#what if you were crafted by hand to be devoid of thought or emotion

[writingangst]

Friendly Fire

Summary: The aftermath of Simon Riley's paranoia has left the reader with an inner battle of holding onto her anger or making room for forgiveness.

Simon Ghost Riley x Reader

Warnings: mentions of violence and torture, angst, cursing, hurt/no comfort.

Words: 1.3K

Part One

I wasn't planning on posting on this account except for that one off, but since a lot of people liked it, I'm down to give you guys more angst. So, enjoy. (Also, if you want to request anything be sure to message me.)

Whispers and lingering stares were a part of your day to day since you and Ghost got back from the extraction mission. The barracks were filled with theories, the team making assumptions to make sense of the bruising you wore like a collar around your neck. As if you were some damn dog, beaten into submission. You hated every second of being on display and serving as a symbol of what they thought had to have been insubordination.

She must’ve mouthed off to the Lieutenant.

Poor girl was probably put in her place. 

Because Simon Ghost Riley couldn’t do any wrong. Surely the woman must’ve misbehaved to deserve being put in a life-or-death situation by someone she trusted. You couldn’t calm the anger that stubbornly sat in your chest. You wanted to scream. You wanted him in the same position you were in. You wanted the fucking bruising to go away so everyone could stop talking about it, reducing you into a fucking victim.

You were a Goddamn soldier.

Ghost on the other hand had been quiet. Even more so than usual. You would catch his eyes roaming the patches of dark purple and blue he painted on your skin from time to time, turning away when he noticed you looking back at him, your expression stoic. You could sense the tension. The regret. The nasty gut feeling assumed to be guilt swallowing him whole. 

He’d never felt that way before.

It wasn’t a part of your lives. You got jobs done that would make any normal person weep for years. Trauma so consuming, veteran suicide rates were in increase and violent crimes committed by them going up as well. You had no room for guilt or regret. You were machines. It was in the job description, under the fine print. There wasn’t an option to dwell on things, it was either keep pushing or people could die in your line of work. 

Yet Ghost was stuck on that feeling.

And it was becoming harder to ignore. You saw the way his fingers twitched when you flinched from any sudden movement. The quietness that overtook the space when you stepped into any room he was in, like everything suddenly became too heavy to bear. You wanted to laugh from the bitterness of it all. This was the same man that had threatened your life. And for once, it seemed like the monster that made him who he was couldn’t hide behind the skull mask.

You couldn't decide which one was worse though. The silence or the moments you caught him struggling with himself and what he did. But the worst part. The thing that kept you up at night, tossing and turning in a bed that felt more like a grave… Was that you had started feeling sorry for him. For the way his dark eyes would catch yours when you least expected it, as if they were silently begging for forgiveness you didn’t know if you could offer him.

Maybe that was the worst part. There being a chance to be able to forgive, but never forget. Missing his touch and dreading it all the same. The way he tainted something both of you needed. Severing a conection both physical and emotional. Needing him and hating him. It was the same fight within yourself and it made you angry, until you began yearning again. Your own personal hell, a cage he viciously hand crafted to fit you.

I hate you, Ghost. 

It was a mantra. Maybe soon you would start to believe it.

But as night fell on the fourth night, the repetition wouldn’t preserve your sanity. The common area was eerily quiet, devoid of any operative in your wing. The faint hum of the overhead light was the only sound as you sat on the worn couch, eyes scanning the documents in your hands. They were sending you out again. A covert operation. Then, the bitter taste of reality hit you again as you saw his name typed out on the call sheet under personnel.

I hate you.

“I’m sorry.”

You jumped instictivley at the sound of his voice, your head jerking in his direction, slightly to your left, standing within the door frame. His words were clumsy, raw, but there was hesitation in his tone. Like he was scared. Scared of what he did, scared of what you thought of him now. The silence between you both stretched like a taut wire, brittle and poised to snap.

For a fleeting moment, something in your chest softened—a crack in the icy wall you’d built between the both of you. But it was brief. So brief. The softness evaporated almost as quickly as it came, replaced by the old familiar coil of tension in your gut. You straightened, pulling your walls back up.

“So, he speaks.”

“I didn’t want to push you,” he said, his gruff accent thick with something unspoken—uncertainty, regret? You weren’t sure anymore.

You laughed bitterly. “But choking me out is fine.”

Your words were sharp and unforgiving. A hard accusation that was meant to hit him in the chest. The tension was unbearable now, like the moment might snap any second. He didn’t move though, didn’t back down. But you saw it—his jaw tightening, his fists clenching at his sides, the way his eyes flickered to the ground. The frustration was there, the guilt too, but he couldn’t seem to find the words. He was struggling, you could see it.

He hesitated. “I fucked up.”

Raw. Unpolished.

But you weren’t so forgiving.

“You think?” You spat back, your voice filled with sarcasm, every word laced with the bitterness you couldn’t shake.

He cleared his throat. “I don’t want to excuse any of it. I was a paranoid motherfucker and I hurt you. I’m sorry.”

His words landed heavier than you expected. You almost wanted to let you anger slip. To take the edge off, to relax into the moment, maybe even believe him. But you couldn’t. You’d betrayed yourself by awarding him with your forgiveness. Your nostrils flared at the turmoil you felt in your chest, your fingers digging into the documents in your hands with a fierce grip as you attempted to counterfocus the tightness.

“I don’t know what to do to make this right,” he confessed, knowing his words weren’t right. And they never could be. They didn’t carry the weight of what he had done. “I rarely ever apologize. If ever.”

You scoffed, shaking your head. “So that should make me feel special?”

“Hardly,” he stated, wincing at your sarcasm, the impact of your words sinking into him like a punch. “I’ve made an even bigger mess of this. I can’t fix it. I know I can’t. I just—” 

—miss you.

You could almost hear it in the rawness of his voice, in the way he faltered. The silence was heavier with the words he didn’t dare utter hanging there. And that just made the anger swell in your chest. The more he held back, the more it stung, the more it fed your fury. The air felt thick around you. Heavy. Your breath shallow, your chest tight, and every beat of your pulse was a reminder of everything he had done. Everything he hadn’t done.

“Yeah?” You locked your gaze with him, the intensity in your eyes unflinching, your voice colder than you thought you could manage. It was steady, but laced with an undeniable edge. “Well, I fucking hate you, Ghost.”

The words slipped out, more venomous than you intended, but they felt good to say. They felt earned. You could see it in his eyes—the flicker of hurt, the way his shoulders slumped a fraction, as though your words physically struck him. But he didn’t say anything. Didn’t try to defend himself. He couldn’t. Not anymore.

The silence stretched, thick and unbearable, but it was better than what had come before. At least now there was nothing left to say.

Nothing left to break.

[mediocre-shark-tales]

The Path to Reconciliation

Doohan Sister Reader F1 Driver Reader Cadillac Formula 1 Reader

My heart stopped. The anger, the confusion, the hurt—everything evaporated like a puddle on a hot day. Just two seconds ago, she had been yelling at me, arguing, standing her ground. And now—

Now, she had collapsed, her body dropping like a lifeless doll into Lando’s arms. Her limbs slack, her face fogged with exhaustion and something worse. Something I didn’t want to name.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.

The world around me spun as the others rushed in, their frantic voices blending into the chaotic storm of my thoughts. They carried her to the bed, Oscar barking orders, Lando shaking as he fumbled for his phone. The medics arrived, pushing past me, their muffled yelling beating against my ears like waves crashing in a storm. Yet I stood there. Frozen. Rooted to the spot where she left me.

My sister. My baby sister. The person I had known my entire life, yet suddenly, I realized—I didn’t know her at all.

A firm grip landed on my shoulders, pulling me back, guiding me out of the room. The door shut behind me with a soft click, and I turned, meeting the calm but unreadable eyes of Nico Rosberg.

“We need to sit down and chat,” he said, his voice as steady as ever. Next to him, Oscar nodded, his usual patience tinged with something more serious.

I swallowed hard, my head spinning, but I nodded and followed them down the hall.

Minutes later, I found myself in an empty meeting room. The air felt thick, pressing down on me as I dropped into a chair. Oscar quietly locked the door before taking a seat across from me, while Nico remained standing, his eyes studying me. Calculating.

“I need to ask you something,” he said finally, his voice devoid of any emotion. “And I need an honest answer.”

I clenched my jaw, bracing myself. “What?”

“Can we trust you to keep this a secret?” His gaze pinned me in place. “You can talk to her, and to those who already know, but you cannot tell anyone else. Not even your parents.”

My stomach twisted.

“Why has she kept this from us? Why couldn’t she tell me?” The anger started to creep back in, the hurt simmering beneath my skin.

Nico sighed. “I can explain what I know, but only if you swear to keep her secret.”

I rolled my eyes. “Fine. I’ll even sign a document if that’s what it takes.”

Nico smirked faintly. “Perfect.” He pulled a slip of paper from his pocket, scribbled something down, and handed it to me along with a pen.

I barely glanced at the words before signing. My hands were shaking, but I didn’t care. I needed answers.

As soon as I handed the paper back, Nico tucked it away and exhaled, his posture relaxing just slightly.

“I’ve only been her official manager for this season, but I’ve been helping her behind the scenes for much longer—thanks to your uncle.” He paused, letting the words settle before continuing. “From what he told me, and from what she’s told me herself, your sister started racing when she was old enough to compete—just like you. She looked up to you. Wanted to be just like you. But your parents…” He shook his head. “They weren’t happy with her choice. So they convinced her to quit the sport she loved.”

I sat still, the weight of his words pressing against my chest.

“She was only twelve,” Nico continued. “And in that season she was forced to sit out, she fell into a deep depression. Your parents… they didn’t just discourage her. They controlled her. Moulded her into what they believed she should be. It was your uncle who saw her for who she truly was. He gave her a way out.”

My heart started to crack.

“For years, he helped her race in secret. Using a nickname. Crafting excuses to get her away from your parents. She climbed through the ranks—Formula 3, IndyCar, and now, here. She always wanted to tell you. But in the beginning, she was doing better than you. And she didn’t want to take away from your achievements. Didn’t want you to feel overshadowed.”

The words hit like a slap to the face.

“But as time went on, that changed,” Nico added. “She saw how much you trusted your parents. And she knew—if she told you, she was risking everything. She was afraid you’d tell them. That you’d betray her without meaning to.”

I felt sick. My mind reeled with the weight of everything I had just learned.

Then Nico’s phone buzzed, cutting through the silence. He checked the screen, his expression darkening. “They’re transporting her to the hospital.”

He turned and left without another word.

I barely noticed.

Oscar locked the door behind him and sat back down across from me, his eyes softer now.

“This is a lot,” I muttered, resting my elbows on the table and rubbing my face.

“Yeah,” Oscar said simply. “I get it.”

I let out a humorless laugh. “We used to be so close. Did she really think I’d hate her for being better than me? That I’d sell her out?”

Oscar’s expression hardened. “That’s what you’re stuck on?”

I frowned. “What do you mean?”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “I forgot how brainwashed your parents made you.”

I scoffed. “I’m not brainwashed.”

Oscar leaned forward, his eyes burning into mine. “Really? Then tell me this—do you think it’s normal for parents to groom their daughter from the age of twelve to be the perfect wife for a rich or powerful man? To have a list of potential suitors ready the moment she turned eighteen? Some of them twice her age?”

My breath hitched.

Oscar kept going. “Do you think it’s normal to strip a kid of everything they love, force them into a mold, and make them feel like they’re less than human?”

I couldn’t answer. I didn’t want to.

But in the silence, the realization came crashing down.

I had been blind.

Blind to what she’d gone through. Blind to how twisted our parents really were. Blind to the fact that she hadn’t just been keeping a secret—she had been surviving.

Oscar stood, pushing his chair back. “I’m not going to say anything else. This is her story. When she’s ready, she’ll tell you the rest. But until then?”

He met my gaze, his expression unreadable.

“Think about it.”

Then he walked out, leaving me alone in the silence, lost in the wreckage of everything I thought I knew.

—

Barely three days had passed since finding out about her, and every second I could, I spent it reliving our childhood. Thinking of every time she might have tried to reach out to me and I was too lost in my own life to realize. The memories came in waves, each one pulling me under with the weight of my own blindness.

The first one came in sharp and clear—the day she was supposed to start karting for her second season. She had been so excited, bouncing on her toes as we stood in the garage. Her small hands clutched the edges of her suit, eyes wide with the kind of wonder only a kid with a dream could have. I remember feeling proud of her, excited that she wanted to follow in my footsteps. But then, our parents had stepped in.

"You really think this is a good idea?" Mom had sighed, giving Dad a look. "Racing isn't exactly... ladylike."

"She should be focusing on things that will actually help her future," Dad had added. "Not wasting time pretending to be her brother."

I laughed then. Not cruelly, but without realizing how those words might have felt to her. I shrugged and said, "Maybe they're right. Racing’s pretty intense, and you never really showed interest before."

I remember how her face fell, just for a second, before she plastered on a fake smile and nodded. "Yeah... maybe it's not for me."

But it had been for her. It had always been for her.

The second memory hit even harder. A couple of years later, she had pulled me aside in the hallway, her fingers twisting in the hem of her dress.

"Jack," she had whispered urgently, "do you ever feel like they love you more? Like... no matter what I do, it’s never enough?"

I scoffed, ruffling her hair. "Don’t be stupid. They love us both. Maybe you’re just overthinking it."

The way her shoulders had slumped, the way her lips had pressed together like she was trying not to cry—I should have seen it then. I should have known that it wasn’t just sibling jealousy, but something deeper. Something breaking inside of her that I refused to acknowledge.

The third memory wasn’t as direct, but now it stood out like a flashing neon sign. A family dinner, one of the rare occasions when we were all home. Dad had spent the entire evening talking about my racing, my progress, my potential.

"Jack is going to do great things," he had said, pride thick in his voice. "I have no doubt."

She had been sitting across from me, her plate barely touched. At one point, she had opened her mouth like she wanted to say something, but Mom had cut her off with a simple look. And just like that, she had shrunk back into herself. Not one person had asked about her dreams, her passions. It was as if she didn’t exist beyond being ‘Jack’s little sister.’ And I had let it happen.

And then, the worst one. The night before she left. I hadn’t known it at the time, but looking back, it was so obvious. She had come into my room, standing awkwardly at the door like she wasn’t sure if she was allowed.

"I think I’m going to do something crazy," she had said, her voice light, but her eyes serious. "And I just need to know that you’ll still be my brother no matter what."

I laughed, scrolling through my phone. "What, are you eloping or something?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "Forget it. It was stupid."

And then she left. And the next day, she was gone. Our uncle taking her away to some boarding school in London.

I had failed her. Over and over again, I had failed her. Not because I had meant to, not because I didn’t love her, but because I had been too wrapped up in myself to see how much she was suffering. How much she had been forced to bend and break just to fit into a version of herself our parents had crafted.

My phone buzzed, shaking me from the depths of my regret.

If you're ready to talk, meet me at this address in an hour.

I didn’t hesitate. I grabbed my keys and ran out the door, my heart pounding with something between fear and hope. I had spent years ignoring the truth. But not anymore. It was time to make things right.

—

Pulling into the parking lot for the apartment complex, I sat staring up at all the floors. Wondering if she would have chosen the top floor like our parents molded her to be, or if she had followed her own opinion and went for one of the few just below. The girl I remember used to tell me her dream of a nice apartment. Not on the top floor, but a few below that—she still wanted a pretty view but didn’t want to be too high up, where she would be considered stuck up.

I gripped the steering wheel, my knuckles turning white. My stomach twisted with nerves, the weight of guilt pressing down on my chest so hard it hurt to breathe properly. Three days. It had only been three days since my entire world flipped on its head. Since I realized just how blind I had been to the person who mattered most in my life. And in those three days, all I could do was think. Think about all the times I should have seen it—the pain she hid behind the mask of the perfect daughter, the way our parents had stripped her of her true self, the way I had let them.

I thought about the last time I saw her. The fight. The accusations. The way I let my emotions get the better of me and threw words at her like weapons. I had been angry. So, so angry. But she had been worse—broken, exhausted, and hurt beyond belief. And I had made it worse.

I should have been the one protecting her. Instead, I had been the one to hurt her.

What if this was it? What if she only texted me to cut ties? What if I had already lost her, and this was just a formality?

I swallowed down the panic and forced myself to move. My hands shook as I turned off the engine, the click of the key pulling me out of my spiraling thoughts. I had to do this. I had to face her.

The elevator ride felt like the longest of my life. My reflection in the metal doors showed the same nerves I felt—the tense shoulders, the tight jaw, the way my fingers kept flexing like I was preparing for some kind of fight. But there was no fight to be had. I wasn’t here to argue. I was here to listen.

The hallway to her apartment was quiet, but with each step, my heartbeat grew louder, pounding in my ears. I stopped in front of her door and hesitated. A deep breath. Another. Then I knocked.

The door swung open after a few seconds, and the breath I had been holding escaped me in a sharp exhale.

She looked… awful.

Her left forearm was in a cast, and the other was strapped in a shoulder brace, making her movements stiff and careful. Bruises still lingered along her skin and the stitches peeked out from the loose neckline of her sweatshirt up the side of her neck stopping right around the center. I had known she was hurt, but seeing it like this made it real. The crash had nearly killed her, and I had spent the past three days focused on my own guilt instead of the fact that she was alive.

And yet… she smiled.

A real, happy smile, like none of what had happened had managed to take away that light from her. Like she wasn’t angry at me. Like she was still my little sister, standing in front of me, waiting for me to say something.

“Hey,” she greeted, her voice soft but not strained. “Come in.”

I stepped inside without a word, my throat too tight to respond. The living room was warm and familiar, decorated with personal touches that screamed her. Framed photos lined the walls—pictures with friends, some racing shots, a few of her standing on podiums. A life I had never known existed until now.

Then, I noticed them.

Max and Charles sat on the couch, both watching me with unreadable expressions. Charles looked neutral, like he was reserving judgment for later. But Max? Max was glaring, his eyes locked onto me like he was daring me to screw this up.

I hesitated, unsure of where to sit, unsure of what to do. My hands clenched into fists at my sides before I forced them to relax. My body language screamed nervous, and I knew it. Max knew it too—he looked almost satisfied with my discomfort.

She moved past me with a slight wince, heading toward the kitchen. “Give me a second, I need to finish making my smoothie,” she said.

I wanted to offer to help. I wanted to say something. But I didn’t know if I had the right to.

So instead, I sat down, feeling the weight of Max’s glare and the silence that stretched between all of us. And then, we waited as the occasional sound of opening and closing cupboards came from the kitchen.

The silence sat heavy in the room, thick like a storm cloud about to break. I could feel Max’s eyes burning into the side of my face, the weight of his judgment pressing down on me. Every part of me screamed to shift, to look anywhere but at him, but I forced myself to stay still. To take whatever was coming.

Max wasn’t someone who wasted time with pleasantries. He was all sharp edges, a man who never hesitated to say exactly what he was thinking. And right now, what he was thinking was how much he hated me.

"You’re lucky she wanted to see you today." His voice was calm, too calm. Like the quiet before an explosion. "Charles and I told her to wait a few more days. Thought maybe you should sit with your stupidity a little longer. Thought maybe you should really feel what it's like to be ignored by someone you care about.”

I flinched at the words.

Max leaned forward, elbows on his knees, staring straight through me. "But she said no. Said she wanted to talk to you. Today. And between making her suffer a little longer for your mistakes or letting her be happy during what little time off she actually has, we’d rather let her be happy.”

My hands curled into fists against my jeans. Every word was a knife, cutting through layers of guilt I already felt drowning in.

"So, I’m going to make one thing very clear for you, Jack." Max’s voice dropped lower, sharper. His fingers tapped rhythmically against his knee, slow and deliberate. “You don’t argue. You don’t fight. You listen to what she has to say. And if I hear one word out of your mouth that sounds like an excuse, if you get loud with her, if you so much as look at her the wrong way…” He let the words hang for a second, his head tilting slightly as a humorless smirk pulled at the corner of his mouth.

“Then I’ll be happy to take care of you myself.”

I swallowed hard, my pulse hammering in my throat.

The threat wasn’t an empty one. I could see it in his eyes—the promise that he would follow through if I gave him even the smallest excuse.

I wanted to say something, to promise that I wouldn’t, to swear up and down that I would sit there and take whatever she had to say without a single protest. But before I could find my voice, Charles shifted beside him.

Max tensed for a second like he wanted to keep going, but when Charles turned to him, giving him nothing more than a sharp glance, he fell silent.

The look Charles gave him wasn’t anything obvious. No words. No movements. But whatever silent conversation passed between them, it worked. Max let out a sharp breath through his nose, shaking his head, before leaning back against the couch with a scowl.

The room didn’t feel any lighter.

“That’s enough, Max,” Charles finally spoke, his voice calm and measured. He turned his gaze on me then, and I barely had a second to brace myself before he continued.

“Max wasn’t wrong.”

I nodded stiffly, unsure if I was supposed to respond or just let him continue.

“I don’t think you understand just how much you hurt her,” Charles went on. His voice wasn’t angry like Max’s had been, but something about it felt worse. Anger could be burned through, but this? This was something colder. Something controlled. Something terrifying.

“She needed you, and you turned your back on her.” His words weren’t loud, but they cut just as deep. “You want to feel guilty? Good. But don’t sit here and act like that makes up for anything.”

I could feel myself sinking into the couch.

“She wants to talk to you. That’s the only reason you’re still here.” His voice was still calm, still measured, but there was something off about it now. A slow shift, the same way the air changed before a storm hit. "But if you raise your voice at her, if you say something that makes her regret letting you through that door…”

He tilted his head slightly, his lips pressing into a thin line.

"Max won't be the only one to take care of you. I will too."

I barely breathed.

Charles was quiet. Collected. Precise. But there was something unsettling about the way he delivered the words. The way he sat there, relaxed, like he hadn’t just made a promise that chilled me to the bone.

I swallowed, my throat dry. “I—I won’t. I swear.”

Charles didn’t respond right away. He just held my gaze for another long second, as if deciding whether or not to believe me.

Then—

“Max!”

Her voice rang out from the kitchen, cutting through the tension like a blade.

Max was up in an instant, his frustration vanishing in a second at the sound of her calling for him. "Coming!"

His footsteps echoed down the hallway as he left the room, disappearing around the corner.

That left me alone with Charles.

The air felt suffocating, like the oxygen had been sucked from the room. I sat there, stiff and unmoving, my hands pressing against my legs to keep from shaking.

Charles exhaled slowly, like he was letting go of something. Then, his gaze found me again.

“Do you understand now?”

I nodded.

His lips twitched slightly, almost like he was satisfied with my reaction. But it wasn’t a smile. It was something else. Something unreadable.

“Good,” he murmured.

Then—

Soft footsteps.

The tension snapped as she reentered the room, stepping into my line of sight.

And just like that, Charles was neutral again. Like nothing had happened.

Like he hadn’t just spent the last few minutes making sure I understood exactly how unforgiving they were willing to be if I so much as stepped a single centimeter out of line.

Max and Charles lingered for a few moments longer, neither fully trusting to leave, but knowing it was what she wanted.

“We’ll leave you two to talk,” Charles said, his tone neutral, though there was an edge of warning beneath it.

Max was less subtle. His sharp eyes met mine, and he tilted his head just slightly. “One yell,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “And we’ll be back.”

The weight of the unspoken and you don’t want that hung in the air.

But Y/N just smiled at them, warm and appreciative. “I’ll be fine. Thank you, both of you.”

They hesitated only a second longer before nodding and disappearing down the hall, the door to her office clicking shut behind them.

Silence settled between us.

I felt it in my bones—the heaviness, the years of distance, the unsaid words stretching between us like an ocean. But I couldn’t let her speak first.

I wouldn’t.

“I’ve had time to think,” I said, my voice softer than I intended. I forced myself to sit up straighter, to look at her. “To think about what I remember, what I missed, and what I never bothered to see.”

Her expression didn’t change, but she was listening.

I exhaled slowly, steadying myself. “And I hate myself for it.”

She blinked, but still, she stayed silent.

“I was blind,” I admitted. “Every time you tried to tell me, every moment you hinted at what was really going on—I didn’t listen. I didn’t see you the way I should have. And now, I need to understand. I need to know everything. The truth. No matter how hard it is to hear.”

For the first time since I got here, her face softened, something flickering in her eyes that I couldn’t quite place.

Then, she let out a breath and nodded.

“You know,” she began, her voice softer than I expected, “ever since we were kids, I idolized you.”

I blinked. That wasn’t where I thought she’d start.

“I wanted to be just like you,” she continued, a small, sad smile tugging at her lips. “I wanted to be as cool, as fearless, as free as my big brother.”

The ache in my chest grew.

“But our parents never wanted that,” she said, fingers idly toying with the sleeve of her brace. “You could be whoever you wanted, chase whatever dream you had, and they would cheer you on.”

Her hand tightened slightly on the fabric of the throw pillow in her lap. “But me?” She let out a quiet, breathy laugh—one that held no amusement. “I had to be perfect. Their perfect little princess. I had to be delicate, traditional, feminine. I had to learn how to be the kind of woman that wealthy men wanted. Because that’s all I ever was to them—an investment, a bargaining chip to keep our family climbing the social ladder.”

My stomach twisted violently.

“They let me race for one year,” she murmured. “One. And only because they thought I’d come crawling back, begging to be their good little girl again. They expected me to hate it. To break down, to realize that racing wasn’t for me, wasn’t for girls.”

She paused for a moment, looking down at her lap.

“And when I didn’t? When I loved it? They started playing their games—pushing, pulling, tearing me apart until I believed it myself. That I wasn’t good enough. That I would never be good enough. That the only person worth supporting was you.”

I opened my mouth to speak, but no words came.

“And I gave it up,” she said, finally looking back at me, her eyes shining with something too complicated to name. “For you. Because I was twelve, and you had been doing it longer, and I thought maybe… maybe that made it fair.”

I felt like I had been punched in the gut.

“But it wasn’t fair, Jack.”

Her voice was quiet, but the weight of it crushed me.

“Do you have any idea what that did to me?” she asked, her tone barely above a whisper. “I lost the one thing I loved—the one thing that made me feel alive. And for weeks, I hated you for it. I blamed you.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat, shame clawing at my insides.

“Until Uncle saw what I had become,” she continued, voice steady but heavy with something deeper. “How I was drowning in silence, how I was folding in on myself just to survive. He was the only one who saw it. The only one who actually cared.”

She exhaled slowly. “He helped me start karting again when I turned thirteen. He kept my secret. He let me have something that was mine.”

Her fingers traced absent patterns against the fabric of the pillow, gaze unfocused. “And now, look where his love got me.”

She didn’t need to say more.

I clenched my fists, willing myself to stay still, to take every word as I should—without defense, without excuse.

Her gaze lifted again, locking onto mine. “But you?” she said softly. “You don’t get to act like you’re the one who was hurt. You don’t get to play the victim.”

I flinched, but I deserved it.

“Because every single thing I have done—every lie, every sacrifice, every moment I made myself small—was for you. For you.”

Her breath was shaky. “I played their perfect daughter so they wouldn’t drag you into the mess. I let them pretend I was their ideal little girl so they wouldn’t take it out on you.”

She closed her eyes for a moment before continuing, voice quieter now. “And when I started beating you? When I got faster, better?” A faint, sad smile crossed her lips. “I told no one. Not a single soul. Because I didn’t want to take the spotlight from you—not even for a second.”

She let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh, but not quite. “Because I knew what it felt like to be invisible. To watch every single thing I accomplished get brushed under the rug, forgotten, ignored, because you had done something—anything—that they decided was more important.”

I felt sick.

Every memory I had of her childhood—of our childhood—was different now. I had been so blind, so utterly and painfully blind, to the girl standing in front of me.

She had given up everything for me. And I had never even noticed.

Silence stretched between us.

I felt my throat tighten, my hands gripping my knees as I forced myself to breathe.

“…That’s the truth, Jack.”

And just like that, the weight of everything she had carried for so long settled between us.

Heavy. Unavoidable. Real.

I looked at her then, really looked at her, and for the first time in years, I saw my little sister—the one who used to chase after me, who used to smile like I hung the moon, who had once believed I was someone worth looking up to.

And all I could think was that I never wanted to let her down again.

I swallowed hard, my throat tight, my chest aching with a weight I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to lift.

And then, before I could stop myself, the words tumbled out.

“I’m so sorry.”

My voice cracked, raw and uneven, and for the first time in my life, I didn’t try to hide it.

“I—God, Y/N, I have been the worst older brother on the planet. Ever.” My hands clenched into fists against my knees, my knuckles turning white, but it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except this moment—except the fact that I had to get this out, that she had to hear me.

“I failed you,” I said, voice thick with guilt. “Again and again and again, I failed you. I should have seen it. I should have known. You were always right there, right in front of me, screaming for help in ways I never even bothered to hear.”

My breath shook as I looked up at her, eyes burning with unshed tears.

“You deserved better,” I whispered. “Better than them. Better than me.”

She didn’t say anything at first, but I could see the hesitation in her eyes—the doubt, the years of self-preservation that made her wary of believing me, of trusting that I truly meant it.

But I did.

I meant every single word.

“And I promise you,” I continued, forcing myself to hold her gaze, to let her see just how much I ached for what I had done, “I will be better. I will do better. For you. Always. I will be there for you whenever you ask—no, before you even have to ask. Because you shouldn’t have to. Not anymore.”

Her lips parted slightly, as if she wanted to say something, but she stayed silent. My heart clenched in my chest. I had spent years being blind, being selfish, being everything a big brother shouldn’t be. But not anymore.

“I need you to know something else,” I said, voice trembling as I tried to get the words out. “How I reacted after your crash…” I let out a shaky breath, running a hand through my hair, looking away for just a second before forcing myself to face her again. “That wasn’t what I really thought. Not even close.”

My jaw clenched, my nails digging into my palms.

“I don’t know why I reacted that way. I don’t know what the hell was wrong with me, but it was stupid, and I—God, I hate myself for it.”

Y/N blinked rapidly, looking away, and I could tell she was trying not to cry. I wished she wouldn’t. I wished she would scream, that she would yell, scream, hit me—anything to make me feel at least a fraction of the pain she had endured for years.

“I should have been there for you,” I whispered. “I should have been the one fighting for you, the one making sure you weren’t alone, the one telling everyone else to shut the hell up because you deserved better than whatever bullshit they were spewing.”

My breath hitched, and I looked down at my hands.

“But instead, I made it worse. I made everything worse. And I will never forgive myself for that.”

Silence settled between us for a moment, heavy but no longer suffocating. It wasn’t the kind of silence that built walls between us anymore—it was the kind that cracked them open, raw and vulnerable, laying everything bare.

Then, to my surprise, she let out a soft breath—almost a laugh, though it wasn’t quite happy.

“Jack…” she murmured, and I flinched, waiting for the blow, waiting for her to tell me that sorry wasn’t enough, that I had already ruined too much.

But instead, she reached forward, hesitantly placing her hand over mine.

My breath caught in my throat.

“I don’t need you to feel guilty, at least not like this” she said, her voice quiet but sure. “I just need you to mean what you say. I need you to prove it. Not just today, or tomorrow, but always.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat and nodded. “I will.”

She studied me for a long moment, and then, finally, she gave me the smallest, softest smile.

I let out a shaky breath and, before I could stop myself, turned my hand over so I could squeeze hers. It was the first time in years that I had felt like her brother. She squeezed my hand back.

I let out a choked laugh, running a hand down my face. “You know,” I said, voice still shaky, “I used to think that I was protecting you by not getting involved. By letting Mom and Dad handle things the way they wanted. I thought that was the right thing to do.”

Y/N’s smile faltered, her eyes darkening with something softer, something sadder.

“You weren’t protecting me,” she murmured. “You were just looking away.”

I flinched. But she didn’t let go of my hand. And somehow, that was enough to keep me from breaking apart completely. “I’m here now,” I said, voice quiet but certain. “And I swear to you—I will never look away again.”

Y/N inhaled sharply, like she was trying to hold something back. And then she nodded. I exhaled, my shoulders finally, finally relaxing.

It wasn’t everything. But it was a start.

I stood, feeling lighter, different. Determined.

“I’ll see you soon?” I asked, hesitant. Y/N smiled again, this time a little more sure. “Yeah.”

I nodded. Then, without another word, I turned and left, walking out the door with a purpose I hadn’t felt in a long, long time. This time, I wouldn’t fail her. Not now and Not ever again.

—

Watching Jack walk out the door, I felt something shift inside me—something fragile but real.

It wasn’t a grand moment of instant healing, no cinematic wave of relief crashing over me, but rather a slow, quiet mending. Like the first stitch in a wound too long left open, raw and aching. It would take time, I knew that. But for the first time in years, it felt truly possible.

I had braced myself for a fight, for yelling, for him standing his ground in our parents’ corner, throwing their words at me like daggers. I had prepared for the worst—prepared for him to tell me I was overreacting, that I needed to move on, that they were right, and I was just the problem child.

But instead, he had caught me completely off guard.

He had come to me with guilt. With regret. Not the kind you put on just to smooth things over, but something deeper, something that had been gnawing at him long before he even stepped through my door.

Someone else—someone who hadn’t spent years trying and failing to reach him, someone who hadn’t seen the real him before—might say he was gaslighting me, manipulating me into trusting him again just so he could hurt me down the line.

But I knew what I saw.

The look in his eyes, the way he carried himself, the way his voice wavered, as if he was afraid to even breathe wrong in my presence—this wasn’t the same person who had turned his back on me.

This was the boy I had once trusted with everything, standing in front of me again. Hesitant. Uncertain. But real. Himself.

And for the first time, I wondered if maybe—just maybe—he had been suffering too. If maybe he had been trapped just like me, shaped and bent into something unrecognizable under the weight of our parents' expectations. If maybe he was only just now beginning to see it, beginning his own road to realization.

It was almost laughable. It had taken me nearly dying right in front of his eyes for him to finally open them.

I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. The weight of it all sat heavy in my chest, but it didn’t hurt as much as before.

The front door had barely clicked shut when I heard another door creak open behind me. I rolled my eyes before I even turned around.

Two familiar faces peeked out from my office, their wide, curious eyes locked onto me like two overgrown children sneaking out of bed past curfew.

Max and Charles.

They grinned the moment I turned to look at them, the warmth in their faces softening the last of my tension. Neither of them hesitated as they stepped fully into the living room, each claiming a spot on either side of me on the couch. They didn’t press me immediately, but I could feel their quiet scrutiny, the way their gazes searched my face, scanning me for the answer before I even gave it.

I sighed. I knew they wouldn’t let this go.

“It went a lot better than I expected,” I admitted, leaning back against the cushions. “I can honestly say he really thought about everything. He feels guilty. Deeply guilty. He knows what he let our parents put me through, and he hates himself for it.”

Max and Charles exchanged a look—one of those silent conversations they somehow always had without speaking. Suspicion lingered in their expressions, doubt clouding their eyes.

Max turned back first, arms crossed, gaze sharp. “Are you sure you can trust what he says?”

I hesitated, not because I doubted myself, but because I understood why they were skeptical.

“I believe him,” I said carefully. “The version of him that walked in—it was the brother I remembered racing with my first year. The brother who stood up for me in the paddock, even when it meant going against our parents. Before they got to him, before he was brainwashed into whatever version of himself he’s been for the last six years.”

I reached for the small framed photo on the coffee table, brushing my fingers over the glass.

It was an old picture—our first family 1-2 finish. Jack on the top step of the podium, me on the second. His arm slung around my shoulders, both of us grinning like we had the entire world at our feet.

I swallowed past the lump in my throat.

“The boy in this photo,” I murmured, “he was the most raw, the most real version of himself. Untouched by criticism, unburdened by expectations. That’s the same person who walked through my front door today.”

I set the photo down, inhaling slowly. “And it was him who walked out, too.”

Max and Charles didn’t say anything, letting me speak at my own pace.

“It’s going to take time for him to earn back what he lost in me,” I continued, voice steady despite the emotions swirling inside me. “But this… this was a start. And for the first time, I feel hopeful for the future with him.”

Silence settled over us, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was understanding.

I reached out, finding both their hands and intertwining my fingers with theirs. My thumb traced absentminded circles against their skin, grounding myself in the warmth of their presence.

“But no matter what happens, I’m not tied down to the idea of what he was supposed to be for me anymore,” I said softly. “If he were to walk back through that door right now and say he didn’t actually want to try, that he still hated me, or whatever bullshit negativity he could throw at me… I wouldn’t feel anything.”

Their hands instinctively tightened around mine.

“Because I have you,” I whispered, looking between them. “And the rest of the boys. I have a family. A real family. One that I chose, one that chose me. I have people in my corner, people who will always be here for me, no matter what.”

Max’s jaw tensed, and he quickly looked away, but I caught the soft pink hue dusting his cheeks.

Charles, on the other hand, made no attempt to hide his emotions. His eyes glistened, his lips parting slightly, as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words. He didn’t have to.

The way he squeezed my hand—gentle, reassuring—said enough.

I let my head rest back against the couch, closing my eyes for just a second, allowing myself to breathe.

For the first time in a long, long while, I wasn’t looking backward.

I was looking forward.

And that?

That felt like progress.

Masterlist

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[gay-dorito-dust]

I don’t believe in god, but I believe that you’re my saviour.

Most likely ooc Geta and inaccuracies galore.

You shouldn’t be allowed to be as near to him as you were in this situation. Emperor Geta was corruption, death, cruelty and inhumane as they come with the sickening grin and pleasure he took from the senseless slaughter of men that he merely viewed as entertainment.

You shouldn’t be anywhere near a man who’s entire being should disgust you greatly to the point where you refuse to be within the same room as him. His hands bore the blood of the innocent but he’d look upon them with a sadistic smile as he demanded for more violence, more madness, more bloodshed to be performed as if his dark soul wasn’t given it’s proper fill.

So why was it you were here within the grandiose gardens that he had made specifically for you to enjoy your morning readings of poetry? Why was it that while his gifts consisted of jewellery that you were expect to wear within the presences of other powerful people, servants and civilians alike; Geta would also buy you books a plenty of your favourite poets, who’s hands weaved words together so seamlessly as though they were spent weaving pure gold in the most desirable clothes in another life.

So why was it that you found yourself staring into his dark eyes, which possessed the ability to be devoid of empathy, but yet gaze upon you with a softness unlike any other as the light made them warm like honey or a thick substance like syrup; gazing at you as though he was seeing you for the first time all over again, as if you weren’t already his to have and to hold in your shared chambers. His hair that was often accompanied by a golden laurel was as fiery and unyielding as he was but in certain angles it looked soft to the touch, and you would know as your fingers would often be buried in it per Geta’s insistence in the privacy of one another, away from prying eyes where it’s just you and Geta.

His temperament flared like a roaring fire, causing everyone within radius of him to flinch or fall silent with immediate effect. Yet with you his fire was more easily managed, with some slight movements where his irrationality got the best of him and you had to leave for the library or the gardens, allowing him the time alone be to air out his anger, only for him to seek you out afterwards with a heaving chest and wild eyes; His hands would soon come to cradle your face and his forehead would press against yours as he finds his calm and composure once more within your presence as he idly stroked your cheeks with his thumb.

Geta draped you in lavish clothes of silk and jewellery crafted from gold and precious stones and or gems to emphasise that you were his and only his, not even his brother was allowed to have space within your heart when he was concerned, only him as your husband was allowed to occupy any and all space that your heart was allowed to have. ‘The gods can take what they please but I won’t let them have you, for you are mine and if I must defy them to keep you in my arms then I shall make myself their enemy for your heart.’ He’d often say as he kisses your forehead with an uncharacteristic tenderness.

‘You promise too much my love.’ You replied as you close your eyes, breathing him in. ‘One might think that you hold genuine affection for me as a person and not property you’ve claimed and see it as weakness.’ You add, only speaking of the truth but Geta’s grip on your face only tightens by a little and his breath fanning your face came out uneven.

‘I’ve always held affection for you, always.’ He rebuttals.

‘No. You were possessive over me and would cut the tongues of other men who dared speak honeyed words towards me.’ You tell him, smiling softly as you opened your eyes to look into his darker ones as they went through a multitude of emotions. ‘You only hold true affection for me now that you see that I can calm the fire within your heart and put those thoughts that poison your head to rest, beyond that I am nothing more than a possession.’

‘No.’ Geta barks but it doesn’t phase you as it would others for his hands still held you softly and lovingly as his he presses his forehead further against yours, eyes glancing down at your lips with temptation eating away at his heart and soul, urging him to close the distance between the two of you and consume you like you’ve consumed him unknowingly. ‘While I may tear out the tongues of others, my heart is only occupied by you, it bleeds you, beats for you- feel for yourself.’ He then brings one of your hands tightly to his chest, allowing you a moment to feel his heart reach out for your palm within him.

‘See?’ He whispers softly, letting go of your hand when he was confident that your hand would stay on his chest, listening to his heart as his hand now crept it’s way under your chin and caressing your jaw. ‘You consume me in ways I cannot fathom and I have grown to become addicted to your sweet words as you read from your poetry book aloud to me, succumbing to your every touch as though you were touching my soul, I want to be a husband you can be proud of and I intend to do so by doing this.’ Before you could ask what he was on about, Geta plants his lips against yours, weaving his lips through yours as he pulls you against him, not allowing for a single bit of space to exist between the two of you.

You hum in delight as you reciprocate the kiss, allowing yourself to be consumed by Geta and his passion, your other hand reaches to grip his shoulder for support when you felt his tongue trail your bottom lip before entering your mouth, causing your legs to become numb as you allowed him to all you were within the kiss with the intention of allowing yourself to indulge in all he was as well.

[utterdisaster1]

The Teenage Foolishness

Pairing: Sirius Black x male!reader angst at certain point, kinda smut at another. If you haven't read the previous post/chapter whatever, Y/N is muggle-born

Hope you like it! TW: use of Y/N, internalised homophobia, pining, erotic thoughts, erotic things in general, AMAB! reader, swearing, mentions of war, mentions of toxic family

After the first year, the following two were not particularly remarkable. That is not to say that the days were mundane, or that nothing interesting ever happened; rather, you were immersed in a routine devoid of anything exceptional to distinguish it.

You and the rest of the Marauders—a nickname coined by Lily of all people - "Unbelievable! You cost us 50 points, and for what?! Marauding around the castle like vagabonds… I cannot comprehend what is so special or enjoyable about being as much of a nuisance as Peeves!" - continued to pursue your intention of making the most of your years at the school, pranking those who deserved it (mainly the Slytherins) and not taking life too seriously

At times, you felt that James and Sirius, in particular, went a little overboard in targeting a specific individual, but simultaneously, he gave as good as he got, so you did not see much issue with the clear rivalry between your group and Severus Snape.

You continued to learn, to excel, and to immerse yourself in magical education, relentless in your persuit of knowing everything.

In your third year, you began tutoring some first-years in Transfiguration and Charms. You also encountered your first struggle - Arithmancy.

You chose it alongside Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures as your electives, thinking it wouldn’t be too challenging.

You did enjoy the Creatures class the most and found Ancient Runes, which included lessons on enchanting objects, warding, and curse-breaking, truly fascinating. You were always eager for those classes.

But Arithmancy… You thought it would simply be wizarding maths, but it was far from that. You barely scraped by in it and fully intended to drop it before fifth year. Spell-crafting be damned; if you had to read one more paragraph on the properties of numbers and shapes, you felt like you might spontaneously combust. And preparing for an OWL in it… that would be unbearable.

Another struggle that began in third year was dealing with feelings. Suddenly, you started experiencing peculiar emotions. Of course, there had been boys who caught your eye before, but it had never been significant. However, the affections you might have had, or not, seemed to grow in intensity.

Suddenly, instead of a mere sense of admiration, a deep longing emerged. You would catch yourself imagining how delightful it would be to walk hand in hand with them, to embrace them, to kiss them, to…

Even with the knowledge that your proclivities were not frowned upon in the wizarding world, the years you spent before joining it had conditioned you to feel guilt and denial. It felt as though you were being pushed by shame from one side and encouragement from the other, leaving no space for action.

So you suppressed those feelings, turning to those shameful late-night moments in which you inflicted some self-pleasure upon yourself.

You felt guilty thinking about schoolmates that way. The only comfort was that it usually wasn’t someone you were particularly close with, so objectifying them wasn’t thrown in your face the next morning.

Then the fifth year arrived, and with it, a very changed, taller, better-built Sirius.

He said he had spent most of his summer at his uncle Alphard's house, which had a Quidditch pitch nearby, allowing him to fly and work out every day. Training for his Beater position on the Quidditch team involved a lot of work from his arm and chest muscles.

And what a sight those muscles were, when he took his outer robe off, leaving only a thin dress shirt on. They were enthralling to watch, and it took you greater effort than fighting any duel, facing any Slytherin, or preparing for any exam to avert your gaze elsewhere.

It didn't help that he paid particular attention to you. There was something in his gaze that made you want to squirm.

It's worth mentioning you changed over the summer too. You barely had to lift your head now to look your dad straight in the eyes (which came with your mum droning on about needing to buy an entirely new wardrobe for you since all your clothes were too short). Your face became thinner, and your jawline more pronounced. You would often run, not from schoolmates, but for the simple release of pent-up energy from being deprived of magic (you would curse whoever it was that created the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, if they were still alive) and worrying about a possible raid from Death Eaters all summer.

You did try to act casual. But you were also 16. And suddenly, when the night came, the only thoughts you had, were of him.

His nature didn't help either. He was always affectionate with touch - an arm around your shoulder when walking together, his head always resting on someone's lap while relaxing on the couches in the Gryffindor common room. He did that with all of his friends.

So it meant he did it with you as well. In those moments, you begged to be back in the Arithmancy classroom, listening to lectures about numerological transcendence or whatever else you couldn't grasp, because it would still be easier than withstanding the force of Sirius Black's friendly affection. Friendly.

You always made sure to keep the outer robes on, so you could cover your crotch and the erection that occured whenever he tugged you closer to him or rested his head on your arm.

After one very close call, when he laid his head on your lap, you realised it had become essential never to sit next to him again. Not as long as you felt the way you did. It didn't help that the thoughts of his mouth so close to that particular area contributed to your unseemly activities later that evening and were followed by a sense of shame when you saw him the next morning while preparing to go down for breakfast.

And even if you told yourself that you were dealing with this insufferable infatuation, you couldn't help but feel jealous of the people who sparked Sirius' interest. You weren't the only person who had noticed how he had changed over the summer, after all.

It seemed every other week there would be a new girl clutching onto him like a lifeline. And considering the affection he showed his friends, you shouldn't have been surprised by how flagrant he was with them.

The shameless make-out sessions, blatant touching, and disgusting displays like feeding each other were hard to ignore. But over time, you got used to it. You didn't accept it, but it was just something that happened, yet another flaw in the world. It still was better than the fact that there was an actual war happening outside the school halls, a war against people like you, or rather, about ridding the world of people like you.

But then, one day, Sirius showed up for lunch with a boy. A Ravenclaw, one year above you. All of you were confused. And confusion turned into many different emotions when the ministrations that Sirius' girlfriends received were extended to him.

If you felt uneasy before, now you were actually physically sick. You wanted to vomit, to break something, or rather someone.

Ironically, one of the few comforts you had in the entire situation was knowing that if you never stood a chance with him, it wasn't because of your appearance or any other personal attribute, but simply because he was exclusively into girls. This made it easier to avoid letting yourself fantasise about being with him. At that point, however, the reality stung more sharply—knowing that he chooses not to have an interest in you, despite being open to it. It just made it all more painful.

So you quickly excused yourself and exited the Hall. You didn't run and cry, thinking about jumping off the astronomy tower like some heartsick, stupid people would do. You weren't sad. You were angry. Furious. Livid. Violent.

You hadn't noticed Remus going after you, all the way to the Forbidden Forest. You hadn't noticed him as you were throwing all known curses and hexes at a large pile of rocks, annihilating it in the process.

But after you were done, and decided to go back, there he stood. With this look of pity. Maybe you weren't as subtle as you thought, or maybe it was him being his usual, too perceptive self.

"I would say that it gets better, but I'm not going to start lying to you," he said.

"Are you- Do you- You too? With Sirius, I mean," you replied.

"Merlin no!" and after a short pause, "Well, maybe a little last year. But it went out the window after he insulted Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, massive turn-off," he said, the last part with a scoff, "And I'm more partial to the fair sex, being honest with you."

"How long have you known?" you asked.

"You know how my senses are heightened? Due to- you know. Well, some stronger emotions have the slightest scents that I can detect. They don't really compare to any normal ones… well, the technicalities don't really matter. Arousal is one of those scents, and I smelled it off of you while you were looking at him in the distance once or twice."

"Well, thank you for not calling me out on it," you said with the slightest of smiles. At that point, you also had to ask, because you knew it would nag you forever, "So if you can actually smell emotions, that means that things like…" You didn't exactly know how to ask whether he could smell you wank in the night, so you just made a gesture. He didn't seem unsettled by your question, to his credit.

"Oh, yeah, at first it was quite uncomfortable, but you weren't the first one to do it... Sirius was always hyper and he is the oldest, I suppose," he said, then continued, "I learned a spell to shield my bed from all smells in Second Year, but I forget to cast it sometimes," he said while rubbing the nape of his neck.

"Well, I've never felt more sorry for you, especially with Peter's dirty socks..." you said.

“Yes, well, it comes with living with four other teenage boys. But I’m the one who’s supposed to comfort you right now, not the other way around,” he said with a small laugh.

“You did say it wouldn’t just get better, as if from experience… Who were you that angry about? You, the calmest, most reasonable and even-tempered Gryffindor in history.”

“There was one particular girl that Sirius had dated about a month ago, and now even if I did try to ask her out, I’d be asking Sirius’ ex out. It did irk me, knowing he would drop her after a week or so anyway.”

“A shame you hadn’t told me; then we could wallow in self-pity together,” you chuckled a little. Maybe Freud was onto something with his “just talk about it and it will get better.” Although, you were also quite tired, so maybe there was simply no energy for anger at the moment.

“Do you want to smash some things too? I could conjure more rocks if you’d like,” you asked.

He smiled. “No, but I will tell you if I do. Let’s head back; I think we’re already late for Potions.”

You groaned. “Fuck Potions, we’re both rubbish at it anyway. Besides, I don’t know if I have it in me not to throw some beetle eyes or something equally disgusting at him right now.” You said this as you started walking back towards the castle.

“I am a prefect, you know,” Remus replied.

“Oh? So I suppose it wasn’t you who turned Mulciber’s hair into snakes yesterday?” you responded with a small chuckle.

He just huffed but didn’t rebut.

______________________________________________________________

What you and Remus failed to talk about and consider were appearances. There was nothing out of the ordinary with Remus’, but you, however, looked as if you’d just emerged from a fighting ring - messy hair, ruffled clothes, and scratches from the rock shards that you hadn’t even registered.

After worried questions stemming from a calm, “What happened?” from Peter, to James’ intense, “Did someone do this to you?! Tell. Me. Who!” you just said you’d fallen down the stairs, and Remus had taken you to the infirmary, which explained your absence during Potions class. And since it was just a theory lesson, you doubted Slughorn noticed or cared much.

The rest of the day, after fixing yourself up in the bathroom, you tried to act as usual. And it mostly worked. But, as seemed to be the pattern of the day, Sirius disrupted your attempts at casualness. It wasn’t his fault per se, since you always sat together in Defence Against the Dark Arts. Normally, you would chat and joke, having already mastered the subject. But today, you didn’t even want to see him, let alone talk to him.

Sirius wasn’t stupid, nor as self-conceited as some believed. He noticed the lack of banter and witty responses from you and asked, “Are you okay? You seem a little off today.”

Clearly he didn’t connect the dots that your being "a little off" might be related to your supposed fall down the stairs. His mind was probably preoccupied with that Ravenclaw arsewipe he had shown up with, making it clear he was bi.

So you simply responded, “I’m fine,” and started taking notes. This really set Sirius off, because you never did that in Defence class. By Fourth Year, you had enough knowledge and skill to score an Outstanding in NEWT for the subject. You had even ventured into Knockturn Alley to buy books on martial magic, most containing curses only found in the restricted section of the school library. He knew why you were so determined to master this area of magic. With raids, disappearances, and murders reported every other day, who wouldn’t be?

Sirius thought that maybe something else had happened other than the fall, but what could it be? No one dared to challenge you to a duel or sneak up on you after you sent the youngest Yaxley brother to the infirmary with so many afflictions and injuries he didn’t get out until a week later (you only got three nights of detention since it was technically self-defence after he tried to use the body-bind curse on you from behind first. The Gryffindor privilege probably played a part in that as well). You didn’t seem to be under a side-effect of pain medicine either.

He only realized the lesson was over because of your abrupt departure the moment the bell rang.

But there was someone with you when whatever happened had occurred - Remus. He had the answers, and Sirius was adamant about finding out the truth. But when he turned towards the desk Remus sat at, it was empty as well.

Suspicious.

Both of you disappearing halfway through the day and then coming back disheveled with a very convenient story... Could you...? Together?

Now, with his mind racing, Sirius reached the only plausible conclusion: it became clear he was into guys too, and one of you must have gotten jealous, so you sorted it out. The idea that Remus could have been the one to be with you like that, while Sirius was left out, sparked something he never wanted to feel about any of his friends - jealousy.

He loved Moony, don't get him wrong. But it was you and him that always had a little stack of letters after the holidays for each other, since neither could send them during the summer. "Merlin! I didn't know we had some summer essays set to write. What will we do, Pete?" James would always laugh. It was you and him that hated going away from Hogwarts because the castle was where you truly felt at home. It was you and him that sat together by the Black Lake in you spot, sharing those quiet moments that seemed to stretch into forever.

Why wouldn't you consider him for something more, then? He wasn't a saint, he knew that. But he also had access to mirrors, and he was a friend as long as Moony was.

And he had to admit, when he saw you on the train in September, desire surged through him. But you never seemed to look at him too long, let alone show any sign of actual interest. So he tried what he had seen work on those desperate girls and used all the tricks he had. But those attempts only seemed to turn you off, making you retreat from him. He recalled that evening when he laid his head on your lap, asking you to braid or play with his hair, and instead of blushing and giggling like those girls did, you immediately needed to get back to the dorm, claiming there was "a book you forgot to return to the library, and you better run before Madam Pince closes it" or some other excuse. After that, you avoided sitting next to him, except for during class.

When he saw you could defend yourself from the baby death eaters - commonly known as Slytherins - he stopped pretending not to associate with you. He was openly best friends with a "blood traitor," which, in his parents' eyes, was as bad as being a "filthy little Mudblood." So, he would get punished anyway.

He cherished the surprise on your face when he sat next to you at the Sorting Ceremony, the delight in your eyes when you realised he wasn’t playing the charade he had in First Year.

He was always honest with you. He never felt it important to discuss his sexuality, especially since you never mentioned yours. He assumed you shared his sentiment. But now it was clear that you had discussed it with someone - just not him. Maybe you and Remus had a special spot as well? Or maybe, the spot by the lake was only special to Sirius, and you came there only when dear Remus was too busy, or worse, out of pity, because Sirius would sit there sometimes, hoping you would appear.

He hated that feeling. You were his friends. He shouldn't be mad at you two being close, being together. But he was. He was angry with you, and he was even more furious with himself.

Maybe if he just mellowed down his advances, you would start to show similiar affection towards him as well? Or maybe you did feel it, but was just awkward about it and he hadn't noticed?

And then there were the flings.

So on one hand, you might be plainly uninterested, wanting nothing more than friendship. On the other, you might have been interested, but he had ruined it.

He had ruined it all, just as he always seemed to. His mother had often said so. His father, his br- Regulus, never disagreed.

He didn't ever realise he was now alone, with tears glistening in his eyes, heading towards nowhere in particular

______________________________________________________________

The rest of the week was tense for the Marauders. Sirius retreated as he had after his first Howler back in First Year. Fortunately, this time he already had James. Pete stuck by him too, offering snacks in the evenings and welcome distractions. Both of them knew Peter didn’t need help with Herbology, yet he asked Sirius for it, for example.

Not that you and Remus were there to witness most of these moments. You were cooped up in the library, sometimes together with Lily, Marlene, and Mary.

You didn’t know if it was just instinct or if you were that easy to read, but the three girls took to comforting you as well. Your study sessions continued with the addition of Lily’s dormmates, which made things much more fun, but also much riskier, since Madam Pince didn’t take kindly to any disturbances of silence, and snickering was very much a disturbance.

One evening, Marlene said that when she was sad she did her first piercing by herself. She mentioned it off-handedly, while being scolded by Lily and Mary for getting her nose infected - that attempt was not as successful as the first one “or numerous following ones!” Marlene didn’t fail to add.

So, when you were returning to the common room, you asked her which piercing wasn’t too painful and if she would be willing to do it for you. She eagerly agreed, recommending helix piercings since earlobes were “too obvious.”

And as much as it wasn’t the most pleasant experience, it wasn’t too bad either. You settled for piercings in each ear. Marlene said it was fate, since the Hogsmeade trip would be happening in two days. You would be able to buy your own jewellery, wearing hers for now.

You were barely the first person to have some alterations to their appearance done, so it didn’t gain much attention from most, only your friends, who you didn’t have many of, especially since three of your dormmates seemed engrossed with something they were sharing with neither you nor Remus. Even Mary said you looked "dashing", and with her being one of the icons (Marlene had called her a guru) of style by that point, you knew it really meant something.

You saw the dark circles under Sirius’ eyes, as well as how puffy they were. You wanted to comfort him, truly you did. He was your friend, first and foremost. But now, it seemed he was avoiding you. You thought of cornering him somehow but thought better of it. One can’t make Sirius Black do or say anything he doesn’t want to do. And he did not take kindly to attempts at trying.

So, you left him be and didn’t address any of the occasional looks you got from him with anything else but, what you hoped was, a comforting smile.

The trip to Hogsmeade was as eventful as any other, but with you not only buying earrings but some rings as well. You made sure none were made of silver, mindful of Moony.

The Sunday, however, proved to be something entirely else. You were planning on writing the Potions essay and reading the latest issue of Transfiguration Today. You hoped there would be at least something more than a mere mention of the Animagus process, having found only some sparse remarks on it in the books you’d read in the library so far.

There was always the Restricted Section, but you needed the Cloak for that, and James was always with Sirius.

And as much of a pain as it was to write about the Draught of Peace, it was one of the possible potions to brew for your OWL exam, and you needed one in Potions, no matter how much you loathed the idea of studying the subject at NEWT level. But you needed the NEWT to be allowed into the Auror Training, and complaining would get you nowhere.

But when you were finally done and reached for the magazine on your nightstand, the dorm room burst open, and in came James, Peter, and Sirius. And they came with purpose.

“Right, we’re going to settle this. You,” James pointed at you and Sirius, “will stay in this room until you’re okay again. I will let you starve to death if I have to.” And with that, he came out, locking the door.

You looked at Sirius and didn’t know what else to say but, “Always with dramatics, that one.”

Sirius didn’t respond at first, just looked at you for some time. You avoided his stare, which clearly was the wrong thing to do, seeing what he asked you next.

“Why can’t you even look at me?” he said in a tone much more broken than Sirius should sound like. You had only witnessed a few times over the five years you’d known each other. So you did look at him, straight in the eyes, and responded.

“Of course I can look at you.” You really didn’t know how to handle this. You didn’t even know what exactly it was about.

“Since we returned in September, you don’t want to, though,” after a short pause, he asked, “We’re friends, right? Friends tell each other things.”

“Of course we’re friends. Why would you question that?” you said immediately.

He looked at you, intensely, expectantly. But you really didn’t know what he could want you to say. There was no way he knew about your crush, right?

Seeing that he wasn’t going to receive what he had hoped for, he said with a clipped tone, “Then why didn’t you tell me about you and Remus? Or James and Pete, for that matter?”

Now you were really bewildered. You wanted to ask what he meant, but he clearly wasn’t finished.

“I bet you told Marls and the other two, though, always hanging around with each other now. I mean, I could understand if you’d just started and were figuring things out, but once you’re having sex, I think it’s serious enough to mention it to people you claim are your family!” he finished, shouting.

“What do you- Are- Sex!? With who!?”

“Well, Moony of course, unless you were doing it with Marlene in the third-floor bathroom on Thursday too!”

"For fuck's sake, have you taken something!? Or is this some very elaborate prank!?" You didn’t allow him to respond just yet. "I’m not having sex with anyone, I’m not in a relationship with anyone, Marlene only pierced my ears," you said, pointing at your ears. "And I really don’t think that Remus fetching me from the Forbidden Forest is that significant to mention!"

Sirius seemed surprised. You rarely screamed or shouted, preferring to just hex someone if they were going too far. Of all the questions now flooding his mind, he asked,

"What were you doing in the Forbidden Forest?"

"I was smashing up some rocks, if it’s that important to you. And I left the centaurs one of the phoenix feathers I found last year in the Astronomy Tower, along with a very sincere apology letter the next day, so I doubt they’ll want to hunt me down. It was only a pile of rocks anyway; I made sure not to harm any trees or animals."

"Why?"

"You know centaurs are the ones that planted and protect the forest. They demand respect. I doubt me coming in all unreasonable and entitled to destroy parts of it, even as irrelevant as a pile of-" At that, he interrupted you.

"I don’t care about the centaurs! Why were you wrecking rocks, and if that’s what happened on Monday, why are you cross with me?"

"I— I’m not cross with you, and it doesn’t matter why. It’s stupid, and I’m dealing with it."

"Maybe I could help, you know. Or at least you could have told me."

You were getting sick of his apparent entitlement to all your issues and that, mixed with still not fully gone anger at him over the Ravenclaw, prompted you to say with a clipped tone, "Well, you seem pretty preoccupied these days. I wouldn’t want to get groped by accident."

His eyes widened, cheeks reddened, and his mouth opened and closed in a repeated cycle. He was visibly thinking about what to say next.

"Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Seeing me with those girls?"

You barely even registered saying, "You forgot the Ravenclaw already?"

At that you saw a hint of a smirk on his face, but what was more noticeable was the step he took towards you. "Did it bother you? Seeing me like that?"

Oh, you definitely didn’t like the direction this conversation was going. So you quickly tried to escape the looming vision of actually confessing your feelings to him.

"Who wouldn’t be bothered? People do go to that Hall to eat their food. You and whoever else was your conquest of the week were trying to eat each other."

He only inched closer. "No one else was demolishing the forest because of that, though, were they?"

You faltered. You were losing this argument, and you’d have to go past Sirius to reach your wand, which you had inconveniently left on the bed.

"You know, a lot of things just started to make sense to me..." He was almost within touching distance.

"Well, enlighten me then," you said, hoping your tone was more confident than you felt.

"The way you distanced yourself, wouldn’t look at me too long... I thought I might have done something bad or wrong, but now I’m realising," and after a pause, in a much huskier tone, "I actually might have done the opposite."

He did touch you now, caressing your arm. "I’m going to ask you something, Y/N, and I need you to be honest." The hand went from your arm to your chin, directing your head to look him in the face. You hadn’t realised you had been looking just past his shoulder for most of that monologue.

The only thing you did realise, was that Sirius was tall.

"If I kissed you right now, would you return it?"

You were overwhelmed. And, more importantly, starting to get hard. No.

But apparently, your subconscious decided to answer for you, and you nodded.

Sirius didn’t wait a second. He leaned in, practically attacking your mouth.

The kiss was rough, with teeth clashing at first. You supposed it was probably clumsy, but you didn’t have anything to compare it with.

You tried to mimic what Sirius was doing, and in a moment of daring (you were still a Gryffindor, after all), you bit his lower lip, eliciting a low groan from Sirius.

You usually learned best through practice, and kissing apparently wasn’t an exception. You became more confident with each second his lips moved with yours, and when you felt his tongue brush against your lower lip, you instinctively opened your mouth.

The tongue slipped in immediately, accompanied by a satisfied hum from Sirius. It was strange, the sensation of it in your mouth at first, against your own. But you quickly found yourself enjoying it, and the fact that his hands were now firmly on your waist, running up and down, certainly didn’t discourage you.

For someone who detested the very thought of being overpowered, you surprisingly enjoyed Sirius’ dominant position right now.

You rested your arms on his shoulders and started running your right hand through the hair on the back of his head, eliciting another groan, of satisfaction, you hoped.

You began to move your tongue along with his, and sooner than you realised, it became a battle. You were growing more and more eager to explore his mouth as well.

The fact that you were currently making out with your long-term crush was not lost on you, nor did it fail to make you even more aroused with each passing second. You had imagined a moment like this many times. In fact, you had imagined many other moments, and seeing how physical Sirius was, there was a big chance of them turning into memories or maybe, if you dared to think, regular occurrences.

In fact, you wouldn’t settle for anything less. You were not interested in becoming one of many in the long line of Sirius Black’s dalliances, as Remus liked to say sometimes.

And so, with great effort - both in actually willing yourself to do it, as well as managing against Sirius’ strength - you pulled away.

His eyes were half-lidded, pupils dilated, but a brow started to rise in question.

"I’m not ruining our friendship for a week of fun with you, Sirius," you said, still breathless, but it was clear you were being frank right now.

"I’m not either," he responded. "I want it to be more," he said.

"What are you saying?" you asked with a smirk, knowing very well what, but still wanting to hear it.

He rolled his eyes playfully. "And you complained about James’ flair for dramatics," he said, and immediately dropped to one knee and took your hand. "Y/N L/N, will you, the breathtaking vision of enchanting beauty, the enthralling light of brilliance, do me the honour of allowing me to become your partner in love and life?" he asked in an over-dramatic tone.

You laughed and said in the same manner, "Sirius Black, your words have melted my heart completely. I’d be thrilled to become your boyfriend."

He pretended to cry, followed by a quite amusing spectacle of pretending to die out of sheer joy, and then stood up, held you to him, and kissed you again, this time more tenderly. This kiss didn’t seem desperate but wasn’t chaste in any way either. You pulled him closer by his shirt, having your chests press together. He seemed very satisfied with it.

He was starting to pull your sweater off when the doors burst open with James in the front yet again, this time shrieking. Remus, who apparently joined him and Peter in the common room during your time alone with Sirius, said, "Turns out you were right, they were suffocating each other... Not in the way you predicted though," he added with a low chuckle.

Peter’s face was as red as a beet, and James just stared. After a while, he said, "I call you both my brothers, so it’s incest, you know. I’ll tell my mum."

"You’re just worried I’ll cut into your cuddle time with him," you said to James, receiving a laugh from Remus and a smirk from Sirius that contradicted his severe tone.

"He could never cut into that, Jamie, you don’t have to worry."

James decided to just shove him with a laugh as a response.

[satorurize]

Rebound.

Pairing: Gojo Satoru x Fem!Reader, past satosugu

๋࣭ 𐙚˙⋆.˚cw. 18+, MDNI, angst, hurt/no comfort?, satosugu break up, bi!satoru, bi!reader, character death, sex, virginity loss, sex worker!reader, fem reader.

What was Satoru supposed to do with this new found level of emptiness after his estranged lover, his bestfriend, his one and only, Suguru died? It was a profound emptiness settled in his chest, a void that seemed to burgeon with each passing moment. He thought grief was when Suguru had left for the first time all those years ago, but his definition of it evolved now along with the hollow ache that threatened to consume him from inside out.

A strange, uncharacteristic idea came to his mind this one time, that he'd see himself in a red light area, seeking someone's company to dull the sharp edge of his despair.

Satoru, who had no prior sexual experience because of the way his life was, apart from kisses and steamy make out sessions he shared with Suguru— comes to you, booking you for the an hour after seeing you behind the glass box in a display, swaying your body in pure sin. Your eyes magnetic, all welcoming to provide him with whatever service he'd ask for. Pretty, with your face packed with a little heavy make up and your body attired in skimpy lace lingerie, designed to draw in lonely men like him.

As you made him comfortable after leading him inside when he confimed his payment to your manager, he couldn't help but think of how this transactional relationship had a dynamic where he had been given the power to choose, a privilege he didn't have before at the exchange of only a sum of yen.

'Love is everywhere if you look hard enough.'

Satoru, who questions whether love was really this easy, convenient and cheap to get with his already distorted perception of it—when you take his hands in yours and guide him to the silken sheets of your bed inside the brothel's room that was splashed with a tacky red light in it's entirety. You were all professional and trained to bring the men or women pleasure that came to you for your company and body.

He's flippant with the way he speaks to you, nothing too unusual about him, but it's nothing you haven't handled before either. The patience and ease you talk to him by was almost clinical while you pushed your supple breasts onto his arm. It makes him a little annoyed.

"We're not gonna get anywhere if you don't tell me what you want, pretty boy" And he hums with a smile at your crafted, saccharine tone, next caressing your cheek with back of his hand with a pointed knuckle, his cerulean eyes cold and devoid of much emotion. A look that you knew well and saw often, a look of yearning. Unfulfilled, raw, yearning which leads you to the question of—

"You can pretend that I'm some other person, no judgement here" To which he bitterly scoffs, pushing you into the mattress with your wrists trapped on the either side of your head, he looked offended at what you said.

"Wouldn't chose you if I wanted you to pretend that you're him, so just be you" He stated bluntly albeit it was duplicitous considering the reason why he was here in the first place, to fulfill the gnawing emptiness inside him that he hoped you could give a temporary fix to. Yet, he felt offended that you offered he could pretend you were someone he loved, it was repulsive and a disrespect to Suguru.

You obliged as well and how he spoke to you didn't really matter with the prospect of a wad of cash waiting for you at the end of it.

That desire to forget was evident in the way he fucked you, you don't bring up how he's frantic and messy at the beginning, yet experimental in his touching. Or how he was almost shivering when he entered you, giving you a hint that this was his first time. He looks into your eyes, searching for what gets you going, but frowns at the moans being faked. He wanted you to be into it.

"Hey, no. Don't do that, give me the real ones.." He speaks with his nose craddled onto your cheek, his thumb flicking over your clit that makes you let out a mewl, so much more natural.

"Yeah..this is what I'm talking about.." He rasps, grasping the way you wanted you clit rubbed and you decide to supplement it with some advice. "Slow down your thrusts..fucking hard isn't always ideal.."

The man accepted your guidance although not without passing a few words of playful mockery, "And here I thought I was the one getting serviced.."

Before you couldn't clarify that he didn't have to, the roll of his hips becomes calculated, your back getting lifted in a prompt arch by it, when his tip ridged against your spongy g-spot each time.

His mouth latched onto your nipples, leaving them damp and glossy as he alternated between them, the buds becoming tender at his incessant tongue and teeth, your hands traveled on his defined back and down to his buttocks when he snapped himself into you faster and harder, indicating building up of his climax.

He doesn't think of Suguru as his face contorts in pleasure, blinded of his feelings as he hears your dulcet sounds, passing your pretty lips like a sweet refrain supplemented with the way you clenched around him like a vice at the sight of his handsome face contorted in pleasure with a soft furrow of his brow.

He was so devastingly beautiful, especially when his whimpers octaved higher with a cute hitch of his breath and a strangled moan passing his lips as he pulls out, stroking himself to shoot ropes of his ivory cum onto your tummy, your mouth falling agape at how much came out. Wow, he was deprived enough to not even jerk off.

His chest heaved as his head was tipped back momentarily, before he focused his gaze on you again. "Shit..you didn't cum, did you?" He leaned in a little—voice taking on a huskier quality as he smeared his release onto your abdomen, so nastily. His concern to rhythmically make you orgasm along with him leads an unfamiliar flutter in your stomach. He acted differently after the fuck session, less guarded, more..desperate after the feel of your pussy. Ugh. Men. And how they thought with their dicks.

You just laugh out of sheer surprise when he props himself between your legs with your thighs weighted on his broad shoulders. No client was ever so set on to make you cum. It was a little cute, pathetic even, compared to how arrogant he was before.

However, a knock on the door with a sharp warning saying "Time's up sweetheart!" From your manager indicated how your time together was up and there was a next client in line—just when his mouth was millimeters away from your drooling cunt made you chew on your bottom lip to press down a smile at the utter disappointment written on his face.

"Yeah! Send them in, in 20.." you spoke loud enough that your manager heard you while you cleaned yourself up, getting ready for another round of work while Satoru was being hit with intense bout of post-nut clarity as he too got dressed.

He slept with someone who wasn't Suguru and he felt jealous that someone would touch every crevice of your fucking body like he did just now, all over again? Why is he bothered anyway, it's your job. You're not Suguru.

And still, he leaves with money on your desk more than what was agreed on and a kiss on your lips. While he convinced himself of a lie that he wasn't starting to develop something and it was all just to distract himself from Suguru—how it was a one time thing anyway but becomes a regular at the place, always demanding you, never forgetting to make you cum like he did, the first time.

Afterall, you were just a distraction. Right?

[rockrebelshop]

The Birth of The Shape: How John Carpenter Crafted Horror’s Most Iconic Mask

When you think of Halloween—not the holiday, but the 1978 horror classic—one image immediately comes to mind: a blank, pale face emerging from the shadows, emotionless and inhuman. That face belongs to Michael Myers, known in the original script simply as The Shape. But how did this now-iconic mask come to be? The answer, like most great horror stories, lies in a mix of luck, creativity, and low-budget ingenuity.

The Concept of "The Shape"

John Carpenter envisioned Michael Myers not as a traditional slasher villain, but as an embodiment of pure evil—something unknowable, unstoppable, and devoid of humanity. In Carpenter’s words, Myers was meant to be a force of nature, more ghost than man. To reflect this, he was never referred to as “Michael” in the original script, but simply as The Shape—a presence rather than a person.

To sell that feeling visually, Carpenter needed a mask that would strip the character of identity, emotion, and familiarity. Something unsettling, but not overtly monstrous. Enter: the mask.

A Trip to the Costume Store

With a shoestring budget of around $300,000, the production couldn’t afford custom-made prosthetics or elaborate designs. Instead, production designer Tommy Lee Wallace—a longtime collaborator of Carpenter—was sent to a local costume shop in Hollywood to find a mask that could be repurposed for the killer.

Wallace came back with two options:

A clown mask resembling Emmett Kelly, which was fitting given Myers' childhood clown costume.

A Captain Kirk mask from Star Trek, molded from a cast of William Shatner’s face.

The clown mask was creepy but too on-the-nose. The Captain Kirk mask, on the other hand, was blank, uncanny, and weirdly devoid of emotion—exactly what they were looking for.

The Transformation of Captain Kirk

To turn the Shatner mask into something terrifying, Wallace performed a few simple, low-budget modifications:

Painted it stark white to remove all flesh tones.

Removed the eyebrows and sideburns, further obscuring any identifiable features.

Widened the eye holes to make them more hollow and soulless.

Teased out the hair and sprayed it dark brown, giving it a disheveled, lifeless look.

The result? A disturbingly blank expression, almost human but not quite. The mask felt like it could belong to anyone—or no one. It became a perfect visual representation of The Shape: anonymous, unfeeling, and inescapable.

A Mask that Became a Legend

The success of Halloween turned the mask into a cultural icon. Ironically, William Shatner didn’t even know his likeness was being used until years later, when fans pointed it out. Though many sequels and reboots have since reimagined or redesigned the mask, none have fully recaptured the unsettling simplicity of that original low-budget transformation.

Final Thoughts

John Carpenter didn’t just create a horror villain—he created a myth. The mask of The Shape is a testament to the power of minimalist design and practical creativity. It proves you don’t need millions to make something timeless—you just need a good idea, a little paint, and maybe a Starfleet captain’s face.

[hisyntha]

The Bartender

WARNING: This story contains EXPLICIT CONTENT and you are here by WARNED. Read at your own risk. Oral, three-some/ mention of four-some, vulgar language

A/N: thank you so much for reading, this is posted on AO3. I enjoyed writing this a lot so I hope you enjoy it as well. I recently started watching supernatural again and couldn’t help myself, anyway, ENJOY!!! 💕✨

It was an unusually slow night at the bar, with only a handful of patrons scattered about, nursing their drinks and chatting quietly. As the door swung open, the bar's calm atmosphere was shattered, and my gaze was drawn to the trio like a magnet. The two men, their suits a stark contrast to the casual attire of the other patrons, exuded an air of confidence and authority. The taller man, with his long hair and chiseled features, seemed to embody the phrase "tall, dark, and handsome," while his companion, sporting a Tex-turned-crew cut, appeared more rugged and rough around the edges. The young woman, dressed in a fitted dress that accentuated her curves, trailed behind them with an air of quiet compliance. As they approached the bar, their eyes scanned the room with an unspoken understanding, as if they were on a mission.

My gave warm and welcoming smile before I asked, "What can I get ya?" My hands moved on their own, quickly whipping up a tequila shot and pushing it forward to the shorter man. His smirk was a mixture of amusement and mischief, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as our eyes met.

“I’ll take a whiskey on the rocks.” He shot me a quick wink before slamming the empty shot glass down on its rim. I nodded grabbing a cup and filling it with ice before looking to the taller one.

As I poured the whiskey with a gentle flourish, I turned to him with a sly smile, my fingers drumming a tantalizing rhythm on the counter. "And what about you?" I purred, my voice husky as I raised an eyebrow, my free hand resting suggestively on my hip, hoping my tight fitted clothes would draw him in closer. He gave me a slight, uncomfortable, look before glancing at their female companion who stood between them, not exactly paying attention to me. I kept my flirtatious smile up, but deep own, I was hurt and taken aback by the look he gave me. Something was off with this one, it only seemed to make me want him more. I’ll just have to up my game.

With a courteous tone, “I’ll just have a draft,” his eyebrows arching slightly as he did so, his lips compressing into a subtle line. My eyes locked onto his, my mind whirling with tantalizing thoughts as I looked him over again. I couldn't help but bite my lip, my thoughts conjuring up images of him in a different light – one that left me trembling with anticipation and my heart racing with excitement. My hand reached under the bar, slightly bent over knowing my breast will definitely catch his interest. With a quick pull, slightly bouncing, I pop the bottle cap off and placed it in front of him. His gaze averted me before he turned around, once more scanning the bar. I hid my frown turning to the petite woman, but before my lips even parted she spoke up.

"I'll take a shot, whatever you prefer," she said, her voice as smooth as honey, yet devoid of any warmth or flirtation. Her words hung in the air, and I noticed her gaze linger on me, waiting for a response. Without thinking, I crafted a buttery nipple and slid it across the bar to her. A faint furrow appeared on my brow as I turned away, feeling an inexplicable tension in my chest. There was something unsettling about her, something that piqued my curiosity. I'd met many people before, effortlessly reading their emotions and intentions, but this trio was different. I needed a breath of fresh air. I looked to my coworker, giving him a quick way to take over the bar before I slipped out to the storage room then out the back door to the empty alley way.

I lit a cigarette and took a long drag, savoring the bitter taste as I paused to inhale the toxins. The cool night air filled my lungs, and I let out a slow exhale, feeling the stress of the evening's events begin to dissipate. As I stood in the alleyway, lost in thought, I shake everything off dropping the half cigarette and stepping it out. I made my way back inside, deciding to take a chance on striking up a conversation.

“So, you guys aren’t from around here are you?” I give my best smile watching the three. I noticed the paperwork spread out on the counter top of the bar as the woman began to quickly shuffle it back together into the folder she had.

“Uh, no we aren’t.” The taller one gave another tight lipped smile, placing his empty bottle in front of me. I quickly pop another one from him trading for the empty one.

“I see,” the tension seemed to rise in my chest, but they seemed as calm as daisies. “Well, if you’re staying for a bit longer I’d love to show you around.” The shorter one seemed to chuckle lightly, leaning on the bar, a flirtatious smile playing on his lips.

“I’d love to,” he paused waiting for me.

“Oh, Amy.” I smile softly, his eyes trailing me up and down.

“Amy.” He repeated softly that earned an elbow jab in his ribs. He hissed glancing at the women, but the taller one hid his amusement by drinking his beer. “well, I’m Dean and that’s my brother Sam.” He jesters to him and his brother while his other had loosened his tie like he hated wearing it. I raised a brow taking note that they were brothers, I wouldn’t have guessed that. Dean opened his mouth but was cut off.

“I’m Y/N.” Her voice never changed from earlier. My brows raised slightly but quickly shaking the expression away. I study her a small moment while her gaze was fixed elsewhere. Her skin was flawless, not a scar or pimple in sight, long hair pulled in a tight pony tail, curves of her body well accentuated by her dress. I couldn’t help the slight jealousy I had building up in my chest by looking at her. I finally shook the thoughts away pressing a smile.

“Well, Sam, Dean and Y/N,” I began, “If you need anything while in town, you know where to find me.”

———

I watched as the trio finished their drinks and left the bar, and I couldn't help but feel an unexplainable urge to follow them. I excused myself to my coworker, claiming I needed to leave early and for him to close up without me. My mind racing with a growing sense of curiosity. Without being seen, I slipped out of the bar and into my car, the engine purring to life as I blended into the night. I kept a discreet distance, my eyes fixed on the Impala as it led me to a rundown motel on the outskirts of town. As they pulled into the parking lot, my brow furrowed once more. My curiosity was sparked by the unusual choice of a motel on the outskirts of town, a place that seemed to be perpetually shrouded in a thin layer of neglect and disrepair.. The shorter man emerged from the vehicle, his movements calculated as he unlocked the door to room 217. The other two followed, their gazes scanning the area with an air of caution before disappearing into the dimly lit room. My eyes lingered on the door, my mind whirling with questions. What were they doing here? And why did I feel an unshakeable sense of unease as I watched them disappear into the shadows?

I hesitated, grappling with the conflicting thoughts racing through my mind. I knew I shouldn't be here, and I certainly shouldn't have followed them, but I had. I quietly closed my car door, my footsteps silent as I crossed the parking lot to the opposite side of the motel. The forest loomed behind the motel, a dark and foreboding presence. A light flickered on in one of the windows, illuminating the room I assumed was theirs. I crept closer, crouching low to peer through the glass. Dean sat on the bed's edge, flipping through channels on the TV while his brother hunched over his laptop at the table. My brow furrowed in confusion wondering where their female companion had vanished to. Just as I was pondering this, the bathroom door swung open, and she emerged, her robe clutched tightly around her small frame. I ducked just in time, holding my breath as she turned towards the window. My heart pounded in my chest like a drum, my breaths coming in short gasps as I feared she might have seen me. I remained frozen for a few tense moments before slowly turning back to peer in, my eyes widening and my mouth parted a small gasp. Y/N’s robe was off her body and she stood before Dean naked. I couldn’t believe what I was witnessing. Why is she naked in front of them both?

“What the fuck?” I let the words fall from my lips. Quickly, I glance behind me seeing only the forest still standing silently. I turn slowly to look through the window, my hands pressing to the brick of the shabby motel reminding me this is real, what was happening right before my eyes was indeed, real.

"Dean," she said, her arms crossing over her breasts. A small smirk playing on Deans lips as he tossed the remote onto the other bed, his attention fixed solely on her. Her expression clearly showed she was upset, but I struggled to make sense of the situation. "Do you like her more?" she demanded. Dean's gaze flicked to Sam, who watched with an air of amusement, his hands clasped together in a relaxed pose as he leaned back into his seat. My brow furrowed at Sam's state of relaxation while Y/N stood there.

“Who?” Dean finally replied after a long pause then snapped his fingers, “OOH! The woman on the tv?” He playfully teased going to reach out for her waist, but she pulled away giving him a threatening glare that I could even feel through the glass. “The women at the bar?” He raised a brow, still having that teasing smirk. I watched as Y/N just stared at him for a moment before slowly swaying her way to Sam, who openly removed his clasped hands and letting her take a seat in his lap. His hands finding themselves resting under her breast and the other wrapped around her frame to grip her hip. I bite back a whimper, my chest tightening seeing how large his hands were compared to any other mans. Just one hand engulfed her body, a snippet of jealously filled my chest.

I watched as Sam nuzzled his face into the crook of her neck, her lips parting and letting a soft moan escape them. He then pulled away slightly, giving his brother a look before attacking her neck once more while his hand cupped her breast and the other gripped her hip tightly pulling her closer to his chest. Dean only tightened his jaw, his adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed saliva. Y/N only continued to whimper and moan softly, keeping steady eye contact with Dean. I couldn’t pull my eyes away while Sam only moved her to sit directly on his erection and spread her legs for dean to watch in silent pain. Sam’s long fingers found their way between her folds, his middle and ring finger gently caressing her clit. I swallowed the salvia building up in the back of my throat. I felt like a creep watching him fondle her, but I couldn’t tear my eyes away. At this point, I was to invested and I had to admit aside form the jealousy, I wanted to watch.

“Y/N,” Deans voice pulled my attention to him. Sam stopped, to see what his brother had to say. She eyed him, sitting up, purposely grinding herself against Sam to earn a grunt from the taller one. I could see the dying, begging look from here, Dean wanted her too. “I want you,” He began again, “only you.” His voice raspy and deep with a hint of pleading behind it, as if he might even choke if she said no. She eyed him for a bit before lifting a finger, curling it, allowing him to come over. He stood, hesitating before taking a few steps in front of them. Sam’s hands lifted towards her breasts once more, cupping them while his finger and thumb pinched her nipples, letting them roll between his fingers. Dean lowered himself between her legs, one hand on her knee while his lips pressed to the other, leaving a trail of kisses into her inner thigh. She gasped slightly at the soft touch of his tongue lightly dragging on her out folds, teasing her before his tongue dove deeply into her. Another moan came from her, louder than the last, she went to close her legs on him, but his hands held them apart. Sam grabbed her wrists in one hand and his other held her throat.

“Shh,” Sam cooed in her ear, “you’ll wake the neighbors.” He then tilted her head up so their lips met. Dean moaned into her, his lips pulling away with a popping kiss, his lips and chin glistening from the mixture of her wetness and his saliva.

“I love the way you taste.” The comment hung in the air while he leaned back down, his tongue working faster to please her. Her hips bucking with the friction earning a throaty moan into Sam’s mouth who savored it with his own moan in response. Her leg lifted to push dean away, his head tilted with a pleased smile. “All done?” He propped her foot on his shoulder, holding her ankle.

She shook her head as her lips parted, “I’m not even close.” A small smirk played across her lips. Dean and Sam shared a lustful look to each other, Dean pulling her off his brother’s lap to connect their lips while Sam begins to remove his clothes. Sam pulls her away from Dean catching her lips, deepening the kiss while Dean glared at his brother removing his own clothes. With swift motion dean stood behind Y/N, kissing the side of her neck and shoulder, his hands finding their way to her breast. Sam continued to kiss her, stealing every moan and breath that escaped her. I finally looked away in disbelief, pressing my back to the cold brick wall of the motel. Their voices echoed through the window, each moan sending a shiver down my spine. A loud “yes” and “oh god” from Y/N brought me to look back through the glass. My lids couldn’t get any wider, Sam, leaning against the wall, held Y/N just by her thighs, her legs spread apart while dean stood between her. His hands gripped her thighs just below Sam’s larger ones. My eye stuck on their cocks, slowly moving in an out of her, the way her chest arched and her eyes rolled back. A ghostly feeling ran through the lower parts of my body, as if I could feel it, the pain and pleasure being received by the brothers.

“I guess they startd without me.” A rugged raspy voice, followed by the swooshing of wind startled a yelp out of me, throwing myself away from the window to fall on my butt. My eyes darted to a man in a trench coat who only watched through the window, the erection clearly showing in his pants. I continued to blink looking to him when he finally laid his eyes on me. I sat there, shaking, seen as I had been found by this, man who appeared from no where. He approached me, my heart beating loud by how close he knelt down before me. He raised a hand, two fingers pressed to my forehead, “Goodnight.” Was the last thing I heard, my eyes fluttering close and the cold grass caught me.

[vibingandsimping]

This may be unlikely but what about good, morally upright Tav with Gortash but she isn't pre tadpole Druge anymore? She's all about saving people's lives and standing up for the 'little' man

He despises this. He mourns the loss of his lover. Gortash isn’t sure why he keeps you around at this point.

You’re constantly attempting to foil his plans. Destroying his Steel Watch was the first move you made against him. He spent so much time curating those metallic beasts only for you to explode the factory. Do you have any clue the gold and effort those required? He held out after that and hoped it was a sign that you had a darker side still. That was a power move and when he knew you before you were all about showing your capabilities. He had hope that you’d prevail and become his dark assassin again. His right-hand and soon to be ruler. If he had known the tadpole would’ve wiped your memory, he would’ve done everything to prevent your infection.

You persisted. Doing everything that was unlike the you he knew. Saving lives and nourishing them was not yourself. You were a ruthless and bloody killer. Unafraid to hold your knife to his throat if he said something you disapproved of. The person he had fallen in love with was gone. He thought himself devoid of most emotion. Gortash was convinced his ability to hurt was long gone after the torment Raphael put him through. That was proven wrong every time he saw your face. His nails digging into his palm and his throat tightening. He still held his facade and spoke with a tender gaze. Even if he ached for the you he knew to return- you stood before him.

Gortash vowed to find a way to get you back. So the two of you could return to carefully crafted plans. Little did he know you also vowed. You vowed to redeem him. Make him a worthy ruler and no longer a power-hungry tyrant.

It was only a matter of who would prevail.

[robo-writing]

once his love definitely not suspiciously “””””mysteriously dies and he only arrived in-time to see their dead body””””” i think the initial mourning phase is so strong that he permanently changes the room that’s the king’s (once royal couple’s) chambers bc of the emotional ties to it. he puts away their important items like their all made of porcelain to avoid getting dust and doesn’t let anyone even sleipnir touch it without his explicit watch and permission.

norse tradition has people burn their loves on a pyre but i don’t think he would be able to dispose of the body beyond gently giving them a decorated tomb and mausoleum so that they’re not disturbed. he somehow locks it with the energy unique to odin and sometimes he just sits by the casket unmoving, staring their sword in his hands

When you died, what little humanity he had left died with you. Consumed by grief, it took him hours to realize that you were gone, and that you would never return.

Sleipnir was the one to find his king on his hands and knees, clutching your lifeless body as tears fell heavy against his face. It was Sleipnir who eventually pulled away the grief-stricken king who was far too consumed in his thoughts to realize he was still speaking to your body as if you were alive. It was he who prepared the burial service and the construction of the mausoleum with a heavy heart, but nowhere as near as heavy as his Lord’s, who’s heart sunk him deeper and deeper into depression.

He couldn’t stand to lay in your bed anymore, after the first week he chose to sleep elsewhere in the castle and left the previous room locked and untouched, with him having the only key.

A portrait was commissioned of you, hung in the great halls that led to his throne room. Occasionally he could be seen staring at the painting of you, and those who were close enough swore that the king talked to it as if it were his wife.

He was always a cruel man, but something changed in the months that followed—it could be said that he truly lost himself in sadness, and that cruel man was a man no longer, but a monster. Even so, that same monster still clung onto the last vestiges of love, sat silently in the final resting place of his beloved, unmoving, stone-faced. It is here where he is visited by a ghost of his past, a being whom he believed to be myth, until he shed his earthy robed and let the grieving king witness his divinity in full view.

“I can bring her back,” it spoke to him, devoid of emotion. “I can save this world from itself, and you can live in harmony as you did before. All I would require is your loyalty.”

Barnabas did not need any convincing. As the ghostly figure disappeared from his view he unsheathed his sword, the one his wife crafted for him before her untimely death. A single thumb strokes the engraving upon the blade, her blessing every time he entered battle, and so he gives her the same blessing she gave him.

“Be safe, my love,” he says, placing a palm on the cold granite. “I will return, and we shall be together.”

[mania-sama]

rule #16 - movies

Rule #16 - Movies - Fish in a Birdcage

➼ information ❧ Bungou Stray Dogs ❧ Pairings: Dazai Osamu & Ranpo Edogawa, Dazai Osamu & Nakahara Chuuya ❧ Additional Character: Mori Ougai ❧ Tags: withdrawal, alcoholism, drug addiction, vomiting, hallucinations, medical inaccuracies, implied/referenced child abuse, dazai-typical suicide references, angst with a happy ending ❧ Summary: The Armed Detective Agency is strict on substance abuse, and the newly-joined Dazai has a severe addiction. They handle it in the only manner that Dazai will accept. ❧ Word Count: 2,631 ❧ Cross-posted from Archive of Our Own ❧ Original post date: 18 October 2023

➼ whumptober 2023 ❧ Day 18: Fever | Vomiting ❧ Previous Day ❧ Next Day ❧ Masterlist

“Be on the side that saves people.”

It doesn’t have to mean the opposing side of the Port Mafia. He could’ve joined a normal detective agency, become a cop, or a healthcare worker. Hell, he could’ve forced himself in the Hunting Dogs if he so pleased. Dazai could fulfill Odasaku’s dying wish anywhere that serves the public while still seeing the worst in people; the violence they commit and the subsequent repercussions. 

But the other side of his coin requires this of him. He dances with brown bears, planning and advancing across their transparent chessboard. It’s Dazai’s turn to play. His only option is the Armed Detective Agency, or the world will collapse under the weight of five fallen angels. Besides, no other place would accept the manner in which carries himself. The Armed Detective Agency is a special organization made for special people. Dazai would be no different.

Maybe, just maybe, he wants to be like everyone else.

He didn’t know that they would be so strict on his addiction. His attempts to redirect conversations to different topics or play off his constant alcohol and drug consumption didn’t work all that well. Kunikida was harsh and Yosano was unimpressed. Ranpo smiled and laughed, but it had been at Dazai, not with him. The President was the only decent one. He pulled Dazai aside and laid out the facts:

“You’re going to get sober on your own or someone in this Agency will make you. It won’t be me,” he said, his eyes glinting with an emotion akin to pity, “but that’s only because they’ll do it before me.”

Fukuzawa doesn’t joke very often. If he does, it’s more likely than not on the topic of pet animals. True to Dazai’s observation, the very next day after work he found a week’s worth of canned food, raw meat, bread, and other condiments stacked in his apartment. His windows were boarded and the door locked behind him immediately.

When Dazai flipped the peephole cover open, he saw a grinning Ranpo waving. He then placed one hand on his hat and the other on his hip. “I’m sure the President warned you already, so I won’t spare any details. I’ll come back when you’re done!” he called. 

His voice was forced into a cheery, high-pitched note. Years of reading people already told Dazai everything he needed to know about Ranpo’s feelings on the matter. Really, Ranpo is as much an open book as everyone else. Ranpo’s eyes are perpetually squinted into near-nothing, but eyes are only one factor of the body’s equation of microexpressions — it’s hardly the only qualifying identifier for emotions and inner thoughts. 

The never-ending analyses of his peers have led Dazai to wear a perfect mask devoid of his true intentions. He wonders, then, if that’s what gave him away to Ranpo. The man sees right through Dazai one hundred percent of the time.

It’s terrifying. Watching him walk away with bags of cocaine, sheets of LSD, and syringes sticking out of his pants was even worse.

Dazai did everything he could to break out. He tore up the floor to find his keys — gone. The rifle he keeps in his safe, the gun under his mattress, the sticks of C-4 in the roof — gone. Every drop of alcohol, heroin, cocaine, even the stashes of Mori-crafted drugs he still kept around for equally special occasions was gone.

The only things that remained were decidedly not anything to kill him quickly, get him high or dead asleep, or escape his own apartment. Things that will keep him alive are all available to him; water, food, a thermometer, a clean bed, and a freshly deep-cleaned home, which Dazai recognized immediately because he hadn’t exactly kept it looking nice since he moved in.

Ranpo knew how to cover his bases. Damn him, damn his non-existent ability, and damn Mori for getting him hooked in the first place.

On the second day, Dazai threw away, destroyed, and ruined as much food and liquid as he could. He set the bread on fire with the stove, the meat into tiny pieces and flushed it down the toilet, poured the water and soda into the sink, and ground the canned vegetables in the garbage disposal. They wouldn’t let him starve, and he knew they could hear him if he screamed loud enough. They would have to resupply his food eventually.

They did bring it in, but that was after his withdrawal began in full force.

It hit him more suddenly than he anticipated, and he realized just how bad he’d been. A decade of nonstop drug and alcohol abuse left him vulnerable to it being taken away. In truth, it’s his biggest weakness that could be exploited without having to do anything. Perhaps that was the underlying motivation for the Agency’s intervention. Dazai was a liability.

He doesn’t know for certain. Most of his thoughts come in sluggishly now, forming slower as the saliva bubbles around his mouth increase.

It’s the third day of true withdrawal, and five days since Ranpo stole all of his addictions and weapons and locked the door behind him. Dazai has the fleeting thought that this really will kill.

His thermometer reads an astonishing thirty-nine-degree fever. While his kakefuton is unbearably warm from his burning skin, the sweat being soaked up in the sheets makes it a sticky swamp. The tatami mats are slightly cooler but infinitely more uncomfortable to lay on. Every part of his body aches and violently oscillates between scorching and freezing.

Nausea cramps his stomach in every waking second. Between vomiting, — now on the tatami floor because he doesn’t have the energy to move anymore — frothing at the mouth, and sweating, he’s never quite dry. The only time he’s able to get himself up is in serious bowel movements, but other than that, he lays on the thin mattress.

He waits, and he thinks.

Mori is to blame for all of this. If he turns his head, he can see the doctor staring back at him. He holds a syringe in his hand. It’s filled with a brownish-yellow liquid that honestly looks anything but appealing. Just another drug to test on Dazai. Just another drug to get hooked on. Just another way to keep the boy on his leash.

His lips are drawn into a smile. He doesn’t move. It’s as though he knows that all Dazai wants is to push himself up and stick the needle into his veins. It’ll get rid of the bubbles flowing from his lips, his uncontrollable heart, and his sickening need to deplete what little remains of his internal fluids.

Dazai looks at his straggly hair and crude eyes for longer than he wants to admit. The liquid gleams and screams to enter his bloodstream.

He uses what energy he has to turn over and put his sweaty hands to his ears. He pulls at his oily hair and forgets Mori Ougai. That man is the reason he’s there in the first place. What the Agency is doing to him is chopping off Mori’s leash for good, and by sticking himself, Dazai would simply offer his neck to be fitting for a new collar.

His heart beats uncontrollably and his mouth froths into his sheets, but he closes his eyes anyway. He blocks out the world and focuses on breathing. Maybe he’ll sleep, and maybe he’ll never wake up. Dazai doesn’t know if he wants to die. He doesn’t. He doesn’t. He doesn't.

Withdrawal isn’t supposed to be this awful.

When he wakes up, he’s greeted with cramped, tense muscles and Nakahara Chuuya leaning into his personal space. His heterochromatic eyes peer scrutinizingly into Dazai’s, then trail down to the mess of his kakefuton and tatami floor. The bastard is wearing shoes, Dazai realizes with an overwhelming feeling of disgust that’s probably just overall nausea. How rude.

“Those are going to kill you, you know,” Chuuya says. His voice is unnaturally young. Dazai squints and tries to make sense of the short hair and tight frown. The black jacket he wears fits too tightly to his body. He no longer wears that red undercoat, either. Something about it being too hot, or not fitting anymore even though he hasn’t grown since he was fifteen.

Dazai laughs, or, he attempts to. His body is seized so tightly by the grip of Satan that movement is impossible. It comes out with a sort of strangled sound followed by gagging. He manages to choke down the vomit coming up his throat, but he doesn’t know why. He wouldn’t mind throwing up on Chuuya.

“Where have I heard that before?” Dazai teases, though his voice is hoarse enough that it comes off rather pitiful.

Chuuya tsks in a way that bares his teeth into a sort of snarl. A feral dog, as always. “I told you they would. Look at you now,” he says.

His hair is different. It hangs down in longer strands over his face and ears, and his black coat hangs over his shoulders in the style Dazai is more familiar with. Rimbaud’s fedora sits perfectly on his head, as though it’s made for him. The stare Chuuya levels Dazai now is older. A grimace hardens the lines on his face.

“You shouldn’t die yet,” he says, intending it to be offhanded and disconnected, but Dazai always saw through that. “How much more of this to go?” Dazai swallows back the bile in his throat, though saliva still does escape his lips. Chuuya pretends not to notice. “I don’t know… I don’t know what day it is.”

Everything burns and cools and burns again. Time passes, or it doesn’t, as he talks with Chuuya. Glasses of water and cooked crab, chicken, and rice appear by his head in intervals that he can’t keep track of. He drinks and eats them as they come and go. Mostly, though, his world is contained within the narrow space of his kakefuton and the rare trip to the bathroom. The last thing he needs is to be sleeping his own shit and pee.

People visit him. At least, he thinks they do. He doesn’t quite know how they get in, or why they sometimes bring syringes and powder and paper to wave in front of Dazai’s face. He’s either too exhausted or his muscles have tensed, but in either scenario, he can’t move to grab his only release from this eternal Hell.

Chuuya comes by on occasion. Mori seeks him the most, reminding him of why Ranpo locked him in and why he burned his old boss’ coat as soon as he could. He can smell Mori’s stench over his own odor, which is saying something considering he’s surrounded by days-old vomit, sweat, and saliva. The sight of Mori is enough to send painful waves of nausea through his stomach and intense light-headed spells.

The last person who visits him is Ranpo. He crouches by his head and cards his fingers through Dazai’s hair. He’s smiling when he says: “I’ll see you soon.”

His apartment is lonely after that, but for the first time in what’s felt like years, he has the energy to stand. It takes a painstakingly long time to pry the cover off of his sticky, dirty body and even get onto his hands and knees. When he does stand, his neck tenses up, and his back screams in weakened agony.

But he does stand, and he walks one step at a time to the bathroom. He turns on the bathtub faucet and watches with blurry fascination as the water rises. He doesn’t bother with his bandages — they are soaked and dirty, but there’s too many to take off and he’s too out of it to try. He soaks in the water and does what he can to work out the vomit and oil in his hair and exposed skin.

His toes and fingers are pruned by the time he’s finished. The process of putting on a fresh pair of clothes requires multiple breaks, and his hands shake too much to pull on socks to protect his feet from the cold of his apartment. He doesn’t return to his mattress when he’s done. Instead, he sinks to the floor in the corner of his room. It’s clean and untouched by illness and withdrawal.

It gets easier as the minutes, hours, and presumably days go on. He checks his phone for the first time on October eighteenth. Eight days since the beginning of his withdrawal. For eight days he laid with a fever high enough to kill someone without an ability and didn’t move, barely ate, barely drank.

All wanted was a shot of heroin or a stick of LSD. Anything. Dazai gradually cleans his apartment to rid the sight of his withdrawal journey. The smell wouldn’t go away until he got his hands on an air freshener, but that’s okay.

He still wants drugs. He still wants the burn of alcohol in his throat.

Then he thinks of the apartment he’s cleaning and the ever-present stench of sickness.

Ranpo will know the moment he picks up a bottle again. Actually, he thinks sourly, they will all know. They wouldn’t hesitate to do this again. The President would warn him before he could take action, and he would be a goner for another eight days, or however long his body punishes him for indulging in his desires.

His body trembles uncontrollably. It’s an after-effect of withdrawal, he knows, and it won’t go away for a while. He can control his heart rate, at least.

He can think.

He can see clearly.

And he’s cleaned his living space for the first time in the ten years since Mori first gave him a shot of heroin and a bottle of vodka to down in a matter of minutes.

Ranpo doesn’t enter the apartment, but when Dazai tries the door it gives way easily. Nobody greets him on the other side. The windows are still boarded. Dazai wonders how many of this people actually visited him. His days of forced withdrawal are full of messy, incohesive memories that don’t add up to much when he pieces them together. It only points to delirium-induced hallucinations, tension, and illness. Staying in one position for so long gave way to stiffness and exhaustion.

He wonders if anyone visited him at all.

It doesn’t matter, in the end. He can’t remember enough for it to make sense, so the argument is null and useless to him. What matters is that he’s alive and following the Agency’s rules. He doesn’t have any alcohol or drugs currently, though he knows who to contact for more if they haven’t already been dealt with by Ranpo and the Agency.

His hands tremble, and he closes the door behind him. He doesn’t want to leave the complex yet, but he does need fresh air. The autumn breeze brushes through his hair and acts as a soothing balm for his sore throat. The sun rises in front of him, casting the buildings and trees in a hazy yellow glow. His shaking hands are outlined in faint orange.

His breath crystallizes in the air, and for the first time, he sees the colors as they are. They aren’t a shattered version of what they may be. The shapes don’t move, the sky doesn’t fall, and his body trembles and trembles.

This is what it means to be sober. He only allows for a split second of discomfort. If being sober means being in the Armed Detective Agency, he will be cleaner than his freshly mopped tatami floor. Because being a member of the Armed Detective Agency means fulfilling Oda’s dying wish.

“Be on the side that saves people.”

[pilgrimsofworship]

The Giver 1993

reading progress: (start: 1/17/23) (finish: 1/19/23) pages: 306

⚠️ spoiler alert ⚠️

(my thoughts... aka imperfect book review)

With upright honesty, I am never very good at the fine art of crafting a good book review, (would this even count for one? idk how it works)

but then I will try to pour my heart as truly as I can as I comment on this book, with very little worry about my wording, if it is "too simple" or inadequate from a critique's perspective, and what not. After all, I am writing this to myself and not for the audience of many. Just so I can look back and consider the recollections I had of reading this book.

Ill start with what I think.

I hadn't read a book for so long now, so it is incredibly hard to not be biased, knowing I have read very few books in my 19 yrs of lyf  (in comparison to avid readers that I know), but what I must say is that this is my first dystopian sci-fi novel that I have read, and I really liked it. I am glad that I made a decision to explore beyond my usual go-to book genre.

All things settled, this book produced emotions for me that I can vaguely describe. It was something strong; describing them would comprise pity, longing for justice, loneliness, and utmost curiosity. I was very invested in the world-building and the themes and plot of the story. It had at most challenged my imagination, because I have always thought that I lacked in that part. It really diminished my perception of "not liking fiction" altogether. This book produced a lot of emotions that were not necessarily happy, but I enjoyed reading it and letting those emotions seep in. No wonder now, I somehow relate to that very usual phrase to a person who has read the book firsthand, the phrase "read the book, its so much better." after knowing i had only watched the adaptation. I saw some parts of the movie, but it's not as good as the experience of reading it firsthand. It certainly takes your mind on an adventure. 

(Sorry for ranting about my reading pov experience; it's way too obvious now that I don’t usually read so many books. xD)

The pain in the story... Where it’s a place of rules, and every little decision and will of a person is decided and tasked so meticulously (I don't know if its a totalitarian approach; once again, my knowledge has failed me, xD), it’s a place where everything is altogether too predictable. Where everything is chosen for you, and there are rules and higher people governing over you to provide the best "community", devoid of pain and quarrel, devoid of choice and risks, but also devoid of love and hope. Complete blandness, all the sameness, and grey...

Jonas, once an ordinary boy, had been chosen in this community to be their receiver of memory. So he now has access to all those memories of good and bad, just so his community won't have to suffer for them, and I liked the irony of it, because obviously, you can't just learn what love is if you don’t know what pain and loss are, so there are always two sides to a coin: you either have it all or you have nothing. What I really liked was the unmasking of the truth part, where Jonas realizes after he's received all the memories that he's been living in a bleak, false world all along, and this isn't what he wants, especially when he knew what "release" meant. Jonas would've lived his life like it anyway if he didn’t receive those memories, but suddenly now he wants to make a difference. We can be really blinded by what we've grown to, so much that our identity has been affixed to it,  that it is very hard to let go of what we've always been used to. But when the truth hits you in the face, there's a monumental change that happens inside of you, and it’s the breakthrough of receiving the new-found truth that changes your perception about everything. You suddenly realize that the choice is in your hands: should you stay and wish everything to be back to "normal"?  or face the unknown path of the truth that shines its glorious light, waiting for you to behold?

"You never really realize you are blinded by the truth until you get to see what's on the other side."

I was a bit confounded by the ending, as it was once again the choice of having two sides of the coin.

"The end of The Giver is open to interpretation. Some readers believe that Jonas and Gabriel are able to escape, and they sled into a new community. Others interpret the final scene as a dying hallucination of Jonas's that was triggered by the first memory The Giver gave him."

There's so much more that needs to be said, but I think that’s all I have for now.

[mollypaup]

"no voice to cry 'suffering!' " still goes unbelievably hard. Insane about this single line of game text six years later.

[legendofzoodles]

How the Chain solves dungeon puzzles

Time has been doing this since before his first puberty so he’s got it down to a science. With decades of experience he’d probably rely on that heavily when approaching any dungeon puzzle, and automatically pay attention to certain things like the design, who might have created it and the items he finds there to give him a leg up when it’s time to use ye olde noggin. That being said, since he has been doing this since he was a child I feel like he’d 100% rage if things got too difficult. 

What? You think he survived the Water Temple because of patience and controlling his emotions? Goddess no, he was mentally 9 when he painstakingly got through it and it broke him. He now has a deep seeded hatred for all water based puzzles. 

Warriors on the other hand, has spent a lot of time managing armies and little to no time in a room devoid of sunlight- unless it was shutting himself away in his office to crunch some overdue paperwork. Don’t get me wrong he’d crush any sort of puzzle where the solution is simply beating up a room full of monsters or the dungeon boss, but traditional puzzle he might struggle with. A lot of Zelda puzzles require an ‘out of the box’ kind of thinking that probably doesn’t come naturally to the ‘by the books’ Captain. 

Since back in the day Twilight had Oocca and her son to teleport him out of the temple when he got tired, low on supplies or bored so if he can help it he won’t stick around longer than he needs to. That said he’d still really enjoy his time there, silently taking in the atmosphere and ambience of the dungeon. 

Also, according to the 2000s Zelda fandom TP’s dungeon puzzles were the most difficult of the series. I’d wager that Midna, rather than helping out (outside of her being a companion type character), would’ve either cryptically teased the answer if she figured it out before him to poke fun or simply not have taken an interest and just nagged at him to hurry up. Meaning he solved them mostly on his own and therefore got really good at it.

Sky definitely used to chat with Fi as he solved puzzles back in his adventure, sharing thoughts, getting hints and occasionally voicing frustration. Because of this, he would definitely collaborate with whoever’s exploring with him and if he’s on his own then he’ll just talk to himself. Helps him think.

He’s the type to overthink every problem presented to him, to the point where he’d often invent a very convoluted solution when an obvious one was staring him in the face ignored. And unless there’s someone there to point it out he’ll never notice. 

Like Time, Legend’s got a lot of experience dungeon crawling, I’d argue more since judging by Time’s armour he hasn’t been travelling a whole lot recently, so he’d also be relying on that experience. When he was younger, dungeon puzzles were a blast to figure out but now they’ve all just kind of bled together. There’s nothing he hasn’t really seen before in some shape or form, no tricks for the deity’s to pull that will surprise him. 

He’d just breeze through each puzzle or trap like: “Lame,” or “Seen it,” or “Hey...the spider’s new,” yawning as he went. I feel though if he were paired up with Warriors (he could act nonchalant while Warriors is jumpy at everything) who’s new to all this or Hyrule how’s only ever seen really simplistic dungeon puzzles it could spark that joy he once had. 

Wild would unashamedly break the system. Either accidently while finding creative way to cheat or to intentionally carve out his own shortcut. Not so much out of frustration, he could absolutely solve it they way the designers intended if he wanted to, trouble is he rarely has any interest in doing that. He used to ruin the carefully constructed puzzles (most of) the Sheikah monks crafted specifically to test him- right in their faces!- and they rewarded him regardless of the damage he caused. He’s been spoiled. I can imagine him blasting a way out only to turn around, go back in and intentionally destroy the rest of the puzzles for the sake of completion and loot.  

Members like Wind, Hyrule and Time on a bad day would 100% support this method, the others would be horrified, with Legend somewhere in the middle.

Four is a very methodical sort of problem solver, not one to let his past experience cloud his judgment and restrict him to assumptions rather than trying out something new. As a blacksmith who’s probably gotten to learn about how other cultures craft their weapons he probably has a deep appreciation for the dungeons design and would be the first to point out what certain quirks of the building mean and what tribe left their mark there. Whenever he may feel agitated for not understanding a puzzle all he needs to do is walk around and look at some historic architecture to keep Blue at bay. 

For this reason he may be one of the slower ones to complete a puzzle, but at least the walls swirling patterns may give him inspiration for a cool new sword handle. Not everyone would be able to relate to his eye for detail though. 

Four: The paving looks amazing with all these unique carvings, don’t you think?

Hyrule: [grazing a hand over the stone] Ah yes, the floor is made out of floor. 

Similar to Warriors Hyrule hasn’t really seen any complex dungeon puzzles, but unlike him he has a more creative ‘out of the box’ way of thinking, which would give him an edge. He’d probably get easily distracted though, lured away from the puzzle by a hidden passage or another route he hadn’t checked out, yet would somehow end up discovering every nook and cranny in the entire dungeon has to offer without much trouble.    

Wind is not really a fan of them. Unless it’s for a specific purpose like rescuing someone or to beat up a monster he’ll actively avoid them. But if he had to he’d try to get through it as quickly as possible by literally just trying whatever first pops in his head. He’d rush past and ignore any sort of hints the designers might have given him and try to brute force his way though. When it eventually works he’ll immediately forget the solution though, so don’t bother asking how he got out just be glad he did, like Grandma would. 

He’s not the type to ‘stop and smell the roses’ like Four, or just enjoy the atmosphere like Twilight, but he’s too polite (thanks to Grandma) to go around destroying ancient masonry like Wild. 

Who do you think would make up the best teams (2- 4 people) if the chain were split up in a dungeon? 

I’m thinking Sky, Four and Hyrule because they’d go at a slow pace chatting the whole time, with Four teaching the other two about who built the dungeon and Hyrule encouraging them to explore every room. Or maybe Legend, Warriors and Wind, with the latter two trying really hard and Legend supervising and making fun of them. Leaving Time, Twilight and Wild, where Twilight would struggle to keep Wild from blowing them up and Time being seconds away from joining him. 

~~~

Thanks for reading! 

Masterlist

Other headcanons: 

Parkour team

Honorary Gorons

How each member of the chain laughs

[aerynwrites]

Conclave

Jayce x Viktor x Fem!Reader

Arcane Halloweek: Day 3 - Mages, Witches, and Wizards

A/N: Kind of went off the rails for this one lol - created a whole ass mage universe. not in the arcena universe, just kind of made my own. but it’s not really important lol. Hope you all enjoy!

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: canon divergence, AU, angst, fluff, very vague mention of the fact that reader will outlive Jayce and Viktor, happy ending.

Un’beta read - apologies for any grammatical mistakes/spelling errors

The crimson wax seal stares up at you tauntingly, the carefully crafted sigil of house Narkissos laying broke in half in your haste to read the parchment it held closed. 

“No, no, no! Fuck!” Pieces of hair break off in your fingers as you grasp desperately at the strands, complete and utter fear for using through your veins as you pace across the room. 

You knew coming from an old house would come back to haunt you. You should have expected this - you can’t run from them forever. Not when they send for you personally. 

Not when they call a conclave.

There hasn’t been a conclave in thousands of years, you never anticipated having to attend one, preferring to keep to yourself and avoid all the silly rules they impose upon mages. 

Hell, you had planned to ignore a conclave call if you ever did get one, but the invitation wasn’t just for you. It had their names in it too. 

Which means they know. Which means you’re all in danger whether you attend the conclave or not. 

“Fuck!” The word rips from your chest in a powerful cry, shaking the room around you. 

Tinctures and other various tools are still rattling when the two people you are so afraid for, enter your workshop, worry clear on their faces. 

Your names leaves their lips in gentle whispers as familiar hands slide up your back before resting on your shoulders as you brace your hands on the desk - that damn seal mocking you as you stare down at it. 

The sigil is of a raven, beautiful wings spread as it clutches a skull in its talons. 

You used to find the picture to be a powerful symbol. But now…now it just feels like a message. 

“What’s wrong?” 

Viktor is the first to speak, his accented voice doing nothing to calm your turbulent emotions like it usually does. Nothing can calm you now, not Jaya as warm hands or Viktor's gentle words. 

Not when everything you hold dear is at risk. 

Fingers shakily grasp the delicate parchment that appeared on your desk, holding it up as explanation. 

“A conclave,” you whisper, voice unsteady. “They’re holding a conclave.”

Your lovers confusion is palpable as you turn around to face them, their hands falling to their sides as you lean against the desk. Jayce looks from you to Viktor then back again before speaking, hand fisting unsurely at his side. 

“And that’s…a bad thing? I thought mage conclaves were just to discuss changes or elect new members to sit on the council-“ 

“It’s not that simple!” You snap, immediately regretting it the moment Jayce’s face falls and Viktor reaches up to place a hand on his shoulder. “Shit I -“ You take a deep breath, the paper in your hand crinkling as you crush it in your fist. “I’m sorry. That is what they usually are. They may be dreadfully boring but they’ve never been dangerous not…not until now.” 

The words leave your lips in a whisper, and you can’t bring yourself to meet their eyes, as they look at you questioningly. 

“Why is this one different?” Viktor finally asks, cane thumping anxiously against the floor. 

“Because of you.” Your voice is firm, devoid of any previous emotion as the gravity of the situation finally settles in your stomach. “Mages…we’re expected to present those we chose as life partners. Usually it’s a cause for celebration as it’s usually a mage bonding with another mage and carrying on an old house but-“

“We’re human.” Jayce states, picking up on the implication of your words. 

You nod, swallowing thickly. “Yes. And they…the other mages, especially the council don’t…this-“ You gesture between the three of you. “This is unheard of. I can’t even think of an instance that it’s happened before and they…they aren’t fond of outsiders.” 

Jayce shakes his head, stepping forward as he speaks. “Then we just don’t tell them. You go to the conclave like normal and we’ll stay here, they don’t have to know-“ 

“Except they already do.” 

Viktor's voice is grim as he speaks, fingers curled against his chin in thought as golden eyes flick up to meet your own. “That is why you’re so upset.” 

You nod, unable to hold back the tears that have been burning at the back of your eyes since you read the dark ink scrawled neatly on the invitation. They bubble to the surface, coating your lashes as you try to blink them back. 

“Yes, I…They know about you, they know we’re together and I don’t-“ You choke on a sob. “I don’t know what they’re going to do.” 

Two sets of arms envelop you before you can break down further, the two bodies pressing up against you as Jayce and Viktor sandwich you between their embrace. 

“We’re here,” Jayce says, voice gentle as he presses a kiss to your temple. “And we’ll be here for whatever happens.”

Viktor hums his approval, one hand sliding down to intertwine his fingers with your own. “Jayce is right. We will be together, no matter what happens.”

───── 𖥸 ─────

Despite being together for years at this point, Jayce and Viktor are always in awe whenever you use magic, especially in such a grand way as transportation. 

Jayce of course had witnessed a spell like this as a child, but you always took a small sense of pleasured happiness at the way his eyes widen in child-like wonder as you paint runes in the air. 

The familiar blue haze fills the small clearing behind your house, casting the pallid grey morning in a calming azure light. 

The spell comes naturally to you, hands twirling your staff to form the intricate runes that make up the transportation spell until, with a grand wave of your arms and firm drive of the staff, all three of you are on your way. 

It happens in the blink of an eye and in a whirlwind of colors and stars until your feet are back on solid ground. Viktor stumbles slightly as the spell leave him and Jayce just a few inches from the ground, but Jayce is there to steady him as you take in your surroundings. 

The conclave meets in the same place each time. The Evereska Valley between two of the oldest mountain ranges in the world - the supposed birthplace of magic and mages as you know them. 

You never knew weather to believe the little stories that were told to you as a child of a drop of magic falling to the earth here in this valley, only to sprout and grow until the very first man came across it and was blessed with the gift of magic. 

But you cannot deny how power thrums through your veins every time you step onto these grounds. You can only hope you’d be powerful enough to protect Jayce and Viktor if it comes to that. 

Because you won’t let anything happen to them. Not if you can help it.

You had the transportation spell drop you three just outside the entrance of the conclave hall. Most mages teleport right inside, not wanting to bother either the extra walk. But you needed time - just a moment to collect yourself before you made your entrance. 

“Okay…” You take a deep breath, turning to your partners. “The conclave isn’t far, just through those doors but I…I wanted a moment to speak with you both.” 

Viktor steps forward at this, brows furrowed. “You’ve already told us everything about the conclave, prepared us for anything that could happen.” 

You nod, swallowing down the emotion that tries to bubble up. “I know.” You reach out to take their hands, stepping closer to them as you squeeze their hands firmly. “I love you both. No matter what happens, please know that.” 

Their demeanor soften at your words and before either of them respond, they each place a chaste kiss to your lips, Jayce placing an extra one to your forehead for good measure. 

“We know,” Jayce says, voice soft as he tucks a piece of hair behind your ear. “Of course we know that. We love you too.” 

“No matter what.” Viktor adds. 

You nod, giving them a tight smile before linking your arms with theirs. Viktor on your right, and Jayce on the left. They know you have human partners, no point in trying to hide it. 

The large ornate doors of the conclave hall open automatically when you approach them, letting out a wave of conversation, music, and laughter. 

While the meetings themselves bore you to tears, you have to admit that the before and after are typically worth the days it takes to settle years worth of issues. 

Most of the commotion is coming from farther into the building, so you and your partners have several more yards before any eyes are on you, something you’re silently grateful for. 

Only when you reach the ends of the entryway do you pause, the music and conversation louder now that you are just on the other side of the curtain separating the grand hall from where you currently stand. 

Sensing your trepidation Jayce places a warm hand over your own on his arm just as Viktor places a gentle kiss to your cheek. 

It’s all the courage you need as Jayce pushes the curtain aside and the three of you enter the room. 

It’s almost comical how quickly silence befalls the room, covering it like a thick black cloud as all eyes fall on you. 

The only sound in the room now is the crackling of the two roaring fires at the center of the room, the hushed whispers as mages lean into one another, and the sporadic awkward cough. 

You want to die. You can feel the beginnings of another teleportation spell sparkling at your fingers tips. But before you can disappear and face the repercussions of that particular faux puss, a familiar face appears before you. 

“Ah (y/n), how nice of you to join us!” The man says, dark brown eyes sparkling beneath thick grey brows. “And I see you brought guests.” 

The room is still silent as he speaks, and your words dry up in your mouth. Jayce and Viktor don’t dare speak, having already been warned by you to not utter a word unless you have them the go ahead - too much room for error. 

Picking up on your utter discomfort, the older man hums in understanding before turning to face the room, waving ring clad hands around dismissively. 

“Everyone get back to business! You’ll have time to introduce yourselves later, this is a celebration after all, is it not?” The man laughs as he walks beside Jayce, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder as he continues. “Eat, drink! We have much time before proceedings begin!” 

As if on command, the room bursts with life again. Conversation explodes all around you as the musicians pick up their instruments once more, elegant music floating through the air as the man turns back to you, and you practically melt with relief. 

“Abraham!” Taking your arms from your partners you can’t help but wrap them around the older mage instead, his laughter warming your chest as he returns the gesture. 

“My little mage, it’s so good to see you.” He says, hugging you right before you pull away, looking up at him worriedly. 

“It’s good to see you too Abraham, but I…” You cast a glance at your lovers, heart clenching as their hands intertwine - confusion, wonder, and suspicion clear on their faces. “I’m scared Abraham. They asked for me to bring them, by name. And you know how most of them feel about outsiders I don’t…have you heard about what they want? What are they going to do?” 

Abraham shushes you, weathered hands coming to rest on your shoulders assuredly. “No harm will come to them, little mage. Not while I still stand - or you for that matter.” He chuckles, one hand sliding down to take yours. “I can feel the energy within you, can sense your connection to those two men.” He’s whispering now, voice low so only you can hear. “You are a noble house, a house of old. Do not let their archaic beliefs keep you from happiness. And I won’t either.” 

He steps away from you, words ringing in your ear as he addresses all three of you now. 

“Please,” he says, smile warm as he clasps his hands together, “eat, drink, enjoy yourselves. We will not begin the conclave until tomorrow after everyone rests. And both tonight and tomorrow your seats are beside me and my house.” 

Finally, Viktor speaks and you’re glad he knows it’s the appropriate time to do so, no risk of rebuke here. 

“Thank you. Your hospitality is most gracious, mighty Abraham.” 

Viktor bows his head slightly as he speaks, exactly like you taught him and Jayce. So, when Abraham lets out a deep bellowing laugh, the shock on Viktor's face is apparent. 

You send a glare towards the older mage, who only shakes his head, eyes sparkling with amusement as he looks at you. 

“Did you teach him that?” 

You scoff, Crossing your arms defensively. “Of course I did! Not all mages are like you Abraham, most of them are stuck up pricks! I had to teach them the old greetings so they wouldn’t get themselves in trouble!”

Abraham, laughter subsiding, nods and turns his attention to the two men behind you. “While she is correct in teaching you the old ways, please do not use them with me. Mages do not typically greet each other in this manner.” 

Jayce shakes his head. “But…we’re not mages.” 

“You are bonded to her.” Abraham gestures to you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “That places you on the same level and thus worthy of the same courtesy. Treat me as you would any of those close to you.” 

At this both men nod, giving their thanks before falling silent again. 

“Well, I don’t want to keep you. Thank you for the warm welcome Abraham, it was…I appreciate it more that you know. To have someone on my side.” You say, smiling at your old friend. 

He nods. “Of course. Now, enjoy the evening and if I don’t see you before you retire, come find me before we begin tomorrow. You do not have to face this alone.” 

And with that, he turns in a flourish of deep emerald robes and makes his way across the hall. 

───── 𖥸 ─────

The first evening passes without incident. No one said much of anything to you, which might sound like a good thing if it weren’t for the upturned noses and nasty glances you’d received all night. However, Abraham's presence and assurances had lulled you into a false sense of security, a feeling that allowed you to fall asleep peacefully in your provided chambers with your lovers at your side. 

A feeling that was ripped away from you almost the moment you stepped foot into the great hall the following morning. 

There was no great feast, no fresh fruit or pig roasting over the fire. Just hushed silence broken only by quiet whispers as you, Viktor and Jayce made your way to the seats beside Abraham, who looked more apprehensive than last night. 

“Abraham, what is it?” 

You can sense that something is wrong, and you can only hope and part that it has nothing to do with you and your partners. 

The old mages face is solemn as he shakes his head, gesturing subtly to someone walking into the middle of the room, indicating the conclave is about to begin. 

Whatever is bothering Abraham will have to wait, and you can only hope you, Jayce and Viktor get out of this unscathed. 

───── 𖥸 ─────

You almost forget about the trepidation swimming in your stomach as the conclave is called to order. As usual they start off with official business. Rules and laws that need to be touched on, any new important businesses, and any major news that needs to be shared. 

Shortly after it began, you had switched places with Jayce so you were between the two scientists and able to answer the dozens of questions they had for you. 

They were asked in hushed whispers, pure curiosity and intrigue present on their faces as they asked and you whispered the answer back. 

Your chest fills with warmth as you watch them take in all this information with awe. Humans have traditionally been scorned by mages. Most of them thinking magic above that of lowly humans. But you know that view comes from fear, fear that humans will turn magic against the very people who can wield it naturally. 

But Jayce and Viktor aren’t like that, it’s what made you fall in love with them. Their pure, unadulterated, love and interest for the Arcane and their desire to truly learn about it in hopes of helping those most in need. 

They’re doing more to help people than most of the mages in this room. Which is why, when your name echoes throughout the room and all eyes fall on you…

You decide to fight for this. Fight for them. 

You stand to your feet as Bertram Narkissos looks smugly at you, saying your name once more, quieter this time.

“I believe you have news to share with us?” 

The words are laced with faux curiosity, pretending as if he doesn’t already know the ‘news’ you have to share.

Hands clasped neatly in front of you, you don’t give into his goading, eyes firm as you speak. 

“I was under the impression that you were more than aware of the news I have to share, Bertram. Considering the…firm invitation.” 

You can’t keep the venom out of your words, watching as any false friendliness melts from the old mages face, dark brows falling over golden eyes. 

“Right.” He clips. “Then I suppose we should stop beating around the bush. You’ve chosen to bond with humans!” 

The uproar is almost immediate, as if he had announced you decided to bond yourself with a demon rather than two accomplished men. 

Voices lift into the air, gasps of shock, calls of outcry. 

“Humans?!”

“This has never been done-“

“Mages cannot consort with-“

But one voice rises above them all, once again calling your name with an icy coolness that makes you shiver. 

Ariadne Castemont, the head of one of the oldest mage houses, is standing at the council table, eyes fixed on you. 

She gestures to you, as she speaks. “Come onto the floor.” 

You obey without hesitance, but not without casting a glance to Jayce and Viktor who look at you worriedly. 

“It will be alright.” You tell them quietly, squeezing their hands before stepping away from the table to make your way into the middle of the room. 

Bertram stands to the side now, making you the center of attention in the center of the large hall. Your eyes never leave Ariadne’s deep purple ones, and you can only hope that she gives you a chance. Despite being head of the mages council, she is known for being fair and just, not hasty to decisions. 

Once in your place, she speaks once more. “Your bonding is a peculiar one. And as an old house, it makes me wonder what your motivations are.” She begins, eyes narrowing. “Mage numbers have dropped drastically in the last century, there are barely half the numbers we had before then, and it is of utmost importance to keep our race alive. The arcane is-“

“The center of all the universe.” You interrupt her to finish the well known words. “I’m aware of this. But more than anything I’m aware of the bigotry and hatred you all have for humans and anyone who isn’t a mage.” 

Your words cause another round of gasps to ripple quietly though the crowd, but you don’t let it deter you. 

“We hoard this ability, this gift, and use it for our own gain. We use it to heal our own and feast on more food than we could possibly eat. We use it for our own pleasure while people, humans and other races alike suffer terrible fates-“ 

“That is hardly our responsibility.” A humorless laugh from beside you guys you off, and you can’t stop the glare you send Bertram as he steps forward once more.

“We cannot be expected to worry ourselves with the plights of every lesser life form.” 

“Lesser?” You hiss, pure venom in your voice. “Is that why you all allowed it when mages laid waste to cities thousands of years ago? Killed millions of innocents? Is that why you all looked the other way, and moved on as if a genocide wasn’t committed?” Your eyes track around the room, feeling slightly triumphant when you see most mages look away from your gaze shamefully. 

“We are better than no one. And some of our actions are no better than the ‘lowly’ humans you claim to be superior too.” 

The room is silent following your outburst, and you think for just a sliver of a moment that you’ve got them. You’ve got them to understand or at least think about their backwards beliefs. 

But Bertram, ever the instigator, is not about to lose this fight so easily. 

“That still doesn’t explain why you’re teaching them the ways of the arcane.” 

At that, the room explodes once more, Louder and more chaotic than before as almost every mage shoots to their feet. Outrage is clear on their faces as they shout out in disbelief, questions coming out quicker than you can try to answer them. 

Not that they would be able to hear you anyway. 

The smirk on Bertrams face is infuriating, and you can feel your fingers tingling as you move towards him, anger and frustration manifesting in blue sparks at your finger tips. 

“ENOUGH!” 

The commanding roar is enough to silence the room almost instantly, all voices dying down as eyes fall to the owner of the voice. Abraham stands tall and all commanding at his seat, face pinched in a look of disappointment as his eyes travel over the room. 

“I believe it would do us all well to listen for once instead of speaking.” Abraham steps to the side and gestures to your partners who stand patiently behind him, as if ready to come out and join you on the floor. 

Which is exactly what they do. Jayce, followed by Viktor, make their way to join you in the center of the room, all eyes following their every move.l until they are right by your side, Jayce reaching out to give your hand a comforting squeeze.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing?” You whisper, words practically hissed out through clenched teeth as you look at your partners. 

Viktor only shrugs, that teasing little smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “It was Jayce’s idea. And I figured I might be able to help if needed.” 

You got to speak again but Jayce cuts you off, eyes pleading. “Just…trust me okay? Let me talk to them.” 

Fear and anxiety swirl violently in your belly, but as you take in their assuring gazes, you force yourself to back down. Giving them each one last look, you nod steeping back to the side to allow them room to speak. 

Jayce clears his throat. That all too familiar public persona taking over despite his nerves. 

“I know you all don’t trust us. Don’t trust humans, but I’d like to start with a story that might just explain why we started research into the Arcane.” 

The crowd murmurs begrudging agreeances, Abraham still looking fiercely at them, daring them to object. 

Jayce continues. 

“When I was just a child, a mage - possibly one you know - saved me and my mother as we were traveling through a mountain pass in a winter storm. He…he came out of nowhere when I thought all hope was lost. My mother had collapsed, and had the beginning signs of frostbite - I didn’t know what to do and then a figure came out of the storm…”

You watch in anticipated silence as Jayce spins his tale, the story you know all too well from the many times he’s told you. Explains the captivating blue light, the runes carved into the very sky above him and the multitude of colors as he and his mother were transported to safety in a meadow of flowers outside the mountains. 

You watch as Viktor steps up next, explaining how they partnered up but we’re still unable to understand certain parts of the arcane, some of their experiments dangerous or backfiring. Until they found you. 

You watch as slowly, almost one by one the mages’ apprehension and outrage start to melt away - instead replaced with thoughtful looks or even understanding. 

And when they are done, and Jayce thanks them for their patience and hearing them out, the room doesn’t erupt in chaos. 

Instead, low murmurs ripple through the room only being interrupted with a firm call of your name, Ariadne standing from her seat once more. 

You make your way out to the center of the room once more, this time unashamedly standing between your two partners and taking their hands in your own, finding comfort in their touch as they lean closer to you. 

“You admit you’ve been guiding these two men in the ways of magic?” She asks, voice neutral. 

You nod, no point in denying it. “Yes. Because they want to make a difference in the lives of those in need. They don’t want this power for themselves, but to use it to better the lives of those who need it most. Just like one of us did for Jayce.”

Ariadne looks perplexed for just a moment, brows pinching as she looks to you once more, eyes piercing. “And you have chosen to be bonded to them? You know your lifespan is vastly different-“ 

“We know.” You cut her off, taking in a shaky breath at the reminder of that sorrow that will come. “But…we are prepared for that. Content with that.” 

They squeeze your hands, and Viktor brings one up to press a gentle kiss to your knuckles in silent comfort as Ariadne takes in your response, turning to murmur to the other council members by her side. 

The hall is silent other than their indecipherable whispers, everyone waiting with bated breath until finally Ariadne speaks once more. 

“The council has decided,” she looks at you, and you can’t find it in yourself to breathe.

“The bond will be blessed, and following our traditions - it will be celebrated as well.” 

Finally, the hall erupts once more, but this time it’s in joyous applause and calls of congratulations. 

There are those few, Bertram being one of them, who turn up their noses and exit the hall. But most stand smiling as you turn to embrace your lovers, melting into their warm arms. 

“Thank you.” You whisper, pressing a kiss to each of their cheeks. 

Both of them respond in kind, words of love and devotion whispered against your lips or hair as they hold you close. 

There’s still a lot of work to be done in the world of mages and the arcane, but….

Maybe this is a step in the right direction. And you’d have your boys by you every step of the way. 

No matter what. 

[merakiui]

Apricity

yandere!albedo x (gender neutral) reader art credit - miHoYo cw: nsfw elements, yandere, captivity/restraints, unhealthy behaviors note - please come home to me and take care on the journey, albedo! :D also kindly heed the warnings. thank you!

His eyes are unnaturally pretty. Like twin crystals glittering in an expansive, dismal cave, searching for secrets unheard of within Mondstadt. Somehow you’re always in his peripheral, not too close and yet impossibly far at the same time. The distance is harrowing, terribly so, and Albedo knows it should be nothing short of a coincidence. When he shows up at your quaint stall with Sucrose, claiming to be in need of the exact wares you happen to sell, you pay it no mind. After all, you’ve met your fair share of regulars, and their support is what keeps you afloat. 

But there is more to those beautiful irises than he lets on. Whether it’s intentional or not, you can’t exactly say. You suppose you would rather run into someone as well-respected as Albedo as opposed to an unlikable stranger with ill intent. And it’s always great to see a familiar face, especially when he chooses to peruse your stall rather the others around you. It isn’t all that strange; you’ve even become friends with Sucrose during your short interactions. Albedo has indulged in stiff conversations with you before, but most of them were meaningless. Simple throwaway chatter between two acquaintances. 

Oddly enough, Albedo finds himself wanting more. He doesn’t want to talk about the weather or the transitioning seasons; he wants to listen to you explain how your day was and if you made more profit than the day before that. He wants to stand there and immerse himself in your pleasant voice, ignorant to the hustle and bustle of the people around him. And yet he just can’t. For a variety of reasons that pull him out of the haze of intrigue, you’ll always remain in the background. And he simply can’t bear the thought of that.

It’s rude to deteriorate a relationship that’s only just begun to blossom. If your meager acquaintanceship with him were to wither away into dust, he would feel obligated to keep it going—as if he were simply beating a dead cow with a stick. Although your hobbies differ from his, it’s nothing he can’t handle. A genius must familiarize himself with other areas of study if he intends to craft solutions that are outside of the box.

“Albedo?” 

Your tone is meek and small, tinged with the slightest shiver. Part of him feels bad for lying to you, but you were just so trusting. It’s almost comical how easily you fell into his trap. If he gets to see you in such a delicious way all the time, he’s more than willing to forsake the truth to meet his own desires. A selfish wish, yes, but it’s absolutely wonderful.

“What is it?” 

He eyes you from his spot behind the easel, and even though you can’t see him you can feel his piercing gaze. Like the sun shining brightly in a wintry afternoon, his eyes smolder with unbearable heat and yet his expression is cold with brilliant focus. 

“A-Are you almost done? It’s really cold.” Your bare back touches the wall and you flinch, an instinctual response that makes Albedo’s brow quirk. “And this is sort of...weird.”

“How so?” 

He says that in such a dismissive manner, acting as if your current position isn’t compromising. As if this was a normal exchange between friendly strangers. You have trouble finding your voice in this situation, especially since talking seems like such a chore. You’re worried you’ll say the wrong thing and then it’ll leave a false imprint of who you are on Albedo. But you’ve always been nice, unable to refuse those who are kind in return, and so you’re forced to endure the discomfort that comes with modeling nude for this peculiar alchemist. 

“Think about it.” You distract yourself with a ramble of an explanation—certainly more than what’s necessary, but Albedo doesn’t mind. He finds solace in your voice. “You’re looking at me and I’m...n-naked. And we don’t really know each other. I’m not trying to vilify you when I say this, but I don’t want you to do anything bad to me. N-Not that you would! It’s just—this is really weird. I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Hm.”

“And do I have to be tied up like this?” You shuffle in your bindings, fingers scrabbling over the cuffs and chains that jingle like horrible sleigh bells. 

“You were moving too much earlier. I won’t be able to get your anatomy right if you’re constantly fidgeting.”

But it’s uncomfortable, you think, chewing on your lip out of habit.

“I guess I understand. It must be an artist thing, right?”

“You could say that.”

His work on the canvas offers a display that’s just as lewd as the real model, down to the way your nipples perk and harden in the cold. He’s not even close to finishing and that’s a blessing in itself. He could stare at your figure for hours on end, committing every inch of your flesh to memory, and he wouldn’t grow weary. 

“Do artists normally blindfold their models? I don’t really know anything about this stuff, but it’s okay if it helps with the process.”

“I find it to be interesting,” he answers, simple and vague as ever. “It adds a mysterious touch to the finished piece.”

“So you draw the model with the blindfold?” You’re used to gazing upon paintings of flowers and portraits of influential historical figures rather than blatant nudity. “Artists are definitely unique.”

Albedo hums in response, secretly reveling in your naïveté. At the end of the day, you’re just a normal citizen of Mondstadt, who stands behind a wooden stall every single day and happily chats with potential customers. You excel in business, but when it comes to the inner workings of art you’re at a loss. And that makes it all the more easier for Albedo to spin all sorts of wild tales. He fears that gullible nature will harm you in the future, yet there isn’t a threat in sight. Not when you’re here in front of him, no longer confined to his peripheral. And you’ll stay there for however long it takes him to finish this painting. 

It’s a twisted infatuation. Albedo knows he shouldn’t take too much of your time or else he’ll become addicted and it will be impossible to focus on his studies. But he can’t stop himself or his wandering gaze, which trails up your midriff. Higher and higher until he’s staring at your face, eyes obscured behind the soft fabric of a blindfold. Your body is a temple he wishes to worship, and perhaps that’s a sacrilegious thought that ought to have him consider the weight of his emotions. 

And yet you’re far too irresistible. His thoughts are dangerously potent, swirling within his brain like a maddening hurricane. Surely your missing presence in the market won’t be questioned if he were to keep you just a little longer. Longer than the boundaries of sanity will allow, that is. There are other vendors who sell the same things you boast; the economy won’t shatter if you’re not there to provide.

The paintbrush moves along the canvas in even strokes and suddenly Albedo’s mind is wandering between subjects. From art to alchemy, love to lust, and the wondrous crevices in your anatomy that call out to him. The brush stills in his hand. If he’s not mistaken, Sucrose will be stopping by to assist him and the last thing he needs is staining his appearance in a suspicious color. 

“Albedo?” His name rolls off of your tongue in such a delectable way; it’s almost sinful how his thoughts race and race in an endless track. “Are you almost done? My back is sore and the floor’s really uncomfortable.”

“Sorry. This will take longer than I thought.” He sets his brush and palette down, and you listen to his footsteps as they draw near. “Something has come up, but I promise I won’t be long.” 

“Wait. You’re not going to leave me, are you? I need to get back to the marketplace!”

Before you know what’s happening, the blindfold is coming off and you’re locking eyes with Albedo, who peers at you with intense scrutiny. Certainly the look of a genius studying a textbook. You grow flustered all at once, just now coming to terms with the fact that he looked at your body for longer than you’d like to admit. Shyly, you shut your legs to obscure your private parts, but it’s not like that will help the embarrassment that claws its way onto your expression like a persistent beast. 

“You’re better off waiting here.” He shrugs off his coat, draping it over your shoulders as if that’ll keep the dreadful chill away. “As much as I would like to finish this now, I have other work that must be taken care of.”

“I get that, but you can’t just leave me here! That’s practically kidnapping!” you protest, hoping he’ll heed the desperation in your trembling vocals. “At least, that’s what this feels like.”

“I wouldn’t kidnap you,” he says, amusement flashing in his eyes. “You’re too funny.”

Yet he isn’t laughing and neither are you as you helplessly watch him depart. The floor is too cold for your liking and the idea of entrapment settles under your skin like a million maggots feasting on a decaying, chilled copse. Devoid of warmth and carrying an air of measured grace, Albedo doesn’t spare you another glance.

He doesn’t need to. He’ll have all the time in the world to study your body like it’s the finest artwork, and you’ll be powerless to object.

[tellerluna-stories]

ii. rex lapis

The sands of time shifted once more, and now Rex Lapis ruled over Liyue. His land overflowed with wealth, and all who passed through Liyue saw their businesses prosper. The people who now walked the paved streets of Liyue had happily never known the tragedies of war, and they lived out their lives in blissful ignorance.

Within the Golden House, Rex Lapis paced around restlessly. His horns and claws were nowhere to be seen, as Liyue had no need for such instruments of war. The simple white robes he had donned for battle had been replaced with layers of multicoloured ceremonial robes and intricate headdresses that only the finest artisans could craft.

With these robes came great honour and responsibility, a reminder that the fate of Liyue rested solely upon the shoulders of Rex Lapis. Though they were made of mere fabric, at times Rex Lapis felt that they weighed heavier than chains of pure gold.

He sighed and fiddled with his sleeves— though he was, in fact, the reason mora existed in the very first place, he had to admit he was tired of seeing the same golden shimmer that surrounded him everywhere he looked.

“My lord.”

Without even turning around, he replied, “I told you not to be so formal with me.”

“Alright, alright.” You smiled and spread your hands disarmingly. “Thousands of years, but you’re still as legalistic as ever.”

Unlike Rex Lapis, you had not chosen to change too much about yourself in the years following the Archon War, whether in appearance or personality. It somewhat brought him comfort knowing that in a world that was constantly changing too fast for him to keep up, there was still one person who could keep him anchored; no matter what era you were in, you could always quickly adjust to the practices and customs around you without forcing yourself to mold to them.

“Thousands of years, and I still need to remind you that titles are unnecessary, my friend.”

“Ah, but the question is: am I genuinely forgetting to drop them, or do I keep using them just to irk you?”

He turned around, face carefully devoid of any emotion. “My friend, do you happen to fear the wrath of the Rock?”

He watched in satisfaction as the smug look on your face quickly morphed into one of fearful respect. “As a matter of fact I do, so let’s change the topic. Your robes are simply majestic, my— I mean, Rex Lapis!”

“Do you not have one just like this?” Rex Lapis looked down at his embellished sleeves— the people of Liyue had gifted both of you with ceremonial robes, but he had yet to see you wear them. “If I recall, yours had the phoenix embroidered on the front.”

“Oh yes, I still have it with me.” You bent over and inspected the nearest pile of mora, brushing the golden coins with your fingertips. “I don’t wear it much since it restricts my movements, but maybe I will if there’s a special occasion.”

“I would like to see you wear it someday, if you choose to. You’d look absolutely stunning.”

He waited for some witty comeback, the usual jokes you’d make in response to his compliments— but you remained oddly silent, hunched over the little pile of mora like a bird guarding its nest.

“My friend...?”

Gently, he placed a hand on your shoulder, unknowingly sending an electric current running through your veins.

“Ah, yes, yes! I was just, uh—“ Hurriedly, you jumped to your feet and dusted your hands off on your clothes. “I was just trying to remember where my robe was, that’s all. I stored it away but I don’t exactly remember where— you know how it is, right?”

Yes, you had just forgotten where you had last put that phoenix robe, as though you still didn’t clean it and carefully air it out at least once a month. That robe was one of the few things you treasured dearly, as it was a gift from the people you watched over... and perhaps also because it was a gift that matched with his.

The heat rushing to your face and the quickening of your heartbeat upon hearing him say you’d look stunning— that was out of pure embarrassment, nothing more. He only meant it out of kindness, now, don’t misinterpret his words.

Clearing your throat hastily, you tried to change the subject. “Did you know that there’s a full moon tonight?”

“Is there, now?” He tilted his head to the side; a somewhat endearing habit of his, left over from when he had horns. “I have not left this place in quite some time; the people of Liyue are a little too concerned for my safety to let me venture outside often.”

“They haven’t....?”

But Rex Lapis merely smiled in reply, dismissing the matter with a wave of his hand. “It’s only natural for young people to be overprotective of the ones who take care of them. I’m sure they would do the same for you if you just let them, my friend.”

“You sounded very old when you said that, my lord.”

“Pardon?”

“I said your words shone like gold when you said that, my lord.”

He narrowed his eyes skeptically, but you only returned his gaze with a look of pure, angelic innocence. There was no way he could say anything against you, especially not with that look on your face.

“My lord,” You said, with that innocent look still plastered on your face. “Given that you haven’t gone outside in a while, what say you to accompanying one such as myself on an outing this fine evening?”

“An outing, you say?” He put a hand to his chin and pretended to contemplate the idea, silently observing as your eyes lit up with poorly-hidden anticipation. “Where would one go at this hour? It would cause quite a stir if Rex Lapis were to suddenly disappear from his position, with no reasonable explanation.”

To that you raised a finger upwards in reply, pointing to the cavernous roof of the Golden House.

“Technically, you wouldn’t be leaving.” Holding out your hand to him, you smiled and said, “Shall we watch the stars together, then?”

———

“This is incredibly reckless.”

“It’s also incredibly exciting, don’t you think?”

Barely-suppressed laughter bubbled up into your throat as you looked at the great Rex Lapis, who had awkwardly bunched up his robes around his knees. There was no way he could climb to the top of the roof without either damaging his (very costly, one-of-a-kind) robe, or getting him tangled into a mummy wrapping of fine silk.

“Your laughter does not go unnoticed, by the way.” He said, glowing amber eyes trained on the vast ascent of roof tiles before him. “Since this was your idea, how about you think of a solution to this problem?”

The cool night breeze whistled in your ears like a distant flute, and he shivered slightly; it was best to think of a solution quickly, lest Liyue be in uproar over the dignified Rex Lapis catching a mere cold.

You squinted at the rooftop, trying to analyse the best way to scale it with as little collateral damage to your superior as possible. It was certainly possible, especially with your talents as an adeptus (and also because your position did not require such cumbersome clothing), but there would have to be some rather... unusual measures taken.

“Do you trust me?”

He blinked in confusion. “What strange sort of question is—“

Before he could finish, you lifted him off the ground as though you were carrying a princess.

“Hold on tight, my lord.” You whispered, your lips only a few breaths away from his ear. “It may be a little bit unstable.”

He barely had time to wrap his arms around your neck as you leapt into the air, nimbly bounding off the golden tiles like a deer.

What exactly was this situation he was in? Moreover, what was this odd sensation swelling in his heart?

“Mind your sleeves, Rex- I mean, my lord!” You huffed. “I can’t see where I’m stepping if you decide to obscure my sight, which isn’t exactly the best choice for you right now.”

With one final jump, you landed safely on the topmost roof of the Golden House. He could only stare at you blankly as he tried to process what had just happened in the past few minutes— however, you caught onto his stare too easily.

“What, are you surprised that I was able to pull that off?” Shaking your head vigorously to remove the flyaway hair from your eyes, you frowned at him in a jesting manner. “Don’t tell me you’ve been underestimating my abilities this whole time, my lord.”

“No.” He replied immediately. “I would never.”

“That’s what I thought.” With a nod of satisfaction, you gently set him down onto the roof. “Here is the moon and stars for you, as promised.”

Rex Lapis raised his eyes to the sky that he had not seen in some time, and the heavens did not disappoint.

Overhead, the galaxy stretched out in a rich tapestry of hues, stars interwoven in between the threads like beads of precious stones. A full moon hung in the sky, a pearl of great price that took all the beauty that surrounded it and unified it into a beautiful symphony of colours.

For the first time in a while, he felt free— up here with you by his side, there were no such things as duty and responsibility. There were only the two of you in this quiet, peaceful place, with the heavens above as your only witness.

“A lovely night, don’t you think?” You grinned and put your hands on your hips, the wind toying with your hair ever so slightly. “The minute I saw this, I knew you simply couldn’t miss it; not in a thousand years.”

His gaze lingered on the picture of you bathed in a soft halo of moonlight, smiling dreamily at the stars above. “...Very lovely, indeed.”

“Oh, I almost forgot!” Jolting suddenly, you fumbled as you brought out a brass bottle and a pair of teacups from seemingly thin air. “I figured it would be cold out, so I prepared something, just in case.” You gestured for him to sit. “Have a seat while you’re waiting— can’t have the ruler of Liyue standing around waiting for me to serve him, can I?”

“Your judgement is as impeccable as ever, my friend. Whatever would I do without you?”

You rolled your eyes as you began to unscrew the cap of the bottle. “Such flattery is unnecessary. We both know that you could manage Liyue just as well if you were on your own.”

“That doesn’t mean I would want to.” He hesitated, unsure if what he would say next would make you uneasy. “You have done more for me and for Liyue than you could possibly imagine, and I... I sincerely wish for you to know that. You have just as an important role in Liyue as I do, and this place would not be what it is today without you.”

Pausing in what you were doing, you slowly raised your eyes to meet his— there was nothing but pure sincerity in his eyes and words. He truly meant what he was saying, and the way he worded it made your heart- no, no, this wasn’t the time for that.

“...Thank you, Rex Lapis. Those words mean a lot to me, especially coming from you.”

“Do my ears deceive me?” He put a hand to his mouth in mock disbelief. “Say that once more, my friend, I do not think I heard you well the first time.”

“No, I don’t think I will.” You glared at him. “It seems that your age is showing, my lord. Perhaps I should carry you back inside, if your age has really advanced so rapidly.“

“You called me Rex Lapis, for once. This is a day that this aged man shall remember for the rest of his life, and shall be inscribed into the history of Liyue as a momentous occasion—“

“The tea will grow cold long before your long-winded speech finishes, my lord. How about you drink first and talk later?”

Rex Lapis gave you an unimpressed stare. “Perhaps if you cease calling me ‘my lord’, I will think the matter over. When did you learn to brew tea, by the way?”

You returned his stare with one equally matched in unimpressed energy. “Over the years, I’ve found that the art of tea-brewing helped greatly in calming myself, and so I’ve been practicing ever since. Your cup, please— my lord.”

He rolled his eyes at your smug face and held out his cup.

A faint wisp of steam curled from the bottle as the dark liquid trickled into his teacup, along with some unknown plant matter. His thoughts must’ve shown clearly upon his face, for you burst out laughing upon seeing it. “It’s not poison, for Celestia’s sake! If I were planning to assassinate you, I would’ve done it eons ago.”

“And how is that meant to bring me any reassurance?”

“Oh, it wasn’t intended to.” You poured a cup for yourself and downed a sip of your concoction. “But no assassin would be fool enough to drink the poison intended for their target... except for me, possibly. Drink up!”

Rex Lapis still eyed the teacup in his hands suspiciously— but then again, you had never given any reason for him to doubt you, so why should he start now?

“So, is it good?”

He closed his eyes for a moment, savoring the unique flavours on his tongue. “If I could, I would drink the tea you make everyday for the rest of eternity.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words; you choked, nearly sending the bottle of tea tumbling off of the roof. “Ah- er, well—“

“What, is that too humble of praise for it? I mean it from the bottom of my heart.”

“No, it’s just- well, it sounds like a phrase I’ve heard among the merchants of Inazuma— oh, never mind. I’m glad you like it.”

“What did you put in it to make it taste so exquisite?”

Leaning closer to him, you whispered, “Petals of peach blossom and glaze lily flowers. Along with some other choice ingredients, but what truly gives it that taste and aroma is the flowers.”

Your face was close, closer than he ever even dreamed to approach in a million years; in the pale moonlight, your eyes glittered brighter than any jewel the earth could give. Any dragon would covet such a treasure and guard it with their very life.

How had he not noticed how mesmerizing your eyes were till tonight?

“Absolutely fascinating,” He murmured, before belatedly realizing he said it aloud.

“Isn’t it?” You hummed in agreement. “It’s my special brew. I experimented on it until I could perfectly balance the flavours to my liking.” Your gaze swiveled to the elaborate water gardens sprawled in front of the Golden House. “Do you want me to plant a peach tree and some glaze lilies by the front of the gate? I could do that, if you really do enjoy my tea that much.”

A mix of relief and disappointment washed over him; you hadn’t realised he wasn’t talking about the flowers.

He mused over the idea— it didn’t seem so bad, after all, but...

“I’d like to plant them somewhere more.... permanent. Somewhere we can watch them grow together.”

“Say the word, and your wish is my command.” You beamed at him. “Just tell me when and where, and I’ll have them in full bloom for you in no time, no matter the season.”

A warm, fluttering feeling filled his chest, and Rex Lapis suddenly found it harder to breathe than before. His face felt oddly warm, while his hands were cold— was it a result of the night air? He wasn’t that old yet.

Anxious to change the topic before you cracked another joke about his age, he quickly asked, “How are the affairs of Liyue doing, my friend?”

You shrugged nonchalantly. “The trade routes are thriving splendidly. Many merchants from the other regions come to seek permission to transport goods to and from their lands, so I’ve been handling most of their affairs. Even picked up some of their languages while at it.” A mischievous smile spread across your face as you said, “Tu ne me comprends pas, non? Je t’aimerai pour toujours et à jamais, mon amour.”

“Impressive.” He hadn’t understood a word of what you had said, but he was almost dead certain that you were poking fun at him. “It is good to see that Liyue is in such capable hands. What about the—“

“—the adepti? Oh, they’re all doing quite well, I believe. They don’t really leave their abodes anymore, save for Madame Ping and young Ganyu.”

“How about—“

“Xiao? I visit him every now and then, to make sure he eats well and is doing alright. And yes, I bring him the painkillers you have specially made for him.” You paused. “He sends his greetings, and it is very obvious that that boy misses you, even if he won’t admit it himself.”

Rex Lapis breathed a sigh of relief and smiled. “You really do know what I’m going to say, even before I say it.”

“What can I say? Even before you need to ask, you can consider it already done.” A chuckle escaped your lips as you scuffed the sole of your shoe against the roof tiles. “That’s why I’m here, after all. Who better than I to carry out the word of Rex Lapis?”

“You had best watch yourself there, my friend, lest your head grows too big for your shoulders.”

“Oh, but my lord, who was the one who gave me this position?” Propping your chin on your steepled fingers, you give him a smug look. “I seem to recall a certain someone appointing me as his right-hand, after all.”

“What has been given can just as swiftly be taken away.”

“You’re no fun.” You stuck your tongue out at him and turned away, pointedly staring at the moon.

“So, what is the real reason you brought me up here?”

In an instant your head whipped back to meet his gaze, eyes wide and mouth agape. “How did you—“

The corner of his mouth quirked up in a lopsided grin, and now it was his turn to look smug. “You’re not the only one who can practically read minds, my friend. The facade you put up is better crafted than mine, but I can still see right through you.”

“Well...” You fell silent for a moment, fingers tracing along the sides of the brass bottle and etching invisible patterns into the metal with your fingernails. “I wanted to ask how you were doing.”

Rex Lapis tilted his head slightly, confusion and curiosity melding into one feeling. “How I was doing?”

“I struggle sometimes... with the memories of those who have passed on. Sometimes, in the heat of the moment I forget; I get distracted or actually feel happy, but then I suddenly think of them, and I wonder if I actually have the right to enjoy myself.”

Shifting slightly, your expression was unreadable in the pale moonlight. “But lately, their faces have become blurry, and I get scared when I can’t remember what they look like. It’s the least I can do for my comrades, since I’m the only one left.” You pursed your lips. “Do you have the same problem?”

The somber look on your face stirred up the remorse that still gnawed at his heart, even after all these centuries. You had been suffering alone because of his mistakes, and it pained Rex Lapis even more knowing that no contract he wrote could remedy the empty gap in your heart. All he could do was sit with you and be something you could anchor yourself to, just the way you had been a steadfast rock to him.

He shifted to sit closer to you, no longer caring whether his robes would be dirtied or not. “Not quite the same problem.”

“...Oh.”

“Like you, even after so many years I still cannot help but think of them. Every detail of their lives, their voices and faces— I remember it all.” Rex Lapis looked up to the stars, where perhaps the constellations of your friends lay, and laughed dryly. “Mortal men have been blessed with forgetfulness, but it seems that I have been cursed to remember.”

Tentatively, he raised a hand to gently pat you on the head, just the way his caregiver used to when he was feeling out of sorts or upset. “But worry not, my friend. If what you worry about is forgetting, then I will be the one to remember everything for you.”

“You needn’t worry about me forgetting you, by the way.” You said quietly. “Even if I forget everything else in this world, I know that I’ll always remember you, no matter what form you take.”

The strange, fluttering feeling in his chest returned, coursing through his veins and flowing through his fingertips— subconsciously he pulled his hand away, fearing that those feelings would somehow reach you.

It’s merely the chill of the night air, he told himself.

You said nothing as he pulled away, but Rex Lapis found himself wishing you would say something, anything; complain, or make a joke out of it, or perhaps even ask him to do it again— no, he couldn’t dare dream of that.

Not for your sake.

“The moon is beautiful, isn’t it?” You said suddenly, breaking the silence and the maze of thoughts his mind was trapped in.

Rex Lapis looked to the moon over Liyue Harbor, admiring the way it bathed the city in silver light. Though Liyue in the daytime was loud, filled with many colours and sounds that overwhelmed the senses, this version of Liyue was also beautiful to behold.

Perhaps... perhaps this is what she meant by living treasure, he thought to himself.

Caring for this city of people, nurturing them and building a better future for them and the future generations— that was certainly something close to his heart. It didn’t feel exactly like the living treasure he had expected, but as long as you were there to watch over Liyue with him, then perhaps... perhaps it would grow on him as time passed.

“Yes,” he agreed. “It truly is.”

But that evening, he failed to notice that you weren’t looking at the moon.