. “I presume it belongs to you.”

He extended it to her and Elain retrieved it warily, careful to only touch the fabric and not any part of his skin. The last time she’d accidentally brushed her fingers against his, it’d felt as if she’d plunged them into an open flame. It wasn’t a sensation she’d been able to forget.

Once it was safely in her possession, Elain smoothed her thumb across the fabric and studied the brocade pattern woven into the wine-colored silk. The embroidered E in the corner certainly seemed to suggest it belonged to her, but Elain didn’t own a handkerchief this color. Nor did she make a habit of embroidering her belongings. Its texture was not familiar to her, either—slightly rougher than silk, though smoother than any cotton she’d felt between her fingers before.

“Where did you find this?” She asked.

“So it is yours, then?”

He sounded angry again. Elain lifted her eyes to see that he was studying her, searching for the answer to some deeper question he didn’t dare voice.

A muscle feathered in this jaw. He glanced down the hall, ensuring they were alone, before he added in a low voice, “I found it outside the Shadowsinger’s bedroom.”

Aware that her reaction was being monitored carefully, and risked confirming the accusations already tangible in his words, Elain kept her expression perfectly neutral. She thumbed at the E in the corner, wondering if it was perhaps a gift from Azriel, and she was its intended recipient.

It would be odd if it was—Azriel had barely spoken to her since the Solstice. From what she’d gauged of the shadowsinger, his bouts of silence were not unusual, but whatever lingering glances had once existed between them seized the moment she returned the rose necklace to him.

No. Sooner than that.

This was a mistake.

Even now, months later, those words burned inside her. She folded the handkerchief and held it back towards him, deciding she didn’t care if it was a gift. Just like the necklace, she’d return it.

“It’s not mine,” she said. “You can put it back wherever you found it.”

Lucien arched his scar-slit brow. She knew he didn’t believe her, and that the evidence was certainly incriminating. There was no one else by that initial who lived in this house, not unless there was a new servant who happened to drop it.

It caused her to wonder if Azriel had planted the handkerchief intentionally. Either to get under Lucien’s skin, or in the hopes that Elain would find it, and it would lead to another clandestine meeting. Where she would knock on his door and be again swept into those deep hazel eyes, and perhaps would feel so consumed by his churning, unspoken anguish that she would forget his hurtful words.

Or perhaps… There was not a scheme afoot at all, and this was simply the souvenir of a new lover.

Lucien crossed his arms, making no move to retrieve the handkerchief. “And where exactly were you headed at this hour?”

He jerked his chin the direction she’d been heading, a passageway which forked two directions. On one end, to the library, and on the other… to Azriel’s room.

Elain’s cheeks burned in outrage. “I was going to the library.”

“In your nightgown?”

“I don’t owe you an explanation,” she said. “You’re not my keeper. And I haven’t seen or heard from you in months.”

Lucien drew back, as if she’d struck him. His expressions hardened, then smoothed—the way a river could strip a rock of all of its jagged edges.

“You’re right, Lady.” That was his courtier’s voice, distant and detached from the emotion she knew was churning inside him. “My apologies. I’ll leave you to carry on to the library.”

His apology only stoked her anger, enough that she wanted to claw deeper. She drew the handkerchief to her chest and stepped past him with a clipped, “Thank you for returning this to me.”

The scent of woodsmoke and clove coiled around her as she darted past, a hidden snare that almost caught her, willing her to turn around and tell him the truth. She held her breath instead, glaring down the hall as though the Cauldron was sitting at its end, taunting her.

She could feel Lucien’s eyes trailing her until she disappeared behind the corridor. And the moment his scent faded, and she could no longer count the metronome of his heartbeat, the sea swept back in.

That was what sent Elain veering away from the library. Without thinking, or stopping to listen to the hushed voices as she passed Rhysand’s study, Elain stormed down the stairs and pushed out the door into the streets of Velaris. With only a coat shrugged over her nightgown, she was woefully underdressed, but she was desperate to go somewhere, anywhere, that would distract from all the scents and sounds and questions swirling in her mind.

Did Azriel know that Lucien would be coming? Did she care? It wasn’t the first time she’d seen Lucien angry with her. And given how they’d last parted, it was no surprise there would be tension between them.

As she strode through the empty marketplace, the memory of the icy words they last exchanged crept into the periphery of her thoughts, like the frost she spied climbing over the glass of the shop window in front of her.

In its reflection, a pink-cheeked female was taking great, huffing breaths. Her golden-brown curls were windswept from the cool breeze, the bite of which promised winter in the weeks to come. Altogether, she looked far more flustered and agitated than a composed lady ought to be.

It was just—It’d been so long since she’d last heard his voice and felt the onslaught of her body’s reaction to his presence. She’d been underprepared, and he’d pushed all the right buttons to prod her into an anger equal to his own. That was all.

Elain shook her head, forcibly pushing away the shards of memory that plagued her—present and past and future, blending together. Scarlet hair and sneering lips and the taste of fire scalding her tongue. With her cursed visions, she was used to cobwebs of would-bes and half-truths plaguing her mind, but the heated flashes of her mate were more difficult to dismiss. Especially when he was in Velaris, starting fights with her in the hallway.

With a deep breath, she practiced the grounding techniques she’d spoken about with Madja.

What was beneath her? The firm, cobbled street, glowing against the small bulbs of faelights strung from roof to roof.

What was above her? A dark, overcast sky—rare for Velaris, and likely another indication that the mild autumn weather was coming to its end. Though the red and amber leaves gilding the city’s landscape were pretty, she was happy to think they’d soon be swept away with the winter. The sight of them made her chest ache.

What was in front of her? Her own reflection, blinking through the window of a shop that—looking past her squinting image—appeared to sell an eccentric collection of trinkets. She spied a snow globe sitting upon a stack of books, which precariously supported a leaning portrait of an amphibian faerie in the nude, draped in jewels whilst being hand-fed a basket of red berries.

It was an odd painting to be advertising in the storefront window, but it was certainly effective in knocking Elain from her bad mood. She wandered to the shop’s entrance, and was delighted to see that a small desk light was lit inside and a sign hung over the entrance, stating: OPEN (to those who seek)

Seized with curiosity, Elain grabbed the silver handle and tested the knob, just to make sure it wasn’t locked.

The bell above the door frame trilled a high-pitched greeting, announcing her entrance to the shopkeeper sitting behind a large desk, piled high with odds and ends of which Elain could find no discernible pattern. The faerie was sorting through a box of ribbons all in various colors and stages of condition, so immersed in the task at hand that she didn’t seem to notice Elain’s entrance, despite being the only patron in the otherwise empty shop.

After providing what felt to be a polite amount of time to finish the task, Elain said, “Excuse me, is this store open?”

Not looking up from the two frayed ribbons she was untangling in her hands, one a vivid scarlet red and the other a vibrant yellow, the shopkeeper asked, “Have you found something lost or lost something found?”

Elain blinked. “Pardon?”

With a heavy sigh, the faerie dropped the ribbons back in the box. “This is a place of trade,” she said, gesturing with a purple hand towards the strange collection of items at her desk. “Not a shop.”

“And you trade… lost objects?”

The faerie nodded, causing a lock of the snow-white hair wreathed at the top of her head to fall over one of her slitted black eyes. She petulantly batted it behind her fin-shaped ear before pinning Elain with a wild, jagged-toothed smile, “Would you like to look at my wares?”

“I have nothing to trade,” Elain said, sweeping her eyes over the items nonetheless. There was a box of quills, most of which looked to be used, the feathers worn and bent. “How do you trade something you’ve already lost?”

“You don’t,” said the shopkeeper plainly. “You trade something you found. And if you’re looking for something you’ve lost, well, you might find it here.”

Most of the things Elain had lost recently couldn’t be traded in a shop. Even so, she wandered across the store, marveling at the shelves of children’s toys. Dolls and plush animals and spinning tops. She considered getting something to bring back for Nyx, but was deterred by the thought that the children these items once belonged to might return to the shop.

She asked, “How do you know if you’re trading something to its rightful owner?”

The shopkeeper hummed. “I always know.”

Elain took that to mean the shopkeeper didn’t care, so long as she was receiving an item of equal value in exchange. But then… how did she make any profit? Her head spun trying to make sense of it, before she reminded herself that trying to make sense of the fae was a tedious and unrewarding task. Often, they made no rational sense at all, and that was just the way they preferred things.

“I don’t think there’s anything here for me,” she said. “I appreciate you letting me look.”

“Nonsense,” the shopkeeper said, now having moved on from the ribbons to arrange stacks of playing cards. “In all my centuries running this trading post, no one has ever wandered in without something to find. Keep looking.”

Elain was beginning to feel flustered, and wondered briefly if she was the lost thing. “Even if I did find something, I have nothing to trade.”

“Nonsense.”

Elain huffed, turning away from the shopkeeper. What if she didn’t want anything in this cursed little shop? Surely she wouldn’t be kept from leaving without buying something? If that was the case, Elain would certainly have words to share with Rhysand about how this shop was run.

She thought about sharing with the shopkeeper that she was the High Lady’s sister, when the sight of a porcelain doll caught her eye. Elain gasped.

“Find something?” The shopkeeper crooned.

It couldn’t be. The doll she’d lost as a little girl was drifting somewhere in the ocean. And even if it had been retrieved, it would not look like the one before her, all smooth, glistening ivory and perfectly clean golden-brown locks of hair. Elain carefully lifted the doll from the shelf, staring into those bright, clever brown eyes. Much like her own.

Was it a trick? A memory plucked from her mind? She glanced over at the shopkeeper, still tirelessly counting and arranging cards. There didn’t seem to be anything predatory about her knowing smile. But it was knowing.

Elain set the doll back on the shelf. It wasn’t hers, just one of the same make. That was the only explanation she could draw for how it ended up here. As she withdrew her hands, her fingers brushed the sides of a wooden box, and she jerked back when a soft, mechanical tink answered her touch.

The shopkeeper paused her counting.

“Sorry,” Elain breathed, pressing a hand to her chest to steady her thundering heart. “I wasn’t expecting that.”

An unimpressed raised brow was her only response. Elain turned back to the box, frowning. It was of simple, plain-looking make, the wood smooth and polished on all sides. She pushed up the top, and her breath hitched when a carving of a small female dancer sprung up from inside. Acting of their own volition, Elain’s fingers sought the underside of the box to find a winding mechanism, twisting the small knob there as if they knew precisely what this box was for, what it did.

The world seemed to still the moment Elain released her fingers, every sleeping doll and ancient tome in the small shop waking to listen as the small wooden dancer began twisting on a single posed foot. As she moved, the box began emitting a slow, mechanically plucked out melody.

Each note hung and lingered, carving its way through the air with a sharpness that demanded to be heard. Elain didn’t so much as breathe in fear of disturbing its song, allowing it to curl around her, tugging at the cusp of a memory. She swore she’d heard it before, though she struggled to place when or where. If she closed her eyes, it evoked an image of a summer garden, draped in moonlight. Her fingers tingled with the feeling of a warm hand, wrapped in hers. And her chest… her chest ached with a sorrow so heavy it could pull down the stars.

It was so at odds with the happy, smiling dancer who twirled and twirled without a care in the world. Though the box itself was light, its weight became more significant the longer the song played, as though it were carrying its grief in the bones of its wood. She could feel it calling to her, an echo to the song of lost love she had been carrying in her own chest.

“Interesting,” the shopkeeper said. “That box has sat untouched in my shop for nearly three centuries. I’ve always wondered who would come to claim it one day.”

“Oh—” Elain sniffed and hastily wiped at a tear slipping down her cheek. She didn’t know when she’d started crying. “This isn’t mine.”

The shopkeeper shrugged. “Sometimes we find lost things and sometimes lost things find us.”

“I can’t—”

“It called to you,” the shopkeeper insisted. “Which means it’s been found. So it’s no longer lost. And since this is a place for lost things, it can’t stay in the shop any longer. Either take it, or I’ll throw it out.”

For some reason, the thought of the box being thrown out was horrifying to Elain. Surely it must have meant a great deal to someone at some point. She said softly, “But I don’t have anything to trade in return.”

“No?” The shopkeeper cocked her head. “Nothing in your pockets?”

She was fishing for coin, no doubt, but Elain realized she did have something in her pockets. Something that was found.

Numbly, she withdrew the handkerchief she’d been given by Lucien.

The shopkeeper grinned ear-to-ear and pointed to a bin just behind Elain. “That will do perfectly. Add it to the box.”

Indeed, behind her shoulder was a box brimming with handkerchiefs.

Her head would only hurt trying to make sense of the logic. “The handkerchief doesn’t belong to me, either.”

“And that’s precisely why you should leave it here,” the shopkeeper reasoned. “It’s lost, and I’ll ensure it finds its rightful owner.”

Just as the jewelry box found its rightful owner, she thought dryly.

But three centuries was a long time to go unclaimed. After the war, there was no way of knowing if its original owner was still alive. And as for the handkerchief… she supposed leaving it here was preferable to what she was likely going to do with it, which was absolutely nothing. She would inevitably put off speaking to Azriel about it just as she avoided telling Lucien why she was really awake in the middle of the night.

It was one less burden off her hands, and she couldn’t say she was sorry to see it go as she dropped it into the box of multicolored fabrics.

[assortedvillainvault]

Me, sending Thalassa another ask after a long tumblr absence? It's more likely than you think ;)

My request this time is more Shen x Reader...but through the Henchwolves' POV

Gimme that minion gossip 😆

It's benn a Goddamn Minute since I wrote anything for the murderbird, please accept this humble offering my friend! This is set loosely within Shen's hostile takeover of his family's palace, just pretend it's taking a few months longer for Po and the Furious Five to arrive.

Lord Shen x Reader (Henchwolves POV)

Sooo...the boss’s in looovvveee…

Ok well it’s more like Shen is speed-cycling through every emotion under the sun, like some kind of cursed knife throwing merry-go-round.

From an outside perspective that part is no different to how he normally is, really, potato tomato.

But ever since YOU entered the picture, he’s been swinging between regality and rage like it’s going out of fashion.

This would normally be time for the wolves to about-face and shamelessly hide behind the hired muscle of the rhino and gorilla guards, but between your bemused reactions and the Soothsayers amused snorts they have front row seats to China’s cheesiest love story and they’re not missing ANY of the drama.

Don’t forget, the wolves have followed Shen for nearly two decades by now – they know him. His ins and outs, his twitches and grandiose gestures. The way his right eyelid twitches when he can’t feel the knives in his sleeves.

They’re not familiar with the way his elegant steps stumble when you surprise him. Or how he loses his train of thought and sputters when you question his judgement. Or how he seems to fight the noble training of several years to fidget with his robes before posing just so to meet with you.

Guards from both the throne room and the gardens noticed his tail sweeping and twitching when talking to you, and in their experience, Shen’s tail is a dead giveaway for his flintstrike temper and at the time they were 99% certain he was about to stick a knife in your back and call it a day…

...until he presented you with a custom ordered gift and his overwrought nerves had his tail nearly leap into it’s classic fan as he awkwardly swallowed a squawk into a cough, trying to pretend this was a spur of the moment thing rather something he'd agonized over in private for five days.

At guard change they all but barged into the guardroom mess, hollering and sniggering.

“Shen’s PRESENTING!”

Chaos ensues. Bets are taken, at least one table is broken. One poor bastard ends up tossed from a fifth story window. He's probably fine.

It’s all boss wolf can do not to roll his eyes.

In contrast to the rest of the henchman – he operates much closer to Shen in a day to day capacity. So HE’s the poor bugger having to endure Shen’s erratic mumbling as the neurotic bird pores over battle plans, supply chains, letters and negotiations from nobility and powerful individuals to bribe. All that, he can deal with.

...What he can’t deal with is the way Shen’s eyes will glaze over mid mumble and suddenly he’s got an earful of spoiled royal lamenting how 50 reams of china’s finest silks isn’t even close enough to a satisfactory nest and How is he supposed to curry your favour if you only have 25 colours to choose from???

Fucking. BIRDS and their obsession with shiny shit.

Meanwhile, the Soothsayer is very much enjoying watching Shen work himself into a knot over whether or not he should ask her for a love life prediction.

It’s just a waiting game before he cracks. And she’s more than happy to trip him up and poke fun in the meantime, catching your eye from the background and winking as she eats his sashes and pulls fake prophesies out of her ass.

(She approves of you, don’t worry, and she lowkey is happy for Shen to have found someone as wonderful as you, but also: you deserve better and her lingering fondness for Shen as his former nanny doesn’t blind her to that.)

Hope you enjoyed these headcannons friend!

[scarletwinterxx]

loving's so easy to do - mark lee scenario

okay but tell me why do i think Mark is the type of boyfriend who would giggle if he sees you wearing his initials on a necklace? ksksksksks istg this boy got me kicking my feet in the air giggling like a school girl😭😂🥺💛

anywaysss i hope you like this one! 💛

if you have a request or scenario you want me to do, just send me a message I'll see what I can do😊💌

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2024 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(gif not mine, credits to rightful owner)

"Hi, baby. I missed you" Mark says the moment he sees you walking down the pathway towards him. He tilts his side to the side while he stares at you lovingly. If any of his friends is here right now, they would call him whipped but he would not care one bit because he is.

How can he not be when you're smiling like he hung the sun in your sky, you skip towards his open arms waiting for you to come to his embrace.

"Hey you, what are you doing here?" you ask him, still clinging to him. You feel him kiss the side of your head, smiling at the action you stand on your tiptoes to kiss him on the cheek.

"Can't I pick my girl up after work?"

You blush at his words and he loves it. He knows the effect he has on you, he knows that even after dating for a few years you still blush when he calls you his girl.

It's not a secret you want to keep, if you could you would scream it at the top of the tallest building for the whole world to hear. You are Mark Lee's girl.

"Let's go, we can grab dinner then go over your place?" he asks, still not letting you go. Instead he steps to the side to open the passenger door for you.

"Sounds like a plan" you smile at him, then you look towards the passenger seat ready to get in but you saw a bouquet of blue tulips resting there

"Baby" you look back at him, he just smiles back at you.

"It's my favorite, and you know what those flowers mean? Inner peace, you're my inner peace. My heart's rest and home"

Feeling so happy you're in love. You thought this is what all those books were talking about, finding the right one.

He ushers you inside the car, helping you buckle in before making his way to the driver's side. He closes the door before facing you with a big smile on his face,

"What?" you ask

"What what?"

"I know that look, love. There's something else is there?"

"Okay you know me too well, but I saw this and I thought of you. If you don't like it, it's totally fine-" "I haven't even seen it, and shut up any gift from you I'll love it" you tell him.

This time Mark couldn't help himself, he leans closer to you. Pulling you gently towards him so he can finally kiss you, he's been waiting all day for this. He kisses you softly and slowly, like he's refreshing his memory of how it feels to have your lips on his.

"Okay okay, here I hope you like it" he says after the two of you broke apart. It's a small bag with a small box inside, you look at him skeptically before opening it.

Inside is a dainty necklace with the letter M hanging on it. The chain was simple, something you can wear everyday. Safe to say it was perfect.

"Lovie, I love it" you pout again, feeling a bit teary eyed

"Hey hey no crying, do you love it that much" he chuckles, taking your face between his hands. You nod, you can't wait so you put it on yourself

"This is so cute oh my gosh I'm never taking this off" you say while looking at your reflection on the mirror.

Unbeknownst to you, Mark is watching from the side falling even deeper in love with you.

"You know I love you right?" he mumbles

You look over at him, holding his face in one hand "I know, you tell me like atleast four times in a day" you tease him. Leaning over the console to peck his lips

"I love it, thank you so much. And I love you"

With Mark, you proved loving someone could be easy. Being with him feels like all the puzzle pieces of your life are finally falling into place. Even on bad days, he can make it better because he truly is everything good in your world.

[sorinethemastermind]

Big Feelings Time

In which Soren grapples with what happened the night of the full moon, and makes peace with Runaan on behalf of his king.

 No one was really sure what to do about the elf. Runaan, Soren corrected himself. He had a name.

 The only person he seemed to know how to speak to was Rayla. Probably cause, you know, he was her Dad. And he was here. Soren tried not to think about the mess of emotions that simple fact awoke in him. But it wasn’t that simple, because to Runaan it had only been a few days since he’d killed the king. And now that king’s son was dating his daughter. (Soren was happy Rayla and Callum had finally worked that out, it had been getting awkward). 

 He couldn't really blame the elf for not knowing what to do or where to go. If he stuck by Rayla’s side then Callum was always there, frazzled and distracted and riddled with guilt about the pearl and the castle and everything. It was a lot even without adding the fact that his potential future father-in-law had killed his step-dad. It gave Soren a headache just thinking about it.

 And if he went into the camp at all he was sure to run into Ezran, who seemed to be everywhere at once these days; helping Opeli with the wounded, sending out letters with the Crow whatever-he-was-now. He’d even somehow found the time to visit every family who had fled the fires. Soren thought that the worst part was how Ezran kept trying to smile at the elf even though it looked like the action caused him physical pain. He made a mental note to take him aside later for some Big Feelings Time, as the brothers liked to call it. 

 And then there was, well, him. He had almost killed Runaan. He would have too, if Claudia hadn't stopped him. And then what had happened? His father had trapped his soul in a coin for several years. And that was probably the least of the reasons the elf had to hate him. He could still remember that night; the way the torches had all gone out at once, the clang of metal against metal, the wet sound it made when it didn’t hit metal…

 “Soren?” 

 He jumped. Ezran was there, looking up at him. Soren straightened, making sure to smile. “Yeah?”

 “Were you… sleeping standing up?”

 “No. I was just, uh, thinking. Why?”

 “Because your eyes were closed.” Ezran said, eyebrow arching a little bit. He looked so much like his father when he did that. 

 “It helps me… think.” Soren explained. In all honesty he hadn’t realized they’d drifted closed. It had felt nice, though. 

 “You should get some rest.”

 “I did last night. Just like you ordered.”

 “So this morning you had time to travel all the way to the Valley of Graves, discover that Aaravos had escaped, and come back. All before breakfast?”

 “...Yes?” Soren tried. Ezran didn’t seem impressed, but he didn’t press it. 

 “Have you seen Callum?” he asked instead.

 “I’m pretty sure I saw him and Rayla head over that way.” Soren pointed towards a small clearing in the trees, just across from where they had set up camp. Good. The brothers had barely had any time to talk after Callum got back, what with everything else going on. They needed this.

 “Great. I’m going to go talk to him.” Ezran said, the set of his mouth determined. “Um. Do you think I should say that we need to let go of the past to build a brighter future or that the future is about breaking the cycles of hatred which have kept us chained for so long?”

 Soren sighed. The kid had forgotten how to talk to his own brother. Then he realized what this talk must be about. “Maybe… neither? Callum took the news about the pearl pretty hard, maybe you should wait to talk about… the elf situation.”

 “He’s not the elf, Soren. And he’s not a situation. He’s Rayla’s father.”

 “I know, I know. That’s not what I meant. I just… you’ve got to have some feelings about this whole thing.”

 Ezran did that thing again where he smiled too wide. But despite his obvious efforts, it didn’t reach his eyes. “Why would I have feelings about it? He’s just Rayla’s Dad. I’m glad he’s here!”

 “Yeah, but see, your voice sorta does this thing when you say that that makes me feel like you do have feelings and just…” Soren sighed. “Look, I know I’m not Callum. Obviously. But I’m still here for you, to protect you but also… whatever you need. Like words and stuff.”

 Ezran’s smile wavered and he took a deep breath. “How can I ask everyone to move on from the past when I can’t?” he said quietly, eyes downcast.

 Soren knelt before him, placing his hands on his shoulders the way he used to when he was just a little kid. Before he was a king and everything got all… complicated. “No one is expecting you to move on.”

 “I’m not supposed to hate him, Soren. I really don’t want to. I tried so hard not to. But… but even though it’s been so long I still miss him.”

 “I know.” Soren wrapped his arms around Ezran and pulled him in close, sheltering him in his arms for a moment so that the kid could just be, well, that. A kid. A kid who misses his Dad, and nothing more. 

 The moment didn’t last long, and when Ezran pulled away his eyes were wet, but there was a real determination in them that had been missing before. 

 “I’m going to get everything ready for the trek to the Banther Lodge.” he said, voice taught. “I can talk to him when we get there.”

 “I’ll talk to Runaan.” Soren decided aloud.

 “But, Soren…” Ezran trailed off, biting his lip. “Won't he… remember you from that night?”

 Soren blew a strand of blond hair out of his face. “Yeah. But I can handle it. Look, you go help your people, okay? That’s your job. My job is helping you.” 

 “Thank you.” his king said, standing up a little straighter.

 “You got it.” Soren grinned at him and, after a moment, Ezran walked back the way he’d come.

 Soren’s grin faded along with his fake nonchalance. Ezran might be a quick study, but Soren had years on him. The art of the facade was just that, an art. And you had to practice art. Sort of like poetry, though that somehow needed even more practice.

 It didn’t take long to spot Runaan. He was in the same place he had been since they arrived; hovering just slightly out of view in the trees near the edge of the encampment. Soren rolled his shoulders and pushed his hair out of his face with the back of a gauntleted hand. He had this. 

 “Hey!” he called, waving to the elf in a voice that sounded way too cheery even to his own ears. He tried to modulate it in the middle of the greeting, but all that accomplished was giving him the voice of a prepubescent teen. He tried again as he got closer. “Hey, it’s Runaan, right?”

 The elf looked at him for a long moment. “Yes.”

 “I’m Soren.” instinctively he started to stick out his hand, then decided maybe that wasn’t the best thing for this scenario, and used it to lean against a tree instead. Totally casual.

 “Did someone send you?”

 “What? Me? Noooooo.” Soren laughed. “I mean, I guess I sent myself but… yeah, no."

 “I see.” the elf blinked, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows as he studied Soren. 

 Casual conversation. Casual conversation. Casual conversation. Soren thought desperately, grasping for something to say that would lead them in the right direction. Or any direction other than the one he knew they were about to go.

 “So, what do you think of Katol-”

  “Here to finish me off, then?”

 They both spoke at the same time, seemingly caught off guard by what the other had said.

 Soren practically tripped over his own words to get them out first.  “Definitely not!  I know we didn’t exactly meet on the best of terms but-”

 “You killed one of my companions and were about to chop off my head.”

 “Yes, but-” Soren let out an exasperated huff, tossing his hands into the air. “You killed the king!”

 For a moment neither of them was really sure what to say to that.

 “I… did.” Runaan admitted eventually.

 Soren still remembered how the arrow had looked sticking from the king’s chest. The look of surprise on his face, the way it had seemed to flick from that and through a million other emotions in the time it took him to stagger and slump to the ground. The cold expression that this very elf had worn as he lowered his bow. The blood and the bodies and the pointlessness of it all and-

 “What was his name?” Soren blurted, surprising even himself. But he continued. Maybe knowing would make it worse, but he had to. “The- the one with the twin blades?”

 A shadow passed over Runaan’s face and he closed his eyes for a moment. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “Skor.”

 Skor. Soren shivered, the cool darkness of that night creeping through him again like a chill breeze.

 “You never forget your first.” Runaan said softly, eyes distant. “We believe that you should honor the fallen, even your enemies. For they have died so that you may live.”

 “I try to.” Soren said, adding Skor to the list of people he owed his life to. If not in the same way. “Look, I know that this can’t be easy for you, working with humans and all. After… everything. But we’re not here because it’s easy. We’re here because it’s the right thing to do. And what you did that night wasn’t right, and what I did wasn’t either. Because there was no right thing that we could have done. But there is now.”

 “A lot has changed.”

 “Tell me about it.” Soren said with a slight smile, trying to lighten the mood. Unfortunately Runaan didn’t seem to understand the concept of lightening or of moods.

 “And yet we still face the same monsters as before.”

 “Uh-”

 “Dark mages have always been a scourge on these lands. And now they have released him. It was only a matter of time. At least now, with our combined strength, we may stand a chance of getting rid of them for good.”

 Soren bristled instinctively at the way he said dark mages even though he knew the elf was right. Better to get it all out in the open now, he decided. “Yeah, about that. The mage who released him, we discussed it and we’re actually not doing any getting rid of.”

 “They released the dark star! They are-”

 “She’s my sister.”

 Runaan stopped mid sentence, looking at him again. His eyes widened with realization. “The girl. The one from that night. She was...”

 “She’s my sister. And… and I know her. I can get through to her. I have to. So that’s the plan. That’s what we’re going to do.” 

 “She is a dark mage. They have no respect for the living-”

 “I’m standing here because of dark magic.” Soren said, voice rising. “Your daughter is here because of dark magic. Katolis-” he swept his hands back towards the encampment and the people there. “-is here because of dark magic. It isn’t right, and it’s not fair. But it’s also true.”

 “My daughter… is here… because of dark magic?”

 Soren sighed. Maybe he shouldn't have said that. “A lot of us are.”

 “Not the mage from the castle?” Runaan breathed, eyes going wide.

 “No. Not him. That was my father. He… he and Rayla didn’t get along.”

 “Your… father.”

 “Yeah.”

 “And yet you are here, with them. With my Rayla.”

 “It took me a while to realize who he really was.” Soren said, voice quiet. “I think I’m still figuring it out.”

 “I have made many mistakes as a father.” Runaan said, looking past him and towards the encampment. “That night… was one of them. And yet Rayla forgave me, even when I could not forgive myself.”

 “That’s who she is. She gives people second chances, even when they don’t know if they deserve them. Look,” Soren sighed. “I’m not going to tell you it’ll be easy, cause it won’t. But Rayla deserves to have her Dad back, and none of us will hold that against her. Or you.”

 “A lot has changed.” 

 “Everything. Everything has changed. Because of her. Because of what she and Ezran and Callum did. So live up to it.”

 “I will try.” 

 “Good.” Soren said, and the silence that followed was more comfortable this time. The truth of that night would always linger over them all, but maybe there was a light in the darkness as well. Rayla had her Dad back. 

 At least one of them should.

[oval3000]

Oneshot!

Yandere Simon Riley x reader (Soap's younger sister)

(Pretend that you guys are adopted or something idk. Also the Canon story with Makarov will be different - he's dead)

Warning: Toxic behavior, light (Forced) Smut, Assault, Curse, very toxic. Yandere, Violence. Slight yandere platonic Soap.

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

When Johnny's parents told him that he's going to have a baby sister at the age of 13, he was shocked and didn't expect it. At first, he wasn't really thrilled since the age gap was really big. His father will tell him that he'll have to protect you and love you like an older brother should do.

When they brought you home, he immediately realized the things his father had said. The feeling of not caring for you changed. He loves you. He would drop you off and pick you from school whenever he had the chance. He would take care off you when his parents go out on their date.

He would help you with your homework, even if he didn't understand it well. He would show up to all of your school events. He would give you pep talks whenever you needed it.

He got full custody of you, when his parents passed away.

When he joined the military, you were worried about him, but he assured you that everything was going to be okay. You would send him letters and he would reply, which caught Simon's attention.

He was able to get a safe house, after his encounter with Makarov to keep you safe. The only one that knows about it is Price, Gaz, and...Simon.

When they were stranded and needed to get shelter, Soap brought them to you. You met them...you met Simon. Simon couldn't help but to stare at you. You could feel his eyes on you and it didn't feel good. It felt like you were about to get eaten alive.

You never really had good luck with boys since Johnny would scare them away. So the feeling of a men staring you, made you feel a little uncomfortable.

Afterwards, Johnny told you that everything was going to be fine since they took down Makarov, you were happy that Johnny was no longer in danger.

He was happy that he can come home to you. He wouldn't know what to do if something bad happened to you.

So you can imagine his rage when he comes home and you're gone.

He didn't waste anytime to call Price and everyone, telling them that you are gone. They went to check the house and saw broken vases and picture frames on the floor. It wasn't rocket science to know that you have been kidnapped.

Johnny expressed his anger and concern to Simon, who he reassured Johnny that everything is going to be okay. They all tried to track you down. Visiting possible locations where you could be only to storm inside empty, abandoned, places.

Johnny couldn't sleep or think of anything else except to get you back. Each night when he tried to get some rest, all he can think is the moment his father told him to take care of you and failed.

The team told him to take it easy or else he would hit the breaking point of his own health. Price ordered him to take time off while they worked on finding you.

Simon would come and visit Johnny to check how he's doing. "What if she's gone forever, Simon? What would I do with myself if I never get to see her again?"

Simon looked at him with pity, "don't worry, Johnny. We'll find her."

After checking on Johnny and helping the team on finding you, he would go home to his safehouse. He would place his bag on the couch and take off his mask and jacket.

He would walk to kitchen and open the door, turning on the lights. He would walk down on the creaky, woodfloor, staircase. He would stand there, Infront of the twin bed centered on the back wall of the basement.

He would stare at you.

Chained up that is hooked to the bed headboard. You sat up seeing him there. The man that took you from your home and locked you down in his basement. "Please don't hurt me."

"Love, I'll do whatever the fuck I want with you." He took off his shirt, showing his toned muscles. He climbed on the bed, having you to back away as much as the bed headboard allows you to. "Be a good girl and spread those beautiful legs of yours."

He gripped on your waist, thrusting his hip into you. You felt his cock drilling you so hard and deep you held on to the chain links that is connected to the metal cuffs on your wrist.

You hated it. He loved it. He loved the way you squirm under his tough body structure." Ah..Yes! Be a good girl for me, love!" His grunts and moans will take over your ears aswell as the sound the bed creaking and the sound of wet skin slapping eachother.

He would flip you over, pushing his your head down into the mattress and lift your ass in the air, thrusting even harder. "You're fucking mine." He pulled your hair back, forcing you to arch your back. "All mine."

He would cum deep into your womb. He would get up and leave you there, naked. You would bury your head into the bedsheets and sob quietly. He hated to hear you cry. He really hated it. "Shut up! I'm doing this because you don't listen to me!" He clasp your cheeks with his hand. "You're gonna learn, yeah," he pulled down his pants and shoved his cock in your mouth.

You were forced to swallow his cum.

You have no idea how long you've been in his basement. You don't know if Johnny is out there looking for you. When you tell Simon about it, he would take off his belt and fuck you till you pass out.

At first, you were his sex toy. He'll come home to you and drill you in till you could see the stars and leave you naked alone in the dark.

However, lately, he would lay in bed with you. He would caress your body as you lays on his bare chest.

He would unhook the metal cuffs from your wrist and carry you, bridal style, upstairs to bathe you. He would come home with flowers and teddy bears for you. On your birthday, he would bring a piece of cake with a lit candle on it.

You couldn't tell if you have lost your mind or just accepted your fate, but you wanted him. You want Simon. You want his attention, his love, his affection to you.

When he comes home to fuck you, you felt pleasure than pain. "Mhm...yes! Ah!ah! Harder Sir!"

"Love it when you call me that, love." He huffed, burying his head on the side of your neck, moving his hips back and forth. The sound of the bed creaking so uncontrollable. "You're so...ah!...s-so fucking beautiful."

Although, his demeanor never changed. "How many times do I have to tell you!? You're not leaving this room!"

"I want out of these chains, Simon!" You plead to him, holding out your chained wrist.

He lowered his head to you, "No! And if I were you, I would drop it."

That's how it was for who knows how long you've been tied up in his basement.

You weren't the only one loosing their minds. Johnny, running around trying to found you.

However, his focus came to Simon. How? Because he visited you.

Johnny went to visit Simon, to talk to him, about you. He thought he had some lead on to where you are. When Simon was looking as to where he thought you might be, Johnny wanted to get a drink.

Johnny is no stranger to Simon. He knows where Simon keeps the drinks. So when Johnny touched the basement door, it snapped Simon.

Johnny brushed it off. But not having you in his arms, he would honestly put the blame on a mail man that he met once. So it wasn't out of character for him to honestly question his own teammates. Afterall, they all knew where you were. They knew where the safehouse was. So how bizzare would it be to accuse his friend of possibly taking you.

He would spend weeks, just studying on his mates and all the possible scenarios lead up to Simon. It wasn't really that out of place, Simon became a bit sloppy. His energy of founding in the beginning, shifted. When Johnny would want to go to his house and go to the basement to get some drinks, Simon wouldn't allow him.

So when Simon opened his door and saw Johnny there, he felt the nerves rising. "Hey, Lt. Sorry to just drop by like this. I just wanted to take break and being in the house without her makes it hell."

"No problem, Johnny." He moved outside to let him in. He felt his throat to dry up a bit. Johnny has been visiting him a lot these past few weeks and it was unusual.

They both began to talk and drink. Simon excused himself to use the restroom. Johnny didn't waste time to go to that basement. He opened the door and slowly walked down to not create loud creaking. He reached the bottom floor and saw the bed and you on top.

You were laying down on your side. When you heard the sounds of steps, you thought it was, "Simon?" You peaked up and saw your brother standing there.

It's been so long that you've seen him, so him being there made you cry out. "Johnny!?"

He stood there frozen. He wished there was nothing here. He wished he wrong. He wished that it wasn't Simon. He wished that it wasn't someone he had trusted. "(Y/n)?"

You are so happy to see you. So happy that you couldn't see Simon creeping up on Johnny. "Simon! Please don't!" Simon knocked Johnny out cold.

You plead and plead Simon to let Johnny go. He tied him up. When Johnny woke up, he felt his arms on his back. He went on his knees and saw Simon standing near you. "You..you fucking bastard. I trusted you. You're supposed to be my friend."

"I only did what was the best for us." Simon went to Johnny. Crouched down infront of him. "You left me with no choice. You're overprotective of her, I knew this was the only option."

"The only option! You bastard! She's my sister and you took her away from me. I would never have someone like you to end up with her." His anger with his harsh down tone words made Simon take a deep breath.

"I know. So you kinda left me with no other choice." He pulled out a gun and pointed it to his head.

"NO! PLEASE! Please! Don't do this, Simon!" You cried for him to stop. "Please! I'll do anything you want! Just please don't kill him! Please.

"Sweetheart, you don't make the choice here." He held the gun tight, almost hesitant to pull the trigger.

"I love you, Simon! I love you. I'll be with you! Please don't kill him! We'll both forget about this, right Johnny!?" Johnny looked at you from the side and gave a small nod. "Let him live and I'll be with you. I'll do whatever you want me to do. I'll listen to you,I swear!"

"If I lower my gun, will you attack me?" Simon said to Johnny. You gave Johnny head shooks to tell him not to do something stupid. Johnny wanted to kill him, he does. But he knows the outcome if this. If he does die, then you'll be with Simon. If he does attack Simon, then he'll have to kill his friend.

How he wished he was wrong about this.

"I won't attack you. If you let me go, I won't tell anyone about this. As long as I get to see her still, I promise I won't interfere with anything else. Just let her go off those chains." His voice toned down a bit in a more calming manner.

Simon lowered his gun and turned his head towards you. "You love me?"

Your eyes widen with fear as to what Simon is going to do. "Yes. Yes, I love you!"

He ran to you, cupping your face with his hands, "You love me, sweetheart? I love you too. We'll get married and gave kids together yeah."

"Yes. But don't hurt Johnny. Ou-our kids will want their uncle." You smiled at him trying to hide your fear.

"I won't. I love you so much."

The words stick through. Johnny told Price that you were found and that some punks kidnapped for you 'their fun' it took a couple of months for people to find out about you and Simon.

The wedding was beautiful to him. The honeymoon was magical to him. And the announcement of your pregnancy was amazing to him

Johnny watched you, his little sister. Being trapped in a marriage with Simon.

As for you, you couldn't quite think of anything. It was all Simon. He knows what's best for you.

So you should trust him and love him.

Right?

[wambsgansshoelaces]

happy valentine’s day <3

valentine’s (succession main cast)

Kendall

ᝰ you wake up in the morning and the apartment is decked OUT

ᝰ rose petals, roses, streamers

ᝰ you didn’t know he knew what streamers were

ᝰ you wander out into the living room, and he’s sat on the couch, also still in his pajamas

ᝰ “kendall, what’s all this?”

ᝰ “it’s for you.”

ᝰ he gets up to meet you where you are and hoists you up and spins you both around

ᝰ he puts you down, your hands braced on his chest

ᝰ “because you deserve the world,” he murmurs

ᝰ he gives you a kiss

ᝰ “happy valentine’s day,” he tells you, stupid grin spread on his face

ᝰ you pepper his face in kisses, turning him pink

ᝰ “i have something for you,” you say

ᝰ “you do?”

ᝰ “of course i do.”

ᝰ you’ve been saving up for a bit

ᝰ and you know ken’s had his eye on this watch

ᝰ so you decided ‘fuck it’

ᝰ and you got it for him

ᝰ when he sees it, he just stares at you

ᝰ love clouding his eyes

ᝰ he can’t believe you’re his

ᝰ and he thinks he’s so lucky

ᝰ he sets the watch delicately down on the counter

ᝰ then kisses you so hard that you see stars

Roman

ᝰ wakes you up with a bunch of little kisses

ᝰ “hey, sleepyhead. i need you up.”

ᝰ you blink the grogginess away, him still dotting kisses over your cheeks and jaw

ᝰ “we have a reservation, babe, come on,” he whines

ᝰ “a reservation, ro?”

ᝰ “yes, now get up, pretty please.”

ᝰ he gets dressed up nice, crisp dress shirt and dress pants

ᝰ when you meet him at the door, he presents you with a bouquet of your favorite flower

ᝰ they’re already prepped for a vase

ᝰ he already has one with water and nutrients

ᝰ after you drop the flowers into the vase, he takes one, clips it, and tucks it behind your ear

ᝰ arm in arm, he takes you to a nearby breakfast place

ᝰ the fancy kind

ᝰ you have a table already set for the two of you in a private area

ᝰ you both giggle over breakfast

ᝰ you can both talk for hours on hours on hours

ᝰ but you can’t stay that long

ᝰ because roman tells you he has a trip planned for the two of you

ᝰ to cabo

ᝰ and that you need to get to the airport

ᝰ on the plane, before he takes a nap, you make sure to give him a nice, long, kiss

Shiv

ᝰ flowers are on your desk when you walk in

ᝰ and a massive box of chocolates

ᝰand a long love letter

ᝰ she tells you how much she loves you

ᝰ that she’s very excited to see you after work

ᝰ that she’ll meet you in the lobby of your office building

ᝰ you’re smiling giddily to yourself

ᝰ and you pop chocolate after chocolate into your mouth happily

ᝰ after work, she doesn’t meet you in the lobby

ᝰ she shows up at your desk

ᝰ “babe, hi,” she says, giddy

ᝰ she comes over and kisses you hello

ᝰ “thank you for all this. i have something for you, you know,” you tell her

ᝰ she can’t pull away from your lips

ᝰ she kisses you again, and again, and again

ᝰ “shiv, shiv.”

ᝰ you pull her into your lap and you take something out of a desk drawer

ᝰ you thumb it open, and she half-gasps

ᝰ you’d managed to snag her a one-of-a-kind, simple necklace

ᝰ the only ornament being a diamond heart

ᝰ you help her put it on, the chain sitting nicely on her clavicle

ᝰ she’s grinning uncontrollably

ᝰ and kissing you even more so uncontrollably

ᝰ she never ever takes it off

Tom

ᝰ mr. dreamboat romantic

ᝰ at least he hopes so

ᝰ shitting his pants waiting for you to come home

ᝰ you open the door and call out a hello to him before you realize

ᝰ the lights are dimmed, candlelight reflecting off the walls and ceilings

ᝰ rose petals are scattered in a path leading you to the living room

ᝰ you walk slowly along the path

ᝰ to him

ᝰ he’s kind of just standing there

ᝰ and you can tell he’s bricking it

ᝰ he reaches for your hands and pulls you close

ᝰ “hi,” he says, voice immediately cracking

ᝰ “i missed you,” you manage

ᝰ “yeah, i missed you too,” he murmurs back, “so much.”

ᝰ for a moment, he doesn’t say anything

ᝰ but then he continues

ᝰ “i love you very much,” he begins, “and we’ve talked about how we both want to get married, and i can’t imagine a life without you anymore, and i’m just so… so in love with you, and i… oh, i’m rambling.”

ᝰ his hands trail down your sides, your hips, as he gets down on one knee

ᝰ he reaches into his blazer and pulls out a small velvet box

ᝰ you have talked about getting married

ᝰ and you know he’s the one for you

ᝰ and of course he’s proposing on valentine’s day

ᝰ and of course you say yes

ᝰ you meet him on the floor, your lips crashing onto his

ᝰ his grip tightens on the small of your back

ᝰ he’ll never let go of you

Greg

ᝰ he’s relatively new to all of this relationship stuff

ᝰ up until this year, he’d never had anyone to share today with

ᝰ so he’s nervous and confused

ᝰ but honestly he’s always nervous and confused

ᝰ he comes home from work, bouquet in hand

ᝰ they’re your favorite flower, and color

ᝰ and rather than chocolate, he has cake

ᝰ “aw, greg.”

ᝰ “uh, i couldn’t find those, like, heart-shaped chocolate boxes… but i found hear shaped cake.”

ᝰ you laugh

ᝰ but you don’t really mind

ᝰ “um, i made sure to get your favorite flavor,” he says quietly.

ᝰ “i know it’s not much, but it’s what i could find-”

ᝰ you cut him off with a kiss

ᝰ “greg. i’m just happy you did something.”

ᝰ he thinks is heart is trying to escape his chest

ᝰ “i actually have something for you, too,” you tell him

ᝰ “but i dunno,” you continue, “maybe you’ll think it’s weird.”

ᝰ you hand him a small cloth pouch

ᝰ he takes out the pura vida bracelet you’d had made for him

ᝰ with the both of your initials on beads laced onto it

ᝰ “oh, god. you got this for me?”

ᝰ he honestly sounds like he’s going to have a panic attack

ᝰ nobody’s ever done anything like this before

ᝰ he pulls you into a tight hug

ᝰ you spend of the night cuddling on the couch, eating cake

ᝰ his suit and new bracelet are what he leaves the house in the next morning

Stewy

ᝰ extravagant king

ᝰ somehow manages to get you a day off

ᝰ and on valentine’s day, you and him are hand in hand on a pier

ᝰ he’s dressed nicely, so are you

ᝰ before you know it, you’re on a mini yacht, just you and him

ᝰ and the essential workers but they aren’t the point

ᝰ he showers you in gifts

ᝰ chocolate, jewelry you’ve been wanting, even a little stuffed bear

ᝰ you have lunch together on the deck, talking and laughing

ᝰ you play footsie under the table

ᝰ he looks at you as if you’re the only thing he can see

ᝰ and really, you are

ᝰ you both sit in the open-air living area, curled together

ᝰ his fingers rake through your hair, your head on his shoulder

ᝰ his breathing is deep, steady

ᝰ “you know,” he says, “i wouldn’t really mind if this was all we did for the rest of our lives.”

ᝰ you kiss at his shoulder, staring out at the water

ᝰ “i wouldn’t mind that, either.”

ᝰ “so… you think i’m it for you?” he asks quietly

ᝰ sometimes he thinks you could do so much better

ᝰ but never vocalizes it

ᝰ because he has to be confident

ᝰ he has to come off strong

ᝰ “i think you’re the one,” you confirm

ᝰ “you’re everything to me, you know that?” you ask

ᝰ and that’s all he needs to hear

ᝰ he pulls you even closer to him, somehow

ᝰ he kisses all over your face

ᝰ “good. because you’re it for me.”

[bethelighthalazia]

Gone too far

Summary:  What if San notices his sasaengs in the crowd near you at Coachella and suddenly you are nowhere to be seen anymore?

Genre: angst, hurt/NO comfort

Pairing: bf!San X fem!reader

Additional Characters: ATEEZ - members

Word Count:  1601

Warnings: kidnapping, sasaengs, death threats, reader getting hurt, blood, panicked San, angry San, angry ateez, possibly weapons mentioned, major character death

networks: @mirohs-aurora-society

notes: I apologize in advance for any tears and heartbreaks <3

other links: n/a

© by bethelighthalazia. Do not repost, copy or translate. Unless stated otherwise, those works are mine and born from my own ideas. I don't have any claim on the mentioned real existing Idols whatsoever.

Only a week ago, San had introduced you to ATINY as his girlfriend after a bit over a year of dating now. None of the boys would have thought that this would start a chain of actions that end up with what happened today and the following days.

It's the soundcheck for Coachella. You were settled near the stage, watching and cheering for San and the boys, while they made sure that their big performance would go perfectly fine. You knew that they're nervous, but you always believed in them. Every now and then, San glanced over to you, just like the other seven boys do, they all grew close to you, since you made San happy. 

Unbeknownst to you, there had been some of San's fans, mainly one specific sasaeng and her friends, but San had spotted them already. He had looked worried, but you thought it would only be because he's nervous about the performance, after all, they're the first korean boy group to perform here. This thought is quickly discarded when you feel something pointy being held against your side, a hand quickly wrapped around your face to cover your mouth while you're dragged into a little crowd, out of San's view.

You could hear his voice falter through the microphone, him whispering your name first before shouting it, the panic in his voice evident. Hushed voices told you to stay quiet while you were dragged away, the sharp object by now cutting into your flesh, since you only wore one of San's crop tops he brought with him. The last thing you heard before someone knocked you out, was San's broken voice calling your name again and again, followed by the sound of his microphone dropping and some faint sobs.

— San pov —

“Where is she?” Hongjoong asked, he's fuming with anger and his voice merely an angry hiss. After San broke down on stage during the sound check, they had looked everywhere, but no one had seen y/n anywhere. Now, San was sitting on the sofa, Wooyoung trying to console him while San's eyes seemed void of any life. His hyungs were discussing the search with the bodyguards and managers, but they haven't found any lead to you yet.

While Wooyoung quietly talked to San, the door to the backstage room burst open and Jongho arrived with Yeosang, some paper in his hands. “Hyung! We found this at the spot where y/nnie was watching us from…” The maknae said quietly, handing the paper to Hongjoong. It was a collection of cut out letters, blood splatters on it. The letter said that San should forget you, or the blood wouldn't be the only thing you'd lose. With a quick glance at San, Hongjoong clenched his fists, feeling angry, but also helpless. What if these people truly hurt you? What if searching for a way to get you back to his younger member would endanger your life?

“Hyung…what's that?” San's croaked voice rang through the room, his eyes focused on the paper in Hongjoong's hand. The older one already wants to put it into his pockets, yet San was quicker, snatching the paper from the captain's hand, Wooyoung and Jongho trying to stop him but failing. When San finally reads the letter, he feels tears clouding his vision, squeezing them shut to try and refocus his eyes on the cut out letters. It doesn't take too long and his legs give out under him, causing San to drop on his knees, his breath shallow and his heart feeling as if an icy hand grips around it. “It- this…this can be a coincidence…right? We don- don´t know if this really is-” He stutters, hyperventilating while speaking. Wooyoung quickly gets down next to his best friend, trying to calm him down, but it doesn't help at all. The final blow is Jongho, who holds out his hand and then opens it, your necklace, a locket with a photo of you and san inside, dangling from his fingers, the silver of the chain and pendant covered in a crimson red.

San ́s eyes widen at this sight, frozen in shock for a few moments before he just falls against Wooyoung´s chest, sobbing uncontrollably and muttering out your name between the sobs. Hongjoong watches this for a few more moments, thinking about a solution. The letter said not to include police, but it did not say anything about getting help in other ways. The captain and Seonghwa exchange a short glance before Seonghwa gets out his phone to start a livestream from backstage, Hongjoong speaking, while the eldest makes sure to get San into the view of the camera as well.

“Hello Atiny. We know our stage should begin in a few hours, but we felt the need to come live to ask you for help. As you guys can see, San is devastated, and not only him, but all of us. Y/n, San´s girlfriend has vanished and we know that she had been taken by someone. They have sent a letter, telling San to not think about her, but his fans,” Hongjoong says calmly, but his voice is shaky as he holds up the letter they got, followed by a picture of San and you. “If any of you have seen her in the last hour, please let us or our staff know, so we can get our y/n back.”

Most comments were useless, only talking about how unfair it is that you got to be his girl, not even showing concern for you at all. However, one comment got Seonghwa´s attention, his eyes wide. ‘I saw her with friends, she seemed passed out drunk tho’. He immediately sent a private message to the person through the group´s account, asking if they could explain more. The commenter explained that you seemed somewhat out of it, one of your assumed friends holding you up but when they had asked the group if they needed help, the friends seemed to have run away. Seonghwa tried to get some more answers from the commenter, but they couldn't tell him much more. A knock on the door did pull the attention away from Seonghwa´s phone and towards the door. 

Hongjoong was the one who answered the door, everyone holding their breath when they stared into the face of San ́s manager who only shook their head. “What-” The captain asked, but got cut by the manager´s words. “They´ve found her…But i don't think you should go.” He says quietly, but it's loud enough that all the boys look at him now. San tries to get up and walk towards the door, but wooyoung is quick to catch him, because his legs just give up halfway when a police officer appears behind the manager. “We need one of you to confirm that it's her.” The officer said and with a quick nod, Yunho already walked up, gesturing to the others to take care of San. Exchanging looks, the members nod, but then Wooyoung looks up at the others and waves Seonghwa over to take over holding San, so he could accompany Yunho.

The walk to where they found you felt like hours for them, neither Yunho, nor Wooyoung talking the whole time, both lost in their own thoughts. When the police officer stops, he looks at both with a concerned look, frowning. “It's not a very nice sight. But we need to know if it's her. Please step away if the sight makes you nauseous.” He says, then leads the two men to the spot they found you.

You laid there, your empty eyes staring up to the sky, at least the one that's not covered by the blood coming from a big hole that was smashed into your temple. Wooyoung grabs Yunho´s arm tightly to hold himself up at the sight, Yunho only nods and then has to avert his gaze, looking away from your destroyed body. “It- It´s y/n…” Wooyoung mumbles before stumbling away from the scene, barely holding onto his hyung before crouching down to empty his stomach outside of the police barricades. Yunho just supports his younger member before they both slowly make their way back to the backstage area where they had left San with the others, but they freeze in their tracks when they hear the blood curdling scream from the spot where the police had found your body. 

Somehow, San had convinced the others to bring him here and before anyone could manage to hold him back, he had fought his way through and stumbled through the barricades. Now, he's just kneeling there, staring at your body that quickly gets covered with a white sheet, which turns red fast. His head dropped forwards on his chest, his eyes looking empty, as if all life had drained from them. Yunho and Seonghwa hurried to grab him, pulling him up and away from the scene by his upper body and San doesn't even resist, his legs dragging over the grass. The only sounds that can be heard from San are whispered words, or rather, one word; repeating your name over and over. Without hesitation, Hongjoong cancels the second Coachella performance and all concerts and anything for the next few months, even making a video statement that because of what happened, they won't be doing any live performances or anything for the time being. Then, he returns to taking care of his members, tears in his eyes because you were loved by all of them, they all were grateful for the love you gave San all the time.

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