#why would he memorise this spell

[flintnsocks]

barty with a hufflepuff best friend would include…

barty crouch jr. x gn! reader the poor boy is crushing on them of course

a/n: you’ll have to pry david tennant as barty from my cold dead hands. i don’t accept anyone but him. not too many hints of romance but this is just me throwing stuff out of my brain.

always trying to to help you let loose. oh? you would love to watch the stars at night, but don’t want to risk getting caught? well, he’s going, and you wouldn’t leave a dear friend alone, now would you?

that is to say; barty will do anything to make you happy. who cares if a few school rules or actual laws are broken along the way? anything is worth that smile. awfully curious about a book from the restricted section? he somehow acquires the thing the next day, announcing it to you with a huge grin on his face. struggling with some spell-casting? the slytherin will gladly tutor you. don’t worry if he stands too close, holding your hand in his as he guides you. it’s easier to learn that way!

studying together! while he loves his other friends, some of them aren’t exactly the calmest.. or focused on their studies. with you, he can find peace. it’s like you share energy with him. the two of you can go from being hyper and a potential risk to the health and sanity of the other students, or to sitting quietly as you memorise yet another goblin rebellion.

he’d trust you with his life. sometimes, barty is genuinely convinced that you’re an angel. he feels the safest with you, though he still tries to put on an aloof act. you always see right through it (damn you for knowing him so well). you ground him. whenever his father makes him feel like he’s not good enough, you’re there to prove him wrong.

if anyone has something to say about your friendship, he’s giving them the meanest glare. the boy will resort to nasty remarks but.. well, so will you. he’s surprised the first time you stand up for him, and immediately feels ashamed for underestimating you. you can hold your own, of course you can. you’re strong, it’s why he loves you. though, he will never stop being protective over you

hides his interest in dark magic, too scared of what you’d say. he never wants to disappoint you.

[rosaline-black]

Hi!!!! I loved your Loki x green witch reader story I’m actually obsessed with the concept of the usually moody Loki just enamoured by this ray of sunshine. So is there anyway you could do like a blurb of them pre relationship?? Maybe Loki makes excuses to catch glimpses of her and she takes it the wrong way?

AGHH this request excited me so much I’ve loved Loki x sunny green witch reader for ages and this ignited my want to write so hey this might become a little series if anyone’s interested. The original one shot is here but this can totally be read stand alone!

Loki x fem!greenwitch!reader

Loki couldn’t quite remember how it had started. He remembers the first time he saw you, it was hard to forget after all. You were all smiles and smooth movements, the ethereal sparkles leaving your fingertips so effortlessly he felt like he’d had a spell cast on him right then and there.

Maybe he had. Maybe that was why for the past month Loki had found every opportunity to catch a glimpse of who he now knew to be the green witch.

In Asgardian folklore witches were evil old crones, sharp splintered nails and sneering wrinkled faces, cloaked in dark heavy materials. How wrong they had been. You couldn’t antithesis’ that more.

Your beauty was obvious. Anyone with eyes or ears would recognise that. From how you nurtured every aspect of your life, from the smallest of insects to the mightiest of hero’s. Your kindness was staggering. This naturally intrigued him.

The god of mischief had heard rumours of your origin from other members of the avengers, well heard was pushing it. He had asked. The Robin Hood knock off had mentioned something about you hiding? Spending years locked away in the forest, too kind to fight the cruel hunters so living a life of solitude among the plants and creatures.

Witches were a hot commodity after all. If the impression Asgardians had of witches was anything to go by he could only assume the dimwitted humans had a similar ideology.

But enough about the past, Loki was very much struggling with you in the present.

The first few times it was an accident. You both seemed to favour tea over the dark caffeinated syrup the other heathens of stark tower were addicted to. So when you softly asked him,“Did you have the last lemon tea bag?” With absolutely zero malice, it took Loki nearly twenty seconds to string together some sort of reply.

“Yes… my apologies”

“Ah that’s no problem I’ll have to make some more, I grow my own tea leaves”

Well I guess that was how it had begun. Loki’s infatuation and his over consumption of herbal tea.

He had managed to memorise your schedule. You would spend most of your time in the green houses, flourishing your garden and researching new spells in the hundreds of old tomes and scrolls Stark had helped you find.

In the evenings, usually around 9pm you could be found in the common areas, sat in a corner with a book and of course a cup of tea. Loki suddenly found himself waiting for the clock to strike 9 every day.

The god was casual about it, never approached you or tried to charm you into his company like he would have done in the past with broads upon Asgard. No you were far too special to be smarmed.

So he would just hover like a black cat, observing silently as casually and as cautiously as possible. Just like tonight.

At 9:01 pm Loki strolled into the kitchen, like most (all) evenings and heated the kettle pouring himself a cup of tea. His eyes landed on you like they always did, how could they not. The silence unlike most nights felt thicker, heavier. Something was off, and your sigh filled with unfamiliar contempt shocked him into dropping his tea spoon, the small metal tool falling into the countertop with a loud clatter.

The noise garnered so much volume you involuntarily got out of your chair, slamming your book shut with a pout as you made your way to the door. Just before Loki slammed his head against the wall like a lovestruck fool your voice rung out in the air.

“I know everyone here thinks I’m strange but if you’re just going to stand there and gawk at me every evening I’d much rather you just disclosed your judgments out loud…”

“I’m sorry?”

“Don’t act so perplexed. I’ve seen you coming here to catch a glimpse of me..”

Lokis heart dropped, you knew?

“…oh look at the mad witch who spends all her time talking to plants I wonder if she’s as nuts as everyone says she is!!”

Oh no. No no no you’d gotten it all wrong. If he wasn’t so stressed about the content of which you were speaking he probably would have been fixed on how adorable you were when you rambled.

“No… no I promise that was not my intention. It probably doesn’t come as a surprise to you that I’m not very well liked by the louder more extroverted inhabitants here…you well you seemed different? Less brash more… calm”

Gods he was such an imbecile. If you didn’t think he was an utter creep before you definitely would now.

The gods eyes were wide and frantic scanning your features for any kind of sign of understanding. Someone must of been looking out for him because the wrinkle between your brow softened and that pout, that intoxicatingly adorable pout curved into what could only be described as a bewitching smile.

“Oh… oh well then it is my turn to apologise… I just assumed you thought… well you know…”

“Fortunately I don’t…”

“Well maybe next time you happen upon me reading you could… join me?”

Loki nearly grabbed his chest to still his beating heart “I look forward to it…” maybe he wasn’t the god of lies after all.

[moutainrusing]

hallucination

Sirius’s lover was the spy.

It was obvious, actually. Remus Lupin was betraying the Order, giving secrets and information to the Death Eaters, to Voldemort, allowing Muggles and Muggle-borns to die, and deserting Sirius. And Sirius was just as bad, because all he cared about was the fact that Remus didn’t care about him. He couldn’t care less if Remus was a mass-murderer, as long as Remus still loved him. But Remus didn’t and so Sirius hated himself, because he was still in love with a traitor, and all he wanted was for said traitor to love him.

It started off okay, at first. In the first few months, Remus was doing typical Order work, normal shifts and lookouts and guards. Casting spells, making wards, sorting papers. Then in the next few months, he began going on missions every full moon. Sirius immediately deduced that Remus was working with werewolf packs, even if Remus wasn’t to breathe a word about it, because who was he to not memorise the dates of every one of his lover’s transformations? So that was okay. Remus came back, wearily smiling, but still fighting.

But then things changed. A couple more full moons, and Remus looked like he’d completely given up. He wouldn’t smile anymore, he wouldn’t touch anyone, he would flinch, always watching his back, like one of the Order members would attack him, and for what? Why would his allies hurt him? Unless they weren’t his allies anymore. But Sirius had shaken that thought out of his head; something must have happened with the packs. But Remus wouldn’t talk, wouldn’t accept comfort. When his lover reached out, he would curl within himself, hide away. Sleep on the couch, never their bed.

Then he began leaving at random points in the month. No correlation to the moon. He’d go up on “missions” and disappear for days, coming back looking harder and meaner. Jaw set, fists clenched, eyes sharp. He’d still have his full moon missions, but there was no news whatsoever about werewolves aiding the Order. So what was Remus doing with them?

It got worse. It got to the point that Remus spent more time out of the apartment than in it. And then he started leaving for reasons that weren’t even missions: started going to the pub, getting hammered out of his mind, returning in the morning stumbling and swearing. He started regularly smoking and drinking, and you could never see him without a bottle or cigarette.

Right now, Sirius was alone in their flat, which might as well just be his, because once again, Remus was not in it. He wrinkled his nose at the couch, with its unwashed sheets Remus had been using for countless days, its Muggle beer stains, its cigarette ash. And then, because he was an infatuated dunderhead, he walked to the couch, picked up the blanket, and inhaled.

His stress vanished. How could it be that even when he was stressing over Remus, his scent still calmed him down? It wasn’t fair.

Then he heard the wards come down, and the unlocking of the door, before his aforementioned lover stepped forward. And Sirius could let go of the blanket and retain his dignity, but the drunken thug probably wouldn’t even notice.

He was right. Remus simply toppled into the couch, not even glancing at Sirius. Sirius threw him the middle finger, stomping off to ensure the wards were back up, and to lock the fucking door. Did Remus want the Death Eaters to come here? He probably did, being a traitor and all.

He turned, about to storm into their bedroom, now probably just his own (honestly, why didn’t Remus just break up with him already?), curl up in the sheets and cry into his two-way mirror, when he heard Remus murmur, “‘E was sniffin’ yer blanket. Stinks. Should wash it…”

Sirius froze. That was the most amount of words he’d heard from Remus in months. And it still sent his heart careening in his chest. And then Remus grumbled, “An’ ‘e flipped yer off. Bitch.”

Sirius turned around and raised a brow. “Excuse me?” He asked coldly.

Remus blinked. “Hallucinatin’. Yer nutter. So fuckin’ in love.”

Sirius stalked towards him, heart in his chest. Was this finally it? “Finish that train of thought, Moony.”

“Moony,” Remus echoed softly, closing his eyes as tears gathered in his lashes. “Yer like that, don’t yer?” he smiled twistedly. “Pathetic.” Sirius tensed.

“Fine, Remus, fucking spit it out then,” he snarled.

“‘E’s not real, mate. Go on, touch ‘im,” Remus mumbled, tears slipping down his cheeks, leaving shining streaks across his skin, which Sirius desperately wanted to wipe away, once more trailing his fingers across Remus’s rugged face, tracing the scars and imbuing them with love, pressing his thumbs into his cheeks until dimples appeared beneath them, connecting the dots between his freckles… and Remus had said ‘touch him’, hadn’t he?

Sure, Remus wasn’t making much sense, but with the tip of his forefinger, Sirius took a tear off Remus’s cheek. Remus’s eyelids snapped open and he jerked back on the couch, blinking furiously. “You’re not real,” he said, louder and more clearly.

Sirius immediately retracted his hand to his side. He raised a brow. “I’m real.”

Remus hesitantly reached out and drew some sort of wobbly pattern across Sirius’s wrist. And maybe Sirius was going slightly mad, but that was definitely the best way someone had ever touched him. Remus pulled his finger back, and inspected it curiously. He looked back up at Sirius. “Never been able to touch you before.”

Sirius was getting increasingly concerned. “Moony, love, what the fuck are you talking about?”

Remus smiled timidly. “You’re nicer than the others. Mind must like me today, huh?”

“Remus, Remus, I’m real. Your mind’s not imagining me or whatever,” Sirius vaguely gestured to Remus’s head.

And then Remus burst out into sobs. Sirius immediately dropped to his knees beside the couch, reaching out and running a hand across Remus’s back, through his hair, trying to stop the man he loved from hurting.

“Wand, wand,” Remus muttered, procuring it and casting a silencing charm around the couch. “So real you won’t hear,” he explained, jabbing a finger to the bedroom. He blinked up at Sirius happily and hopefully. “‘M drunk enough to imagine your touch. Hug me?”

So Sirius clambered into the couch beside Remus and wrapped him in his arms, pressing his lips to his hair. Apparently, Remus had hallucinations about him. And apparently, Remus cast silencing charms so Sirius wouldn’t hear him cry. Sirius squeezed Remus tighter, while he snuggled into his chest. And he should probably let Remus sleep, but maybe Remus would tell his hallucination things?

“What’s on your mind, Moons?” Sirius mumbled into his hair.

Remus looked up, fist curled into Sirius’s chest. “I miss you, you know,” he whispered, the words brushing over Sirius’s mouth.

“Yeah? Why don’t you go talk to the real me?”

Remus’s eyes widened, and he shook his head violently, burying his head back into Sirius’s chest. “Can’t. Got too much shit now. Don’t wanna hurt him. An’ he hates me now.”

Sirius frowned. There were many things wrong with what Remus had just stated. “How could you hurt him? And he doesn’t hate you.”

Remus laughed brokenly. “Does too. Can’t stand the sight of me, can ‘e?”

“He barely gets to see you,” Sirius pointed out. The real reason was that he couldn’t stand the sight of Remus not being his.

“Better that way,” Remus muttered, hand over Sirius’s chest, brows furrowed but slowly relaxing, as his breathing matched the beat of Sirius’s heart.

Sirius wanted to smile down at him, but also scream in his face. He controlled himself, softly asking, “Why?”

“Oh, y’know. The packs an’ all that. Greyback’s bein’ a bitch. Likes attackin’ us while we’re human, still. Like, mate, take a break, yer already bit me and ruined my life. I dunno how many people I’ve killed at this point. Or how many fellow werewolves, actually. My mouth always feels so dirty.”

Sirius simply gaped at him, while Remus tilted his head up and smiled absent-mindedly. “Been ages since I last hallucinated you, love. Got so much to tell you.”

“Tell me,” Sirius somehow uttered, hands tightening in Remus’s hair as he fought the urge to throw up and cry.

Remus grinned excitedly. “Your voice is so perfect.” Sirius felt his heart shatter. Remus then frowned, “I dunno where to start. Still got my full moon missions, where I run ‘round with the packs and try to stop them killing Muggles and Muggle-borns. I think sometimes I succeed, ‘cause I’m still with other animals, right? I think better. Although I’ve got so much innocent blood on my hands. Every time I suggest going to the woods, they all snarl at me. I told Dumbledore, I dunno why he keeps trying to convince them. They’re not budging. It’s ‘cause of Greyback, too. Poisoning their minds.”

Remus looked up, tears streaming down his face. “They could be so good, Sirius. You don’t understand. There’s so much waste. Wasted lives, Sirius. I can’t—” Remus began shaking.

Sirius rubbed his hands along Remus’s body repetitively, burying his nose into his hair and breathing, placing soft, feather-light kisses over his tightly fisted hands. “I’m sorry, Moony. Please don’t hurt. Please. I love you. So much,” he said reverently between kisses.

Remus simply shook even more. “You’re not real, not real, stop, stop, please,” he clutched his head, tugging at his hair.

Sirius made a decision, grabbing Remus’s hand and pulling him up from the couch. “I am real, and honestly, it’s insulting that you’re so convinced I’m not.” He tugged him towards their bedroom, kicking the door open. “Look. Sirius ain’t there. Sirius is right here, holding your hand, because I am Sirius, and I love you so much.”

He stared fiercely into Remus’s rapidly blinking eyes, daring him to call him a fucking hallucination one more time. Finally, Remus choked, “You can’t be. You, you can’t—” Remus threw himself into Sirius, yelling, “Stop, please, stop—”

“Stop what?” Sirius pulled Remus back and looked him in the eyes. “Stop your missions? Yes, I think I’m gonna do that. I’m gonna tell Dumbledore to stop your fucking missions, because they’re fucked up, and evidently pointless. And if Dumbles can’t see that, he’s evidently fucked up and pointless too.”

“No!” Remus flailed. “It’s for the greater good! The greater good, the greater good…” he muttered to himself.

“Fuck the greater good. You’re the greatest good. You’re the one that matters, you’re the one who needs to be happy, not fucking Dumbledore.”

Remus looked at him sceptically. After a long time of just staring, he spoke, “When do you think real Sirius will be back? Think we can sleep in his bed?”

Sirius genuinely wanted to rip his hair out. “Yes, you can sleep in our fucking bed, because it belongs to you and Sirius. And I’m Sirius! For the love of Merlin, please! I’m Sirius son of a bitch Black!”

Remus just stared at him. And then his face split into a small smile. “I was joking that time.”

It was Sirius’s turn to stare at him in shock. “REMUS LUPIN. YOU ARE BLOODY LUCKY I LOVE YOU.”

[cirqosmos]

𝐅𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐥𝐬: 𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 | 𝐓𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐫 𝟐

2023 | 18+ | SERIES | ENHYPEN OT6 × READER | MASTERLIST

SUMMARY with the absolute order from the highest celestials, six high ranking angels were sent to capture and condemn you—an exceedingly sinful and overpowering succubus to the holy tower for eternity. Capturing you might not be so difficult with them outnumbering you, but the question is; would they be able to keep ignoring your irresistible charms while staying firm to their principles, abiding by the rules, and reciting their prayers forever?

GENRE angels and demons au, romance, reverse harem, angst, fluff, smut

WORD COUNT 2.5k

AUTHOR'S NOTE this will be the last teaser for this series. By the time I released Route 1's finale, and the first episode of Royal Series. I'll start working on this EP which is the first day of July.

Bounding you inside the holy tower, on the round glowing pattern that had you kneeling down with your wrist, neck, and legs all tangled with the rusty metal collar that prevented you from escaping was quite an easy feat for them. However the powerful ritual spell that they formed together by infusing their respective powers on you had them vomiting out blood causing them to grow unbelievably weak. For a couple of minutes bounding you with their entire strength, they thought they could’ve died at that moment, but fortunately they didn’t.

Atleast that’s what Sunoo thought, as he playfully twirls his bead necklace as he watched you on your knees yet sleeping peacefully, a sight that he hadn’t expected to be quite captivating to him, to say the least. He frowned at that very thought, wondering if you had any power left in you as the holy tower was designed to pinned your spells down, so there’s no way he could be affected by you, right?

He had been assigned by Heeseung to watched over you for a whole month before they completely seal you in this tower for eternity, and suck your remaining power out of your cultivation. The rest of the five are to recuperate in their respective quarters to regain their power and cultivate so they are able to completely overpower you and not to fall upon the same fate that day.

Sunoo lowered himself down, taking a seat on the floor as he placed his chin on his hand, tilting his head as he memorise your features. He thought that you truly live up to your status as a succubus, for you were truly enchanting. The fact that you once live in heaven was quite shocking to him, he wondered what could’ve you done to have the gods banishing you. Sure, he knew the list of what could one do to receive such punishment, but curious he was about what you truly did.

You’ve been sleeping for way too long, Sunoo thought as he lets out a dejected sigh—seemingly disappointed. It has been nearly two weeks since he was here, but you’ve never open your eyes, and the first and last time he had communicated with you was only on the day they were trying to capture you.

For awhile, he had a slight urge to tuck your hair strands covering your face behind your ear but refused to do so as it would be unnecessary.

But he remembered your words, a faint blush dusting over his fair cheeks and he immediately cupped his cheeks with his hands, feeling the sensation—heating up due to his unusual thoughts. Shaking his head and cringing, he’s only being affected by you for being in your presence for too long, that must be the answer, isn’t?

The sound of rattling chains had him alerted, immediately turning his head towards your eyes opened, the strand of your hair falling down your cheek as you look up to him. His lips hang apart, unsure of how to act, but the fact that he was stuttering had him mentally slapping himself. What was he suppose to do now that you were awake? Talk to you or what? You don’t need food either, when you actually feed on..

“Boy, why don’t you come over here?” his head grew dazed for a split second, and his feet betraying him against his will before he froze. Wait, you can’t be having any power left in you. So why was he getting affected? He stood there contemplating of what to do, and finally coming into conclusion that he shall stay silent while watching over you.

Of course, him staying silent was met with a twitch on your eyebrow—annoyed you were. You truly were unable to do anything but wait for the day you’re going to be sealed here forever.

“Are you shy?” You asked, and the boy raise his foxy eyes on you along with his eyebrow. “Because if you weren’t, you would be talking with me, you know.”

Again, he remain silent.

You lazily look up to the ceiling of the tower, letting out a long exaggerated sigh. “It’s so boring here, truly boring.”

Sunoo scoffed, thinking of how you truly deserve such condemnation for committing sinful acts that he lets out not one but a whole sentence. “That’s what you deserve for being sinful.”

The corner of your red lips pulled up, “Don’t you wonder what kind of sin I had committed, though?”

“I am not curious even a single bit. Keep it to yourself.”

“Aw, are you trying to be like that feisty angel with you that day?” You cooed which had his eyebrows knitting in disbelief. “I could applaud you, but if you ask me, you’d appear alot more adorable with your lips on mine.” brushing your finger against your lips you did, and Sunoo look away not showing any reaction as he unfortunately realise you were playing tricks on him.

Another week had passed, and Sunoo couldn’t wait for another seven days as you constantly barged him his peace of mind with questions that had him biting his lip to the point it left a mark. Seven more days, seven more days, pressing his eyes tight as he constantly repeated it in his mind along with prayers for God to give him strength and patience. Yet the obnoxious devil you were, cause him to hissed.

“Can’t you shut your mouth for once?!” veins popped on the side of his neck as he gritted his teeth.

“Are you angry?” You asked with a mischievous smirk on your lips. Sunoo ruffled through his hair, knowing very well that you were testing him and playing all sorts of tricks on him and yet despite being aware of it, he couldn’t help but finally react even after days of remaining calm.

Tightening his fist, he glared at you. “You’re truly filthy, aren’t you? No wonder the gods tremendously loathed you cause you can’t keep your filthy mouth shut, and that you don’t even deserve a place in heaven.”

Ouch, that somehow raises a slight irritation in you, you gotta admit—that your playful smirk dissipates and your seductive eyes was replaced with an expression Sunoo couldn’t fathom.

Biting your thumb under your lower lip, you scoffed at him. “A place in heaven? No thanks, I couldn’t last even a second in that so-called heaven of yours. That gods you so adore till the last breath of your life, are you that oblivious to think that they’re always free from filth and sin?”

Sunoo raises his eyebrow, “What? If you’re trying to stain the god’s name with your filthy tongue, then that won’t work on me. They’re far more virtuous than you are, they’re—”

“Oh please, keep indulging yourself in such illusion, I’ll be your guest. But–” you playfully pouted, “It hurts a tad bit to see my favourite angel get fooled, after all, it’s such a waste to see such an angel like you serving such double-faced gods.”

Sunoo didn’t know how to react with your choice of words, how was he supposed to? His mind urge him to put you in your place after insulting the gods, another urging him to simply just stay silent till the day of the retribution, but deep behind his ribs—that heart of his grew rampant much to his utter surprise. He despised how great of an effect you had on him that he didn’t say anything and left, breaking the rule that all of them six had agreed on.

He couldn’t care any less, he just wanted to be free for a moment. It’s not like you could escape with the spell they casted on you, or the holy tower bounding you inside it.

His wings fluttered through the sky, his feet landing on top of the clouds as he puffed into a series of emotions—his mind was consumed by your words—your existence itself cause him utter annoyance, but the mixture of an emotion he knew was wrong was arising. Was he being fooled? When you uttered those words with those seductive eyes softening for a split of second had him felt as if you were truly being genuine to him, but then you must be only fooling him and he’s evidently falling for you.

Sunoo truly broke the agreement he had with his brothers, as for the remaining six days—he didn’t watch over you as to avoid any wreck on his peace of mind and emotions, and only return on the day of the retribution.

He had decided to arrive more early than his brothers to make it seem like that he was truly doing his task aka watching over you. When he arrive, he expected you be awake and try to seduce him with your bold words but you were once again in your deep slumber much to his surprise. Beyond relief he was that the holy tower was still functioning and that you truly were unable to do anything to escape.

But Sunoo felt a slight pang in his heart as his foxy eyes fell on you longer than he expected, his feet approaching you, crouching down as he took a closer look at your face—he truly thinks you look alot more innocent while with your eyes closed, your eyelashes fluttering slightly which makes him wonder if you were dreaming and if so, what dream you were having?

He wondered what kind of life you had before you became a succubus, were you an angel just like them? And did you live a diligent life and abide by the rules before falling into darkness? And what have you possibly done that you became like the way you are right now?

He was curious, unbelievably curious as another question rose one after another the more his eyes fixated on your slumber. However a shiver run down his spine when dust particles of crimson he recognised floated in his peripheral vision, long finger wrapping around his neck before he could react and see who it was. He lets out a series of gasp, and a breathe hitched down his throat when your eyelashes fluttered against his in a dangerous proximity.

It can’t be? It can’t be! Sunoo screamed at his mind, strings of inaudible words left his lips as he breathe out in fear, his hand trembling on the marble floor as you were on top of him, your wrist and neck free from the metal chains and collars, your ruby orbs looking down at him with expressions he knew would be his last sight to look upon before you rip him apart.

What a joke, he can’t believe you will be the last thing he will ever saw before he’s gone. A part of him incredibly loathes it, he hated how his death would be cause by a demon, to crumble pathetically before a demon that his pride as an angel—as one of the high ranking angels with his brothers, all had gone to the drain. Sunoo felt as if he didn’t deserve to be an angel at that very moment, that he deserves nothing but to receive punishment for breaking a promise, a rule, an agreement with his brothers. That he doesn’t actually belong with the glowing light amongst his brothers, however as much as hollow he had been, he should be alerting his brothers of you right now, he should—but, but..

The way your lips brushes against his cheek as you brushed his silk hair had his rampant mind engulfed with peace. A sense of peace that felt wholly different to the peace he had cultivated in the thousand years of his life.

The way you caressed his face as if he was fragile cause wonders to his emotions, the way your orbs look deep into his soul as if he was so delicate to you had him wondering just what you are up to? Weren’t you going to kill him? To rip him to pieces to show the heavens how exceedingly powerful you are?

“Just.. k-kill me now. What are y-you still w-waiting for?” The tremendous weight of your aura had him stuttering in a ghost-quiet whisper, truly proving how very well he knew that he isn’t comparable to your strength. He wishes for his death to be swift and painless, despite knowing that you must’ve been irritated for how he treated you for a whole month.

Because why wouldn’t you? You belong to the underworld, with those nasty wicked demons and creatures just like you are, your own kind. The very fate you put yourself into. Sunoo could only wonder just how many souls you had uttered vile and unholy words from the tongue you were lapping on your red lips right now. Thinking of it cause his heart to quenched in pain, but, what was he even thinking?

“Why would I?” You brushed his soft pink lips with your thumb, “When I already told you that you’re my favourite angel? Killing you would be such a waste.”

“What?” His eyes widened, lips hanging apart in disbelief. Your red orb sparked in flames when you saw the chance, pushing in your thumb into his mouth and exploring his cheeks causing him to gagged. Sunoo was beyond shock as he tasted your thumb on his tongue, he was supposed to use his powers on you right now considering how you were fixated with your thumb in his lips, however he remain still—a part of him begging for him to let this moment to last a bit more, to let you use him as your toy.

“Do you like it?”

“H-huh?” Sunoo fell deeper into this loophole of sinful desires the longer you were on top of him, the taste of your thumb in his mouth, the sensation of your other hand wrapping around his neck suffocating him from oxygen. You pulled out your thumb from his lips, leaning in closer as you lapped your tongue on the saliva that were dripping on the corners of his lips before pulling him into a long, deep kiss.

Sunoo’s eyes widened in utter surprise, as he tasted your lips dancing against his—perfectly moulding and emitting a loud pop everytime you pulled away for a oxygen—leaving a long string of saliva as you did so. That leaves him to desire for your lips more, he had never felt this sensation ever in his thousand years of life. Your scent, your lips, your existence itself drove Sunoo to a state of drunkenness—his mind consumed nothing but you. “P-please kiss me again.”

Your lips pulled in the widest big smirk, cooing over how adorable he was for begging you—the delicate innocent angel that tried his best to fought his desires for you are now in tangled in the crimson strings you laid out for him. “Of course, why not, my angel?”

Sunoo felt as if he belonged to you when you uttered those words, a sense of belonging he only felt amongst his brothers. Your hands made its way to the buttons of his shirt, sneakily unbuttoning each one of them and yet he happily let you as he indulged in your own world that you bestow upon him.

The sound of heavy fluttering wings had his eyes widened in horror, as he saw his brother Sunghoon standing in the distance, “Sunoo! What do you think you’re doing?!” with his mouth gaping at what he had seen in front of him. Dread consumed Sunoo's insides, what would his brother think of him letting a succubus used him like a pleasure toy? What would he think now of him? Would he be banish from heaven too?

Dozens of questions arise in Sunoo's head but somehow something was quite different as he sensed the odd demeanour Sunghoon has in him, his brother's form frozen and his fists tightening as if he refused to use his power against... You.

With you still on top of him, Sunoo lazily fixes his posture and wrapped his right arm around your hips—pulling you closer as his attention remain on his brother, eyebrows knitting together in curiosity and confusion, and annoyance.

“What? Are you jealous?”

「 © talesofyuan on tumblr 2023 」 all rights reserved. do not copy or post without permission.

TAGLIST: @xxvyjoy @0102luvr @nyeonglover @hoonlv @bwljules @weyukinluv

[coffins-and-marbles]

House MD Gift Exchange!!!

this is my gift for @househrt from @housemdanniversary 's gift exchange for the 20th anniversary, happy twenty years everybody!!!

THE UNSUBTLE ART OF CHANGING WHO YOU ARE : (Hilson, 5 times Wilson was shamed for stimming and one time House showed him that it was okay.)

ONE:

James Wilson is four years old when he learns that there’s something wrong with him.

Neither of them has words for it yet but Wilson is sitting across from a boy whose name will end up blending in with the mass of others who have noticed that something isn’t quite right, only he doesn’t know this yet so as he builds his block tower or sorts his shapes and does whatever it is that four-year-olds enjoy, he doesn’t think about much else.

This turns out to be his fatal flaw.

Because the other boy, maybe a Jack, looks up from his end of the table and says,

“You’re doing this,” and he sways his body back and forth.

It isn’t outright malicious, not in the way people will be as he grows older, at least, but something like shame creeps up his throat and swallows any response he might have tried to give.

Wilson only stacks another three blocks in the next hour because all he can think about is maybe-Jack rocking himself back and forth.

Had he really been doing that?

In his mind he’d been sitting stock still like everybody else and to find that all this time he had been moving so unnaturally…

He finds out that embarrassment feels hot all over and he suddenly envies the toy bear that he saw somebody else stuff underneath the bean bags earlier (it was hidden, safe).

The other kids didn’t see him sway, he knows this because everybody else was spelling their names with plastic letters or playing outside in the treehouse, but they still notice something; something other, that they all understand is bad which is why they call him names and walk away whenever he wants to play, but he isn’t sure what it is yet that’s making them go away so he can’t even try and fix it.

Instead, he imagines the array of animals painted along one of the long, long classroom walls coming to life, and when they climb out in pairs from the thick, brick walls, they don’t like the other kids, but they do like him, so really, he has hundreds of friends and he’s fine.

Everything’s fine.

Later he’ll wonder where the adults had been all this time, and why nobody ever seemed to notice him walking up and down the length of that wall what must have been a hundred times a day, running his hands along the paint, memorising every single bump and dent, imagining running alongside his friends, or if they did notice then why hadn’t they spoken to him? Or asked whether or not he was okay?

Sometimes he made the animals talk to one another, in his head where nobody could’ve imagined that such a rich and colourful world was developing.

As he travelled back and forth, totally immersed in his wonderful little world, Wilson would flap his free hand up and down and up and down in time to whatever weird and wonderful story he’d been thinking up that day.

He wasn’t aware of this either. It was second nature, only normal. Just another way that his body moved, and he’d never been asked to stop before, he was still a little kid after all. Except, that boy had scared him, and now he was a little too aware.

Should he stop?

He tried, briefly, to get his limbs under control.

It was possible…

Wilson would practice sitting very still, with his hands by his sides and his legs crossed so it was less tempting to bounce them up and down. This was a start, only the tip of the iceberg in fact (he hadn’t started learning to smile properly in the mirror yet).

But it wasn’t fun. It was uncomfortable, like not being able to scratch an itch or having to hold your breath underwater. The easier thing to do was pretend that he didn’t want to play with anybody at all and walk along his wall instead.

There’d only been one other time he could remember trying to play with the other kids.

What was probably the same year, he had walked confidently up to a group of boys messing around by the quiet corner, they were playing knights and Wilson really liked knights, because they were always helping people and everybody loved them for it. He wanted to be needed like that too.

A blonde boy sat on a throne three beanbags tall, from here he knighted the other boys with his plastic sword from the dress up box; it was him that Wilson walked up to with his courage balled up tightly in the same fist that clung to a plush tiger he’d found in the toy bin (they weren’t allowed to bring teddies in from home anymore, they were too old now).

“What knight am I?”

All around him the other knights giggled as if he’d told a joke and only they had understood the punchline, but Wilson hadn’t been joking and he felt a sticky, unpleasant warmth rising up through his body from the very tips of his toes all the way up to the hairs on his head.

This didn’t stop him from waiting eagerly for his new name, bouncing excitedly on the tips of his toes -another mistake, as he would later learn.

He was surrounded by knights with names that practically cried out for those around them to ask after what were undoubtedly many stories of valiance, and he wanted to feel powerful like they did.

Strong Sam stood up to whisper something in the Kings ear as Wilsons stomach shifted and squirmed uncomfortably beneath the surface of his skin.

“You can be a knight, James.” Said the King, smirking, which Wilson took for a smile (he’d even smiled back, stupid).

Strong Sam had sat back down with the others now and although they clamoured to find out what he’d told the King, Sam would only giggle in response. They’d all find out soon enough.

The King had now lifted his sword and Wilson eagerly got down on one knee as he’d seen the other boys do from across the classroom,

“You can be the knight…” He tapped the sword on one shoulder, and then the other,

“Jerk James!”

Suddenly all of the boys erupted in fits of laughter, rolling around and clutching their sides but Wilson was hardly hearing them at all. If he had been asked to describe it, he might have said it felt a little bit like the floor had given out underneath him, and that the awful ‘hot-all-over’ feeling from before was back along with the churning in his stomach.

“You’d be a Jerk knight because you’re just a jerk!”

He somehow makes it back up but Wilson really, really, really doesn’t want to be in school anymore and he goes slowly back to his wall, cheeks still flushed pink with shame.

Pretending that the other boys aren’t still laughing and shouting behind him, he places his left hand against a zebra’s stripes and resumes the march up and down and up and down.

TWO:

This time Wilson’s just turned thirteen.

They’re all in the kitchen, eating breakfast before school and Wilson’s got the latest DC comic in his hands, mirroring his father from across the table where he fences himself off from his family using the morning paper.

It’s been a long time since he’s learnt that he doesn’t have what everybody else knows it takes to be a human. He’s decided to learn instead.

He spends far too much time poring over sociology textbooks and learning about the human body, he tells his parents it’s because he wants to become a Doctor since that sounds better than admitting that their son is really just broken and trying desperately to fix himself.

“Stop doing that.”

That was his father, predictably.

Some people would call him a Mummy’s Boy, but Wilson preferred to think she just understood him better, maybe she’d been a little bit broken too? He was always too scared to ask.

“What?” He instantly replied, strike one. That was too blunt. Rude (Wilson got called that a lot).

He focuses on making the correct amount of eye contact as he looks up, not enough and people would turn around wondering what was interesting about the wall they were stood against, too much and they looked at you funny, or asked if everything was quite alright -it never felt like it was.

“Acting like there’s something wrong with you. It’s like you’re ret-”

“I always thought it was creative,” His mum chimes in, smiling and glaring at his father, warning him not to cuss, Danny was in the room after all.

“It’s not fu-…” He let a breath out through his teeth, already reaching for a smoke, “Just stop it. Don’t need people saying anything, okay?”

He’s gone before Wilson can even reply, digging around in his pocket for a lighter as he walks out the door.

“What?”

His mum won’t get angry if he’s blunt.

“Oh, you know…” She flattens down a crease in her skirt, looking anywhere but at him as if it’s too humiliating to say out loud.

But his blank stare inclines her to try again, “That thing you do…You know, I personally never had any trouble with it. You know your grandma said it meant you were going to be creative! It’s…It’s just your father, he wants us to look good, don’t you?”

Only that’s only made him more confused, what was that ‘thing he always did’?

Luckily his mother rambled on, skirting very neatly around the point as she tended to do, “I guess it’s just because you’re older now and you know it’s just because he cares.”

It’s always his fault. His father’s blameless.

It’s easier to just nod this time, you weren’t allowed to ask for clarification more than twice because if you still didn’t understand by then it meant that you were stupid, his teacher from last year had taught him this when he failed to agree that he had understood the topic, and since he’d apparently given him attitude alongside his ineptitude, Wilson had been made to hold his arms upright in the air for ten minutes.

This didn’t seem like much, but until you’ve had to hold your hands in the air for ten minutes, then it never will.

There were dozens of lessons just like this one to learn as you grew, and Wilson could never seem learn them fast enough, always falling behind in one way or another.

At least not having friends left him time to catchup (he’d had a few ‘friends’ in looser terms, but eventually it became embarrassing to be seen with him, and then even they slowly stepped away, everybody wanted to be like after all).

People still saw that he wasn’t quite complete not matter what he did.

For now, he had gone back to reading his comic, which he thought was brilliant. The superheroes amazed him, always saving somebody. This always undoubtedly led to many thanks from everybody else in the city, maybe even kisses from the girls who were particularly thankful.

Jealously followed shame closely in terms of emotions that seemed inherent to his existence. Only envy felt easier to fix, remember, he could become a Doctor. They saved people too.

Everything was fine.

“You’re doing it again.” Danny this time.

“No.” But he was only saying that to disagree with his brother, because he still hadn’t the faintest clue where he’d gone wrong in the first place.

“James just stop it alright; your father has a big meeting at work today and you don’t need to upset him anymore.”

“I’m not doing anything.” He insists, naturally. He really isn’t.

“You are too!” Danny reaches over to snatch the comic, “You’re reading it all weird like this.”

To Wilsons horror his brother begins to crease the pages between his fingers and move the book left and right, then up and down. He even lightly flaps the paper away from and towards himself again.

Wilson grabs it back, practically slamming it back down on the table, his cheeks turning shades of splotchy red as he glares down at his breakfast.

“Boys! Behave yourselves!” She warns, but she’s already clearing their plates away with her next breath, so she doesn’t notice Danny shaking his spoon and making his eyes roll round in a cruel imitation of James and his alleged weirdness.

“Stop that.”

“Don’t wind your brother up, go brush your teeth. Both of you.”

Where Danny sprints off, Wilson stands up slowly, staring at his arms in case they get away from him again and walks carefully upstairs, clutching his comic book firmly in his fist.

There has to be something very wrong with him if he can’t hide these ugly, broken parts of himself even now he’s older.

He should have learnt by now, only he hasn’t because he’s stupid and he never learns so he can’t get anything right.

He reckons that dad was right in trying to stop him. Nobody wants an embarrassment like him in the family.

Eventually he’s upstairs and as he scrubs his teeth, wincing around the violently minty flavour exploding throughout his mouth, Wilson tries to imagine what will happen at breakfast tomorrow in his head.

Obviously, a repeat of the comic book situation is off the table, the shame creeping up along his neck clings to him often enough at school, he doesn’t need it following him home as well.

No, tomorrow he will place his comic down flat on the table, one he’s read before so he can focus on where his arms and legs are instead, and he’ll be able to ignore the kettle boiling or their neighbours dog barking because if it doesn’t bother anybody else then it isn’t allowed upset him either.

Then, as his father reads the morning paper and his mother frets over how presentable his brother looks, he will sit still and eat his breakfast like a normal kid. Maybe it’ll get easier, maybe one day he can stop pretending.

THREE:

The cafeteria at his university made Wilson want to throw up from the first moment he set foot inside.

Fluorescent lights glared down, cutlery crashed against table-tops, chairs scraped the faux-wood floor as people stood and everything in the room seemed to be singing a song to a different tune.

The endless clatter and chatter were overlayed with the vile stench of people’s food mingling in the air and this unfortunately forced something uniquely disgusting up into Wilson’s nostrils.

For all of the rules he had learnt and written into the scripts he relied on to function as a real person, (which he was getting better at, he had a boyfriend now, not that his parents would ever know) there was still one thing he still always chose to avoid rather than overcome.

Rooms like this one.

This included coffee shops, restaurants, house parties, parties in general, particularly crowded lecture halls and anywhere else where the lights were too bright, or the sounds overlapped so badly that he could hardly make out what anybody was saying.

Unfortunately, a lot of places met this criterion, and since his attempt to be something other than a widely disliked social recluse -and more broadly to become a new man- he had accepted many invites to places he knew would make his teeth itch.

Almost worse, it had worked.

So what if he broke down every other night alone in his room? Being liked was more important, he had been taught this in a hundred and one way over the years, and some were a lot less pleasant than others.

On this particular weekday, during the precious gap between lectures, his boyfriend (whom everybody loved) had taken them both (along with three of his other friends) into the main cafeteria.

The cafeteria was a largely alien place to Wilson who wouldn’t have gone in there voluntarily if a million pounds was up for grabs (okay maybe only then); for all his practiced nonchalance meant that he had managed to sit down with the others and participate in their conversation somewhat normally, it had been fifteen minutes now and little things were slipping between the cracks.

Whilst he still hadn’t flapped another book (comic or not), nor had he rocked back and forth or fallen for a smirk as easily as he had in his younger and more vulnerable years, something inherent to his being continued to push people away.

Despite many hours practicing a perfect smile (not too many teeth, relaxed, or as close as he could get to relaxed anyways, had become his formula) today it had slipped, and he’d stared blankly back at a friend whose name he’d forgotten a month ago now but was too scared of to speak to, let alone ask.

That had been his first mistake.

It was relatively minor, excusable and swept quickly and efficiently under the rug using a joke to bring attention to him in a new self-deprecating way that hopefully overrode the previous moment in everybody’s memories.

Unfortunately, the second stumble ended in far worse a fall.

Years spent mastering stillness had led Wilson to feel in full control of himself, and usually he was.

But the assault of sounds, lights and noises pressing on him had been pulling him deeper into his subconscious, where it was safer in a way.

“Need to piss or something?” Asks Ethan, typically blunt but it’s funny, because it’s Ethan.

Only clearly Wilsons blank look (strike, always pretend that you understood) doesn’t satisfy his need of for response.

“You’re squirmin’ all over the place babe,” He adds, giving everybody else in the group a look that makes them laugh and Wilson feels four years old again.

What had it been this time? Bouncing his legs, tapping his fingers, flapping his hands? Perhaps swaying or rocking or nodding his head?

“Haha yeah, totally desperate!” He blurted, trying to ward of the fiery shame that was already threatening to paint his face pink and red.

Wrong answer.

You’re out.

Everybody stares back and he recognises the look to be distaste, disgust, disapproval.

He’s seen it on enough people to be familiar with it by now but that doesn’t make it hurt any less and he’s embarrassed all over again, feeling more and more like he might throw up his lunch by the minute because this time the stakes are higher.

An angry blush is coating his face before he’s even able to try and stop it (sometimes if he pinches himself hard enough, it’s almost possible).

Impressing a few boys before any of them had even learnt to count to twenty seemed so inconsequential now that he wanted to laugh at himself for caring so much at the time. Back then he hadn’t needed friends in the way he understood you did now.

That had been his last shot, if Ethan didn’t like him nobody else in his classes would, that boy was essentially in charge of the hierarchy he’d hoped so badly would be left behind following high school.

 Wilson had always hated that made up social food chain, mainly because he’d always been stuck helplessly at the very bottom.

He’d finally climbed up a few steps, practically fighting his way to the top, and now he was tumbling back down, ashamed of himself and jealous of everybody that this came easily to, as per usual.

They were still staring, and he understood this to mean he should leave now, so Wilson mumbled something about actually going to take a leak and walked stiffly away, keenly aware of their eyes burning into his back.

He walked funny.

Ethan had told him, because he always looked out for him like that.

As he walks or waddles or does whatever it is he’s doing wrong this time, laughter echoes in his ears and distantly he realises that one of them is imitating him, much to the joy of his other ‘friends’. He pretends that it isn’t Ethan.

Everything’s fine.

His fingers tap rhythmically against his trouser leg, and he tries to stop himself but his ears ache on the inside and he’s so, so tired that he suddenly finds he can hardly hold himself upright and he wishes he was hidden safely under his clean, white, hotel-room duvet that muffles the entirety of the outside world when he’s underneath it.

The moment he turns the corner he breaks into a sprint and Wilson runs so hard his calves ache by the time he’s back in his bedroom, where he sits against the door so it feels even more like nobody else can come in -with the blinds shut although it’s only midday- and cries silently until the knot stopping air from getting to his lungs loosens enough for him to get into bed and enjoy sleep until he has to deal with yet another day.

FOUR:

He’s back from work on time today, really, really trying to made Julie happy.

Nothing he does ever seems to make her happy anymore, and because things like this are always his fault, he assumes that whatever’s making her distant this time is on him too. Luckily, this means that he can fix it.

Wilson likes to think he’s gotten a lot better at acting like a person over the years.

He has a well-paying job, helping people and being needed just like he always wanted.

Maybe he still isn’t doing brilliantly on the ‘friend’s’ front, in terms of what’s expected for a man of his age anyway, but at least he has House, which will always be enough for him.

Julie is his first wife and every day he marvels at how such an amazing woman could choose a man like him (somebody so broken).

He’d never felt that flirting was his strong suit but somebody in a bar pointed it out to him once that knowing how-to could get a guy long way, and Wilson instantly became obsessed with learning everything about it.

That was a big part of upping his social game enough to start getting anything other than judgemental looks at job interviews – apart from avoiding shame, wanting to earn a living wage was a big incentive when it came to picking up social skills.

Unfortunately, sometimes he still isn’t able to give people what they want; over the past few months Julie has slowly become one of them. Insatiable. Unsatisfied. Disappointed.

This means that they argue now. A lot.

“Honey, I’m home!” He shouts but his voice only echoes back at him, she’s busy (again).

That’s okay, he deserves to be ignored a bit, put in his place.

His father was always keen to remind him and without that not so gentle chiding, Wilson might still be creasing his comics or bringing shame upon himself in a dozen other ways.

Everything’s fine.

He sets about cooking dinner pretty much as soon as his shoes are off, feeling more useful already and smiling to himself as he imagines Julie thanking him and falling instantaneously back in love at nothing more than the sight of this beautiful homecooked meal.

It’s something new, a recipe that he saw on a flyer somewhere and instantly imagined sharing with somebody -he decided that Julie was the correct choice, as his wife, although House probably would have liked it more, but that’s a bad thought, something he ought to be punished for later.

As he putters about their kitchen, the one place in their apartment where he feels truly relaxed, Wilson likes to flap whatever he grabs next, shaking potatoes up and down or making a teaspoon sway.

This little habit grew out of the world’s insistence that he stop flapping his hands.

After he’d been reprimanded and humiliated one too many times Wilson had thrown himself headfirst into reshaping himself.

Everything about him had to be different. The way he worked, moved, walked, lived and breathed.

None of it was good enough and after torturing himself into stillness at last, his unfaithful, wretched body only found other ways to move without his knowing. This started with flapping objects, as if it was less obvious or safer in some way.

Now he had to be careful of that too, minding anything he picked up very, very closely (God forbid he shook a tool mid-surgery or made a fool of himself in the office by flapping some paperwork during a shift).

However, for all his care and concern, sometimes it slipped out, catching him unawares every time he got a little bit too comfortable in his own skin.

Wilson had just grabbed a knife to dice up a few potatoes, feeling himself unwind after a long day, and without even realising it he was holding the handle looser than he normally would, flapping the end lightly up and down as he turned back to the counter with the cutting board on.

“The fuck are you doing?”

“Wha-”

“Are you trying to fucking kill us both?”

His mouth felt dry and although Wilson scrambled to find something to say the words felt thick and heavy on his tongue, too sharp and awkward to pull up out of his throat.

It immediately clicked that he’d been moving wrong, acting badly.

His eyes narrowed down to the knife in his hand.

Oh god how close had Julie been…

“Sorr-”

“I’ve had a really long day, James, and I thought you were cooking dinner, not playing fucking Patrick Bateman in my kitchen! But no-o here you are waving a fucking knife around like you’re five fucking years old!”

“I didn’t mean-”

“Oh I’m sure you’re chock-full of pretty little excuses, but I think it’s House, rubbing off his-…His fucking craziness on you! Yeah, like a gas leak or a groomer or something…God…Look I’m gonna eat out yeah?” She’s already halfway to the door, did she have her shoes on this whole time?

“Bye.”

With that unceremonious goodbye Julie’s officially gone for the night, it won’t be long until he finds out where, and that will somehow hurt less.

She hadn’t even been close enough to-

And Wilson never would’ve-

But that’s not the point.

The point is he’s still broken after so many years of trying to cover it up and he’s hardly any better at pretending to be normal. Look where that got him.

He’s exhausting Julie, in the same way he upset his mother and father, or before that, it was whatever he had done to the other kids at school that made them so loathe to go near him.

Wilson feels tears prick at his eyes and his hands immediately begin to flap in short, stilted bursts, but this merely adds to the anger burning in his chest, threatening to make his heart explode, and instead he forces himself to grip the counter’s edge until his knuckles turn white and he sees spots start to dance in his vision.

Afterwards, he pretends to himself that he is normal.

He finishes dinner, eats a tiny bit (his stomach is now churning with guilt, and shame has almost wholly swallowed his appetite) and puts the rest in Tupperware boxes for the freezer.

It all feels like something out of a movie about a lonely bachelor, when really, he feels more like a single loser who can’t get anything right for shit.

FIVE:

It’s been well over thirty years since his first taste of shame at four years old and Wilson still carries its bitter aftertaste in his mouth wherever he goes, the nauseating envy following not far behind.

If he’s learnt anything in that time, it’s that nobody ever wants him as he is, and that tampering himself down is safer.

This rule is followed most ardently when he’s at the Princeton-Plainsboro Teaching Hospital.

Why?

Because it’s a professional setting, a place of work, and it’s taken years for him to decipher the intricate, but by society valued, differences between what’s expected of him at his family home versus with his wife versus in a place of work but he’s finally bleeding done it and now he clings to his rules like a lifeline (in a way that’s what they are).

So he moment he sets foot in that building Wilson puts on his best ‘I’m-a-real-boy’ impression, gritting his teeth against the urge to rock, flap or spin, and pushing everything about him that’s ever been judged or shamed as far down as it can possibly go.

This keeps him safe, makes people respect him and if he tries extra hard, they even grow to like or admire him (especially if he speaks to a nurse in just the right way, because knowing how to flirt really can get a guy a long way).

Hence why it’s even more distressing when the mask slips.

Today Wilson woke up late and essentially rolled right out of bed and into his car which is simply something that he does not do, so things are already off to a bad start -and he will later try to blame his unprofessionalism on this.

It doesn’t help that he’s rushing around for the entire first half of his shift, because it means that in addition to his idiotic blunder there’s now rather unflattering sweat patches accompanying his already fairly unkempt self (hopefully his lab coat camouflages them well enough).

He’s just handing some files over the counter for a frankly gorgeous young nurse to put away when he slips up.

“You alright there?” She asks him, half-teasingly.

“Huh?”

“Oh nothin’…You’re just kinda movin’ weird, ya know like ya might fall over or somethin’…”

His cheeks are almost certainly tinted red by the time he manages to throw together a response, which in that moment feels a little bit like trying to stick together hardened clay with nothing but your strength of will.

“Oh...”

Pathetic.

She sort of looks at him funny for a moment longer, as if she wants to ask whether he might be slightly soft, but quickly cuts the interaction short (normally she likes to stand against the counter at least an extra five minutes for a friendly flirt).

“I’ll just put these away now.” And she turns around a full hundred and eighty degrees to emphasise quite how much she doesn’t want to speak to him anymore.

Under any other circumstance, Wilson might have been the tiniest bit pleased that he had recognised what her body language was trying to tell him so quickly, but this time shame outweighed any smugness he might have otherwise felt.

He’d probably been bopping his head or swaying his body back and forth, perhaps rocking lightly on his heels. None of those options seemed more appealing than another.

“See you around…” He mumbled, although it was half-hearted, and he knew she wasn’t listening anyway.

It just felt more finished that way. You always had to say goodbye to people, not doing so was rude, his father had told him (he would never admit that it angered him slightly that what the old man had said to his teenage self still had so much power over him, it felt embarrassing in a whole new way to do so).

Wilson walked away with practiced ease; hands crammed deep into his pockets to hide that the fact that he was shaking, however slightly.

He spent the next twenty minutes washing his face with cold water and waiting until it felt like he’d scrubbed away at least the tiniest fragment of shame. Then he went back to work.

It had been such a small mistake, after all, people bounced their legs or clicked their pens all the time, this was just the way that Wilson moved.

Unnatural. Alien. Weird.

Words he had become so accustomed to associating with himself that it was second nature, they hardly had another meaning anymore. This is why he knew that she’d had a right to look at him that way. People have been doing it his whole life.

But it’s always worse when he fucks up somewhere that matters. It also seems that every time something does go wrong, he manages to do it somewhere that the stakes are high.

Another flaw in his nature, he supposes.

“Everything okay?”

Everything’s fine, he thinks, just brilliant thanks for asking. I acted like a great big freak in front of somebody who I’d convinced was normal, but yeah other than that I’m doing really fucking great.

Really, he just turns around with confusion written clearly across his face.

Suddenly, -now that he’s been surprised into stillness- Wilson realises that his hand had been patting away at his side (another one of the many ways that his body had tried to rebel against his new rules).

“Yeah, of course.” And just to be safe he quickly adds in, “How are you?” Because if you get people talking about themselves, they’ll quite often leave whatever they wanted from you alone, maybe even forget about it entirely, if you’re lucky.

The subtle art of deflecting. With everything he’s learnt he might as well write a book.

The nurse’s (a different one this time, but he’s pretty sure it’s a friend of the one from before) smirk as she tells him, “Good to hear.” Tells him enough.

The nurse from the reception probably told half the staff about his antics.

‘Hey everybody, our oncologists a massive freak!’, and he can’t stop himself from imagining everybody agreeing. ‘Yeah, total weirdo.’ And saying things like, ‘I knew there was something off about that guy.’

As his paranoia grows, so do the sticky patches under his arms and this only exacerbates the tingly shame that’s now spread across the entire surface of his skin.

To mess up twice in a day where he’s been so incredibly disciplined for years, is so jarring that he wants to cry and hit himself and scream at anybody who tries to come near. Oh right, he can’t do that anymore either (his father never approved).

“I’m doing good too.” She quite obviously holds back laughter here as Wilson continues to frantically attempt to regain control of his carefully crafted façade, before throwing a goodbye his way and walking down the corridor, saving him the stress of offering an actual response.

He swallows hard but his mouth is so dry that the feeling’s more akin to licking sandpaper.

With his face bright pink and his hands once again hidden deep in his pockets, Wilson spends the next hour on his lunch break, reminding himself how to act like a person in the safety of a bathroom cubicle (which almost upsets him even more because if there’s any surefire way to remind him of his worst experiences from high school, then locking him in a bathroom stall definitely tops the list).

Luckily, he manages to clean up almost well enough to feel almost good enough again, and by then there’s only a few hours of his shift left and he hides in his office for most of them, choosing guilt over further embarrassment as per usual.

PLUS ONE:

Everything in Wilson’s life has been one huge enigma.

From learning how to speak to people properly to being taught how to tie his shoelaces (which, embarrassingly, took him until he was twelve years old).

Nothing ever made sense and whatever came easily to his peers wouldn’t stick in his mind no matter how hard he tried to learn.

Apart from one thing.

House.

Meeting him had been like having whatever wacky brainwave he’d been functioning on finally find a match after so many years (his high school bullies might have preferred to compare it to Wilson finally finding another member of his ‘species’, but he felt that apart from being nicer, his metaphor was more apt).

This instant connection made all three of his marriages and consequently any relationship that House managed to hold onto long enough for it to matter, absolutely torturous.

For a long time, Wilson wished that House had been born a woman, so that he could have done his usual routine and wooed him easily into his bedroom. But for all he liked to think it would have been simpler, the two of them were never destined to have it easy, this intricate dance had been necessary to drive them even closer together than they would ever have imagined possible.

Their first drunken fling was years ago now and every day Wilson was fortunate enough to wake up beside the man whom he could unflinchingly say that he loved the most in the world, which made him want to jump and spin and squeal with joy.

He settled for softly kissing his collarbone, his neck, his cheek and then finally his lips.

No word could singlehandedly encapsulate just how lucky Wilson felt.

Sometimes, Wilson saw everything he’d hidden away about himself being expressed so freely in House that something disgusting like anger clouded his vision, he decided not to think about it too much.

House on the other hand, was obsessed with uncovering every carefully concealed part of the man he was proud to call his own.

As it often did, tonight it started with both of them watching an appallingly bad telenovela on the couch (their couch this time) and sipping ice-cool beers.

Or rather, House was sipping an ice-cool beer and Wilson pretended to be angry that he was stuck with a lukewarm pint that House had ‘forgotten’ to return to the fridge after setting it on the side a few hours ago (but he really didn’t mind, he would’ve drunk House’s bathwater).

It all felt so domestic and comfortable that, without realising it -because he never did, damn it- he was slowly slipping into a state so tranquil and relaxed that he began forgetting himself. Only, House would never have told him this, why? Because he loved it.

Seeing Wilson so blissful, dressed in something other than a shirt and tie that he knew bothered him (too itchy, or too tight), not to mention that god-awful over-starched lab coat, made House melt inside and if he wasn’t careful, he might even start giggling like a teenage girl.

As they got further into the episode, (something House had seen a hundred times before, so he didn’t need to watch the screen too closely) his gaze drifted over to none other than Wilson, as it always did.

He looked beautiful.

Tired eyes, sweater all bunched up around his waist with his legs sprawled out in front of him and the empty beer can half crushed in his laps.

The empty beer-can simply won’t do, so House pokes his ribs with a foot,

“Jimmy, grab another pint for a poor cripple, won’t you?”

He only sighs in response but House knows there’s a smile written across his features as he turns around, and sure enough he’s back with another for both of them.

This time he sits on the edge of the couch after throwing House his share, and his beautiful, gorgeous face is hidden from him. Outrageous.

House settles for observing Wilson from behind. He’s not going to pull him into his arms like some totally smitten weirdo…Yet. Who knows, he might do something interesting and it’s no secret that he loves a puzzle.

He gives up fairly quickly, it’s a Friday night after all, and turns his attention back to the screen within ten or so minutes, but then he notices something. From where he’s sat on the other side of the sofa, Wilson is swaying, rocking even, ever so gently back and forth.

It’s impossible not to stare. The movement seems like second nature to him, in fact, Wilson doesn’t even seem totally aware that he’s doing anything at all.

Then he stops.

Wilson always knows when House is watching him, but because there’s never been anything malicious in his eyes, there’s never been any reason to worry, so he lets him do as he pleases, even becoming blind to it after a while. They were dating, if they wanted to stare at one another, they were allowed.

This evening, he doesn’t even notice until House asks for the beer, and he tries to imagine what the other man was seeing. Probably laughing at his atrocious eye bags or getting ready to pounce on him and noting down anywhere sensitive that was exposed enough for him to do so.

That’s all fine, normal, actually. So he goes back to tuning him out pretty much the moment he sits down.

But suddenly, something feels different…

It’s no longer a harmless watching. This time the all too familiar feeling of eyes burning holes in his back is radiating from across the sofa and instinctively, Wilson tenses.

His mind starts working at a hundred miles a minute. What had he done wrong this time? Swaying, tapping, rocking, flapping? He mentally locates the muscles inside all of his limbs and tries to make them stand still.

He’s been doing so well. He always does in the beginning; the pattern can be seen in all of his marriages.

Wilson puts every last ounce of energy towards making himself a perfect partner, and then it dwindles, and dwindles, slowly but surely until he has nothing left to give and they see him for who he really is, then, they leave.

He pretends that it doesn’t hurt as much as it really does.

“Sorry.”

It’s autonomic. Instinctive. The answer he knows he has to give.

“Huh?”

House also pretends, only he’s putting on a show, faking confusion to show Wilson how stupid his response was.

“Nothing.”

Maybe he can stop this conversation before he ruins everything. Maybe it still isn’t too late, and they can enjoy a few more wonderful years before he really fucks up and ruins everything all over again.

“Well given that you said ‘sorry’ means that it’s actually definitely not nothing.”

“Wait why’s Sofias sister crying?” Deflecting.

“Wilson I’m trying to have a conversation here,” He replies, raising the pitch of his voice to imitate a nagging housewife, or rather one of Wilsons ex-wives.

He tries to ignore him this time, which is a hopeless tactic when dealing with House, but he’s too tired to think of something new and no other options come to mind.

House is not having that.

“Why’d you stop.”

Not only did he stop, but Wilson seems tenser than a bow string at its full extension and House sits up, turning off the tv entirely, then he turns to stare at him.

“Oh I see, very mature. You don’t like something, and now no more TV time for me?” Wilson douses the words with sarcasm, as they both tend to.

But this time, when House speaks, he’s nothing but genuine, and Wilson knows this, because it’s House and the one thing that he can be sure of is that he knows House.

“It doesn’t bother me.”

And as he lies back down, he wraps both arms around Wilsons torso so that he can drag him down too.

Perfect, now Wilson’s head rests just above his heart, and after House puts the show back on he starts to gently run his fingers through his hair, carefully undoing an hour’s worth of styling and products from this morning.

Wilson doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t think that he could even if he tried.

Of course House, king of cynicism and snide remarks turned to him and softened his gaze, only to deliver the four most meaningful and devastating words he thinks he’s ever heard. This feels like an ‘I love you’ and it leaves Wilson reeling in the aftermath.

The feeling’s both pleasant and frightening but most noticeably devoid of shame. There isn’t any jealously either and that’s what makes him want to weep.

His whole miserable little life the feelings he’s been a prisoner too are finally, for one blissful moment, gone.

And it’s because of House.

Before he can even stop himself, he’s crying. It isn’t quiet this time and he doesn’t try to stop either.

The shows off again instantly because House wants to comfort him, and he knows if there’s too many sounds playing in the background Wilson finds it hard to concentrate, which only makes him cry harder because he doesn’t think he’s ever felt seen like this before.

In between his great, heaving sobs -ones that cover Houses t-shirt rather gratuitously with snot and tears, but he’s nice enough not to make a fuss about that either- Wilson manages to force out “P…Pr-omise?”

Houses heart grows three sizes or does whatever it is that the story books say.

All he knows is that the pure amount of pain in that one word is so tremendous that it pulls at his heartstrings, and it hurts him too, realising how much Wilson has been forced to hide himself, and how much it hurt him in return.

“I promise.”

And he means it, with every last inch of his being.

Although he never really stopped, Wilson somehow bursts into tears all over again, and it feels like being reborn, because House is seeing the ugliest parts of him and still fucking loving him like it’s breathing.

He cries for hours, sobbing and gasping and howling until his head aches so much it might just split in two, and House’s shirt is soaked through across the entire front panel.

Then he cries some more.

It’s not just tears, this is years of not being understood, years of being humiliated and taught to hate an intrinsic part of himself, years of staying so painfully still.

His hands pat and flap of their own accord and although somewhere in the background his brain is trying to stop him because he’s so used to getting told it’s wrong, he ignores it as best he can because House is still holding him and telling him that it’s okay.

Everything is not fine.

He’s weeping all over his boyfriend’s chest because he got told to stop being weird a few times, only it’s not that simple and they both know it.

They lie like that until Wilson’s too tired to take another breath, but the exhaustion runs deeper than the dark half-moons etched underneath his eyes, and he finds that he can barely stand up by himself.

In the end he leans heavily on House and somehow, they both stumble into their bedroom and fall down together onto the bed, rustling around under the covers so that Wilson falls asleep with his head just below Houses bare collar bone (he’d tossed the damp tee onto the floor somewhere along the way), feeling a relief so immense that it’s almost palpable.

That would only be the start.

Houses new obsession very quickly became separating shame from all of the weird and wonderful ways that Wilson liked to move.

It starts small, with showing him that there’s nothing wrong with rocking back and forth when they’re watching TV together, alone.

From there it only grows. House gets the absolute pleasure of buying Wilson a dozen fidget toys, as well as the pure joy of watching his lover grow more and more comfortable inhabiting his own skin.

Wilson loves it too, as it gets easier.

He finds that it’s like they’re slowly unravelling a knot that for Wilsons whole life has placed an unbelievable pressure on his chest.

He can finally breathe again.

It doesn’t fix everything immediately of course, undoing forty years of shame is no easy task but for now, when Wilson’s at home he feels free to flap his hands and spin in circles to his hearts content, and for now, that’s enough.

[devoted-tiefling]

lemme drive some angst into this blog right the hell now becos it's what we deserve.

so basically it's like a thing in elvish culture that a lot of elvish children have a child name and then an adult name. usually, children names are unisex and are chosen by their parents but then, when the elf grows up, they chose their own name

warning: spoilers under the cut

and apparently astarion's name might mean young dewdrop which is really cute and i thought wowie what an adorable name.

BUT THEN I THOUGHT: why doesn't astarion have an adult name?

and i realised. what if the reason he doesn't have an adult name was because he used his child name as a prayer?

imagine all of the cruel heartless things that cazzador did to him, all of the blows to his head and the slashes to his body, everything that drove out what astarion was til he had nothing left.

and it worked. astarion didn't have anything left after. he doesn't know what he looks like. he doesn't know what his life was like before. i don't know if it's fanon or canon but he can't even remember if he was a good magistrate or not.

but i bet that, in those first few centuries, his name meant everything to him. he prayed to all the gods and goddesses he could think of, muttered blessings and curses and promises to dedicate his life to him if they saved him and he was met with silence.

so, he turned to his name. he memorised his name with all he had; he remembered the way his mother's lips moved as she said it, the proud tone of his father as he called for his son, his friends clapping him on the back as they affectionately muttered his name.

did he have brothers? sisters? who else said his name? what else did his name carry?

he memorised the meaning; it held all the wishes and hopes that his parents had for him.

he memorised the spelling. astarion. astarion. he was his mother's dewdrop, his father's star, a proud high elf deserving of a name.

and, maybe, for the first few centuries, that was enough.

but there's no mention of astarion's family in the game, is there? there's no mention of his life before cazzador. and so, like his prayers to the gods, his name failed him.

but then you arrive, don't you? and you ask him if his name had always been astarion and he answers in the affirmative. he doesn't say why he's kept the name for all these years, doesn't want to say that it's the only thing that tethers him to his old life, before the bite, but you know him well enough now that you see it in his eyes.

you ask if he'd ever consider getting an adult name.

astarion explains that maybe, eventually, he'd consider it. but that he didn't really want to because your adult name is supposed to signify what you're like as an adult elf and all he is now is darkness and blood and decay and death.

you tell him to consider the name ariōn. if you're elf too, maybe you've known of the name for a while now. if not, maybe you scrolled through books and books to find something that suited the man that managed to capture your heart.

his eyebrows furrow because that's literally just his name? and you giggle and tell him that no, you'd chosen it for him based on it's meaning.

'one who walks in the sun.'

becos that was who he was now. he walked in the sun, enjoyed the sun, was your sun.

astarion would sob because, of course, the name held his past, his present and his future.

it held a piece of who he was before, held his predicament now and it held his wishes of being able to always walk in the sun in the future.

idk sorry, i just threw this all up onto a post LMAO

[witchthewriter]

@rezqwr.

𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐑𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐧𝐚 𝐓𝐚𝐫𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲𝐞𝐧! She is so sweet, so kind, so caring. An absolute beautiful woman inside and out. And that's why I think you two would work; you would balance each other out. Make each other see things in different ways, show each other different interests and hobbies. You would be so close, so happy to spend time together.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

When you started your relationship, she was absolutely over the moon. Completely excited. So, to show you, Rhaena had this made for you.

Loves listening to your talk - it could be about anything. And Rhaena would be absolutely content just laying on your lap, watching you as you speak, a small smile on her lips.

Always has her arm clasped in your own. Squeezing it as a way of silently communicating.

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Would That I by Hozier

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔 

Gives Necklace (Rhaena) x Wears It Everyday No Matter What (You)

Talks A Lot (You) x Likes to Listen (Rhaena)

You're The Only One Who Understands Me

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Unbreakable Bond

𝐀𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐀𝐑

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐆𝐰𝐲𝐧! I really hope you know who Gwyn is; and if you don't here's a link to her character. Gwyneth Berdara aka Gwyn, is an absolute gorgeous person. She's so sweet, and her loyalty knows absolutely NO bounds. She will do anything for those she cares about. And that's why I chose her. She would never do anything to harm you, but on the flip side, she would never let anyone harm you. Gwyn is fierce, even though she seems quiet and demure.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

The first time Gwyn saw you, she was absolutely stunned. Couldn't speak, couldn't even think. She was so enamoured by you. She was a stuttering, stammering mess. But she left an impression on you.

You love listening to her sing, she has a mesmerising voice. One that could put you under a spell easily. She doesn't even know that she does it.

Is the kind of partner to constantly bring you back gifts. Never expensive ones, but thoughtful ones. Rocks, plants ... animals ...

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

Sweet Carolina by Lana Del Rey

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔 

Mature/Responsible (Gwyn) x Snarky/Fierce (You)

Black Cat (You) x Golden Retriever (Gwyn)

Plant Dies x Buys Them A New One

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

"Star-crossed lovers"

𝐌𝐂𝐔

𝑫𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒑𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏

𝐈 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐩 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐏𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐤𝐞𝐫! A man with a big heart. Peter Parker aka Spiderman is so witty he would have you in hysterics within minutes of being together. You have the same sense of humour and that would elevate the relationship tenfold. He's clever and reliable, and would do anything for you.

𝑯𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒄𝒂𝒏𝒐𝒏𝒔

He surprises you ... a LOT. And not just gifts, I mean he will just randomly be in your room:

"Peter, how did you get in??" You ask, eyebrows crossed and arms following suit.

"Window." He says, looking up from the random book he was 'reading' (it was upside down).

He blushes a lot; literally blushing and kicking his feet whenever you message him. He lays on his bed and giggles when you send him a cute text...

Has all your favourite things memorised - your favourite colour, song, movie, place, smell etc. He's great whenever it's your birthday! Gives the best gifts!

𝑻𝒉𝒆𝒎𝒆 𝑺𝒐𝒏𝒈

The Train by James Newton Howard

𝑹𝒆𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒔𝒉𝒊𝒑 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆𝒔 

Aggressively Supportive & Protective

Tragic Past x Ray of Light

Malewife x Girlboss

𝑷𝒍𝒐𝒕 𝑻𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒆

Intertwined Destinies

[vizkopa]

Damned if you Do (Devil!Doflamingo x Reader) Part 4

WARNING reminder this series contains: violence, gore, strong language, sex, alcohol and religious themes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 4: Crossroads

~

“So there are 72 Lords of Hell...”

“Correct.”

“Kings being the most powerful and commanding the most legions of Hell’s army, barring Lucifer himself.”

“Yes.”

“So if this demon is a King like we suspect, only another King could compete with him in terms of power.”

Rosi paused in splashing you with a hyssop branch soaked in holy water. “What are you getting at?”

“We summon another King of Hell. That book of yours tell you how to summon them right?”

He resumed his splashing—though he had informed you this part of the ritual was technically called ‘asperges’. He proceeded to ‘asperge’ you full force in the face.

“Absolutely not. It’s too dangerous.”

“Why? The summoning ritual binds the demon to your bidding for as long as the spell lasts, right?”

With little else to do confined to the cottage, you had been making your way through the seemingly never-ending pile of Rosi’s books. Most of them were in Latin or Hebrew or something even older, but a few had translations you were able to understand.

“Yes, but if something were to go wrong…”

“You’ll be there as backup.”

Rosi moved on to the next phase of the warding, ‘anointing’. You hated how the holy oils smelled and wrinkled your nose at them. Rosi ignored your look of disgust and continued anyway, touching his oil-soaked thumb to your forehead, chest, and the tip of each shoulder.

“I’m flattered you think I would be an equal match for a King of Hell.”

“Well then, I might as well move in with you permanently at this point since apparently I can’t leave these grounds for the rest of my life.”

Rosi blushed then scowled. “We’ll find another solution.” He picked up his thurible and began to swing it while walking a slow circle around you. The sweet incense made your eyes water and your throat itch, but you resisted the urge to cough.

“Father… I can’t keep doing this.” You gestured vaguely to the oils, the holy water, the crucifixes, and the candles surrounding you. “I feel so useless. I need to do something!”

He set the thurible down again, muttering the last few lines of the warding spell before turning to you.

“All right.”

You blinked. You hadn’t expected him to agree to it so easily.

“I can see how much the inactivity is eating at you, so… I’m willing to try.”

You flung your arms around his neck. “Thank you!”

He cleared his throat and pulled away. “It will be incredibly dangerous though, [Name]. We would have to wait until these wards wear off or the summoning ritual may not work… And he might be able to find you while you’re unguarded.”

“I’ll take that risk,” you said softly.

Rosi searched your face and seemed to find the resolve he was looking for. He nodded. “Then let’s prepare.”

The next evening, the two of you took Rosi’s beat up old sedan far out into the desert until you came upon a crossroads. The sun had set hours ago and the chill of the night seeped into your very bones. The land was empty for miles around.

When your phone clock struck midnight, you walked out into the middle of the road and knelt, a piece of chalk gripped firmly in one hand, your consecrated knife in the other. The rosary hung from your chest, a pendulum ticking away the time on your soul. You paused.

“What happened if this summons him?” you asked. “We still don’t know his true name.”

“The chances are slim, but not impossible.” Rosi stood a ways back, his Bible and crucifix held close to his heart, a flashlight aimed at the spot where the two roads met. “We just have to have faith.”

How like a priest, you thought, rolling your eyes.

You carefully traced the sigil you had memorised into the road, the chalk stark white against the black. Your shadow flickered and danced as you traced the letters around the edge of the summoning circle.

B E L I A L.

You straightened, looking over your shoulder nervously at Rosi. He nodded, his fingers white where they gripped the flashlight, but the beam held steady.

You cleared your throat and chanted into the night air: “Belial! Esto subiecto voluntati meae!”

There was a moment of silence where not even the wind in the dry brush by the road made a sound, then the earth began to rumble beneath your feet.

You heard Rosi curse in a rather un-priestly manner as the flashlight flickered out. But it was only for a second. When the light was restored, a man stood before you.

Not a man.

A King of Hell.

“Why have you summoned me, human?”

Belial towered over you. Not quite as tall as your demon, but an imposing figure nonetheless. His shoulder-length dark hair was smoothed back from his forehead, and a long scar bisected his face like the grin of some deadly predator. His cruel mouth was downturned in an impatient scowl.

“I have some questions for you about a… colleague of yours. Answer them, and I’ll free you from the binding circle.”

He merely grunted, examining the nails on one hand. It was only then you realised his other arm ended in a gold hook.

You swallowed. This one certainly was a character.

“I have a contract with another King. Tall, blonde, gorgeous, et cetera. Can you tell me his name?”

He looked up at you then and grinned, his golden eyes drinking you in with interest. “You’re Asmodeus’ girl.”

You drew in a sharp breath. Asmodeus.  You had a name. After all these years. And names meant power.

“I’m not Asmodeus’ anything,” you scowled.

“Maybe not yet.”

“Maybe not ever. How do I break a contract?”

Belial chuckled, cold and cruel. “You can’t.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Only the demon who made it can break a contract.” His hooded eyes ran up the length of your body, so slowly it made you skin crawl. “And if I were him, sweetheart, I would never let you go.”

You gave him a disgusted look. “Cool it, big guy. There has to be some way. What if I made a deal with another demon?”

He was back to looking bored again. “You have nothing to bargain with. Your soul is claimed already. Even I could not override another King’s binding word.”

You cursed and glanced at your phone. The midnight hour was ticking away. You needed answers and you needed them soon, before the binding spell wore off.

“Fine,” you growled. “Then how do I kill him?”

Belial laughed, long and loud. It was a sound that silenced even the bravest of insects that had dared to chirp in the presence of a King.

“You? Kill a demon king? Oh, how I wish I had been the one to answer your summons all those years ago. I see why he likes you. You have the heart of a demon, girl.”

“Answer the fucking question.”

He shrugged. “The answer is irrelevant. Unless you happen to have a Holy artifact lying around?”

You pulled out the consecrated knife. “Like this?”

He laughed again. “That toothpick? I doubt you’d even get close enough to use it. No, it will take something far more powerful than that.” His eyes shifted to Rosi, who paled under the demon’s gaze. “Perhaps you should ask your priest about it.”

You sighed. It was clear the demon was done being helpful. “Well, I wish I could say this has been enlightening…” You made a dismissing motion with your hand. “Vade, Belial.”

Belial’s eyes narrowed. “You promised you would free me, little human,” he said.

“Yeah, well, I lied. Have fun back in Hell.”

You waved cheerfully as a look of rage crossed the demon’s face, but before he could lunge for you, there was a gust of hot, sulphurous wind and, just like that, the demon was gone, the chalk circle disintegrating into dust on the breeze.

You let out a long, slow breath. “I better hope I don’t meet him in Hell. That’ll be an awkward conversation.”

Rosi huffed a laugh. “With any luck, one you’ll never have.”

The two of you turned to walk back to the car.

“You were right. That was a waste of time.”

Rosi shook his head. “Not completely. What he said about holy artifacts, if I can—"

The desert had gone silent again.

The two of you looked up at the same time to find a figure leaned against the hood of the car.  The lenses of his red glasses glinted in the light of the torch, along with a white-toothed grin. You and Rosi both stopped in your tracks, from your own accord or the demon’s power, you could not be sure.

“Asmodeus,” you breathed.

The demon tilted his head slightly. “Someone’s been a busy little bee.” He pushed off the car and approached you, a hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from your cheek. “I missed you.”

You shut down the urge to lean into his touch. “Can’t say the feeling’s mutual.”

Asmodeus hummed. “Give it time. Now what could you and my old friend Belial possibly have to talk about, hm? Do I need to be jealous?”

You flinched away from his fingers as he twirled one absentmindedly in your hair. “Just wondering if he was taking applications for a Queen. Gotta keep my options open, y’know?”

The grip on your hair was suddenly vice-like, forcing you to look him in the face. His grin was gone.

“I do not take lightly to being teased, my dear,” he hissed. “If you were searching for a way out of this contract, you’d be better off propositioning Lucifer himself. And I can assure you, the Lord of the Abyss is not nearly as lenient as I am.”

The two of you glared at each other for one long moment, then he released you. “No matter. Your time is almost up. I can feel your willpower waning and I am nothing if not patient.” He finally took notice of Rosi and his grin was back, wider than before. “I remember you.”

Rosi’s lips had gone white, his whole body trembling. But it wasn’t fear you saw in his eyes, but hatred.

“You,” he hissed, seemingly too angry to form words. You had never even seen the priest raise his voice, let alone be rendered speechless by rage.

“I’m delighted you remember me, holy man. How long has it been, 20 years? A mere blink of the eye for me, of course.”

“How dare you take his form.”

You looked between the two, confused. Then it clicked. In the dim light it was hard to tell, but when you thought about it, there was a distinct resemblance between the two men—one man, one demon—before you.

“How dare you take the form of my brother!”

You stared at the two in horror. How had you not seen it before? How had you not made the connection? Standing before you was the image of Rosi’s dead brother, as if he had never been dead at all. As if he had lived to see his 30s.

Asmodeus laughed, his hands running over his chest with reverence. “I was not strong enough back then to choose my form, only able to possess those of weaker mind and body. But now I can choose any form I wish, and this form pleases me. Especially certain… assets.”

You blushed. You had seen those assets. And you hated to admit that you agreed.

“Rosi… Rosi we need to get out of here,” you pleaded. But Rosi could not—or would not—hear you.

“You killed him. You destroyed him from the inside and you left him to DIE! You vile piece of filth! You—” He seemed to struggle for words again.

The demon was clearly enjoying himself. “’You’ what? Foul beast from the pit? Putrid fiend of the ninth circle? I’ve heard them all, little priest. You can do better than that.”

But Rosi was clearly beyond insults. He raised his crucifix, forcing the demon to take a step back. Then he began chanting in Latin in the easy flow of someone who had spoken the words a thousand times before.

“Priinceps gloriosissime cælestis militiæ, sancte Michaël Archangele, defende nos in prælio et colluctatione…”

The demon hissed and took another step back. You blinked. It was the first time you had seen him balk. But it didn’t last long.

A vein pulsing at his temple, Asmodeus raised his hand, pointing one long finger at the crucifix. It burst into flames. Rosi screamed and dropped it on the tarmac, the flame extinguishing instantly on impact. He fell to his knees clutching his wrist, his hand red and blistered and smelling sickeningly of charred flesh.

You swore, making to run to the priest’s side, but the demon’s power held you in place. Bored with the priest now he now longer presented a threat, Asmodeus turned his attention to you once more.

“I hope you have not placed your faith in him, my dear. He seems woefully unequipped.”

“Fuck you.” Your voice was barely a whisper.

He only grinned. “Oh, you will.” He planted a swift kiss on your lips and then he was gone, the sounds of desert night returning in his wake.

[nerdthatsiriuslylovesteaxx]

Helpless part 26

He needed to try, the Ghost king shaked as he walked towards cabin 1, lifting his hand to knock, but he couldn't bring himself to do it. He couldn't fucking admit it, was too much. He walked back to his cabin, sweating, shaking, in tears. He took out a back of cigarettes, breathing in the nicotine, letting the smoke fill his lungs. He had to try again, he knew he wouldn't live if he didn't, he wished he could die, but he couldn't leave Hazel alone, she didn't deserve to suffer. A small part of his brain wondered... she had Frank, Reyna and that other girl, what was her name? Lavinia? But he knew he needed to at least try, if only for his younger sister. Tears streamed down his face as he forced himself to walk to the Posidon cabin, he wasn't sure why but he felt like Percy would be easier to talk to. His hand shaked as he knocked on the door, he wanted to run away but he didn't let himself, he couldn't be weak. Percy opened the door, instantly pulling Nico inside. The Ghost king sat on the bed and in a voice that was barely louder than a whisper, though tear spoke."..H.. Help me... please, I-I can't let- Hazel... be alone."

"You'll be okay, I'll help you." He pulled the sobbing boy into a hug,

"I'm not even worth fucking helping."

"Nico, I know you've gone through a lot, but you can't give up on life. Everyone's worth saving."

"I'm a suicidal faggot who can't have half a normal conversation with living people and everyone hates me because my dad is the king of the Underworld."

"Shh.. I know it's been hard, I know everything seems to be against you, but things will get better."

"I'm a fucking freak, the only reason I'm not dead yet is because I didn't want to leave Hazel alone but who fucking knows, maybe she'd be better off without a brother that killed two people. I want to give up."

"I wanted to as well."

"What..?" Percy turned his arm around, revealing pale scars streaking up and down his arms. "But... Why? When?"

"Well..., a lot of them were from before I found out I was a demigod."

"Doesn't that mean you were..."

"Eleven? Yes, my step dad, he was a nightmare."

{Percy's memory's}

"Can't wait till the fall, you'll get out from under my roof again."

"You're not even employed, how is this your roof? And I got back yesterday, leave me alone."

"Now litsen here you son of a bitch, the only place you will ever get in that fucking life of your is jail. You can't even fucking spell, your grades are worse than a first grader that's how fucking retarded you are. Go fetch me a beer, that's the only thing you're good for anyways, your slut of a mother isn't around all day to get it for me."

"DON'T SAY A WORD ABOUT MY MOM!"

"Oh, you want to be a little bitch? I'll see how strong you are in three fucking minutes." I ran into to my room, desperately trying to lock the broken door. He walked inside, snapping the belt.

"Now you're going to learn to respect me you bitch." I didn't reply, I knew that would only make things worse than they already are. The leather hit my back, I didn't flich, I wanted to scream from the pain but I wouldn't let him break me. Again, I knew the routine. Punches, kicks, yelling, I had it memorised, same as every summer before, same as every day. He kicked me to the side of my room, locking it from the outside with a padlock.I wouldn't cry, I can't give him the satisfaction. My whole body burned, I look at the scars left by the studded leather belt, I wanted to add more. Who would care anyways? I had no friends, mom might have cared but she's barely around with how much she's working, Gabe would be happy if I were gone. I glace over at my arm where there were pale, jagged lines from last summer, some were my own work, some were from the empty, broken bottles he'd thrown at me. It's not like school was any better, they just kept it all hidden, they don't even fucking care, they just do it to make you think they do. They care just as much as every other school that kicked me out, they'd be happy it's one less person to be responsible for. I grab a knife I had hidden in the back of a drawer, I pull it across my wrist, letting the stinging pain take over me. Again, I wanted to feel the pain, again, I could fucking help it. Mom would be disappointed, but I can't keep fucking living like this. I hate my self, I hate my school and I just hate my fucking life. I hear the rattle of the lock, fuck, I needed to cover this up. It has to be mom, Gabe wouldn't let me out so quickly.

"Percy I'm home; for God's sake Gabriel you are not allowed to lock my son in his room! Remember I'm the one paying for th-... I'll talk to you later."

"S-sorry." I didn't know what to do, but for once, I let myself cry, for the first time since boarding school, first time since Gabe, first time since my life started going to shit.

Oh if only I knew what life going to shit was back then, Percy thought to himself. "Well... there were other reasons, I was bullied pretty badly for years and I didn't have very any friends before meeting Grover."

"You were eleven, and wanted to die?"

"It seemed easier than living at the time, but please trust me, it's worth living, things will start to look up."

"How- how did you stop?"

"My mom helped a lot, but I did have to go to therapy for a year after that."

"Did you ever do it after that?"

"Yeah, I only stopped because I knew my friends would die if I couldn't save them."

"But... why did you do it? Your life.. it was far from perfect, sure, but you're the Percy Jackson, most powerful demigod at camp half-blood, you're..."

"I thought I killed Annabeth."

"Was... that when I was there? With Bianca?"

"Yeah..., Nico the point of this, it doesn't make you any weaker, I know your life's been hard, but you'll always be worth saving. You might think that no one cares, but people care, and people will notice when you're gone, think of every life you've touched."

"Tell me about Luke."

"What?"

"Luke Castellan, tell me about him."

"He was a hero, taken advantage of by a titan yet people say he was evil because he didn't like he deadbeat dad. He was right about the fact-"

"-Before that. When you first met him, you loved him... didn't you? Tell me about the time before the prophecy."

"He- he was amazing, most talented swordsman I ever knew, incredible teacher, kind of every at camp, and he was one of the first people, ever who didn't give me shit from the day we met and yes I-I loved him. That's why I could never blame him for anything he did, not a second of it."

"Did he know?"

"I barely knew myself, but I think he did."

"Thank you for telling me, and... saying you would... help."

"Nico, course I would, you're like my brother." He pulled the younger boy into a hug, he heard him whisper something in italien before walking off. It sounded sort of sad, but Percy couldn't even remotely guess what the words meant.

***

[14muffinz]

Birthday.

(Adopted Dee au by @tblsomedoodles)

I have no idea how to write children.

~~~

It was his Birthday, today.

Purple hadn't told anyone that it was his birthday, but that didn't change the fact that there that date was, printed onto the calendar like the other 364 days in this year.

He didn't exactly feel like talking about it.

He didn't exactly feel like talking about a lot of things, these days.

Purple clutched the almost real copy of his twin brother a little tighter to his plastron, feeling it's soft fabric and trying to imagine Blue's rough scales under his fingers instead.

Weren't birthdays supposed to be happy? Why did it feel like just another day?

Well, to be fair, birthdays weren't exactly anything special at home. Their father would leave them for most of the morning so that he could scavenge some brownies for the afternoon, and his eyes would always grow teary when he smiled, as if birthdays were sad for him.

Purple didn't want birthdays to be sad.

And so he hugged his stuffie a little tighter and kicked off his blanket, leaving the bedroom with a long glance at the half-finished plushie of his little brother.

"Hey, Dee!" Mike greeted the moment he spotted Purple.

They always called him Dee. That was weird, there wasn't an ē sound in his name, nor was there the letter d. It was a completely nonsensical nickname, even if it made him feel... something every time he heard it.

He forced himself onto a chair next to Mike, kicking his feet awkwardly.

Maybe... maybe he could bake something? Like cookies?

Honestly, Purple wasn't really one for cookies, the hard ones were itchy and the soft ones were like chewing on mud, but the mindlessness that came with reading the directions of a simple recepie was something he always enjoyed. He also enjoyed Mike's company, he supposed.

"C... can we do something?" He finally asked hesitantly, hating how unsure he sounded.

"Sure, lil' dude!" Mike responded cheerfully, giving his usual giddy grin as he joined Purple in the unconscious leg kicking, allbeit for a different reason. "What'chya thinkin'?"

"Cookies," Purple said definitively. "I wanna see if I have it memorised yet," he lied easy enough.

"Why the hell not? You know, I never make enough treats for everyone. C'mon, Dee, let's do it."

~~~

"Happy Birthday to you."

Like every year, Pops had been gone for the entire day. He'd returned with one singular giant cupcake that he'd already cut into thirds.

They still did their best with the candle, of course.

(Purple didn't have a candle of his own. Pops had only given them one.)

"Happy Birthday to you."

Blue reaches to tug on his twin's wrist, but his hand only meets empty air.

Oh. Right.

"Happy Birthday dear Pur-- Blue!"

He... he... he--

"Happy Birthday to you!"

There was only one thought that rang true in Blue's head as he frantically distinguished the candle.

I wish for my twin brother to come back.

The light goes out.

And in that moment, Blue makes a calculated decision.

One third of the cupcake can be Red's. Another third can be Orange's.

The last one can be for when his wish comes true, for when Purple stumbles back home and demands his birthday treat like nothing was ever wrong.

But if Blue's there, it'll break the spell. It was his wish, so he'll be the only one to know that anything was ever wrong. He can't let his appearance ruin his brothers' happiness.

So he runs. Runs until he knows his brothers and Pops can't find him, until he's out in a dark and dreary, echo-y part of the sewers that he can barely recognise through the haze of his mind and his tears.

He lets out a chirp, just for the sake of it, hoping beyond hoping that this would be the moment his wish came true, that Purple finally came back.

It's his own chirp that echoes in the halls. Not anyone else's.

~~~

Dee's making that chirp at his plush again.

Over and over and over, repeatedly, aggressively, angrily, and no matter how hard Raphie tries to pry him away from the damn thing, Dee will not be swayed.

It's got to mean... something.

The kid's an alternate version of Donatello, he's smart, he doesn't do things without reason and especially not when there's nothing to gain from it. No knowledge, wisdom, or feeling, any of it. There's no matter to the repetitive chirping.

But he keeps doing it, anyways.

He's holding out the red-eared slider plush in front of him, staring directly into its eyes as he makes the noise. Raphie had tried redirecting this to the other two stuffed animals, but Dee's attention remained stubbornly fixed.

Chirp.

Dee's eyes water, and he frowns even harder at the stuffy, like he's mad at it for something.

And then he hugs it close for a few seconds, then goes back to chirping at it like nothing had happened.

Huh.

[penddraig]

it's very important to me that you all know that howl's magic is meticulous and essentially follows complex procedural structures that can only be mastered after years of education.   the best i can explain it is,   he treats his magic much like you'd treat mathematics,   physics,   chemistry.   basic spells are like the basic compounds of magic,   which he builds upon to create new magic.   in his study of spells and charms in graduate school   ( like  … think STEM for magicians ),   he essentially became in expert in the topology of magic and how basic parts of spells all weave together to create larger,   more complicated enchantments.   which is why you can always catch him jotting down notes for himself and scribbling so much down on paper while he's trying to figure out what basic spells he needs to put into his magic whenever he's creating new magic.   however,   he has a lot of "grandmaster" magic already memorised and can cast these without a second thought.   transformational magic,   teleportation magic,   and physical manifestation are amongst some of what he's already mastered.   that type of stuff is very easy for him.   stuff like divination,   alchemy,   transmutation,   etc are a bit trickier for him,   and he has to think a while on those.

[ … ] he's also more than capable of casting black magic,   or magic for ulterior selfish purposes specifically meant to harm others,   but he really doesn't do much of that unless he absolutely has to,   since it triggers the harpy to respond physically and mentally,   and he would really rather not !

[alpydk]

The Circling Sky (Part 5)

Gale x OC (F)

This was no spell, no trick used to make her fall in love with him. She was genuinely falling for him despite all her reservations. She brought her hand to his face, letting her fingertips weave into the locks behind his ear and she leaned in close to him making her intentions obvious.

Ao3 Link

It had been a shock when Gale’s body had ended up on top of hers, the warmth of his arms pinning down her shoulders, the pressure of his hips upon hers. Her heart pounded in her chest; adrenaline from almost dying or something else? Was she under a spell cast by him or was her mind simply overwhelmed by the situation they had found themselves in?

Lissa gazed into his deep brown eyes, noticing the way they scanned around her face, stopping momentarily on her lips. As he kissed her, she questioned what was happening. He had just saved her life, and more than once had they ended up in a situation where this could happen. Was this what she wanted to do or was this just the reward for his good deeds? Could she even ask him this question without him being hurt? If she went through with everything and then he discovered that her heart wasn’t in it, what would happen? He was a good person, she couldn’t lie to him, could she? She gently pushed his shoulder to signal he should stop.

Gale removed his mouth from hers choosing instead to nestle his face in her neck kissing lightly. She felt the bristles of his recently growing beard rub at her skin and heard the distinctive murmur of the name Tav breathed into her flesh, giving her the signal that she had to speak up. “No, stop.”

He returned to his senses, leaning up and seeing Lissa beneath him, her face grimy with the dirt and dust of the cave. An instant wave of guilt and panic fled through his system, and he stood stroking down his robes. “Lissa, I-“ He lowered his head to avoid her gaze, to beg forgiveness. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me.”

She pulled herself slowly back from him, sitting up and pulling her knees in towards her chest. She felt conflicted, seeing him in this new light, no longer the overconfident wizard but the man battered by his own life’s challenges. “No, I should apologise. I shouldn’t have been so reckless.”

He looked at the rock formation lying behind them, wishing he had memorised something to allow him an easy escape, not just from the cave but the situation entirely. “Maybe, but the kiss was my fault. I forgot myself for a moment.”

She sighed quietly tapping her fingers together out of habit, giving her mind a moment to work through the emotions that were flooding her. “So, we need to get out of here.” She looked over at the rockfall, trying to come up with an idea.

He examined the rocks, too heavy to move by themselves. “Either the other travellers find us, or we wait a few hours and I’ll have a spell to get us, free.”

The tapping of her fingers brought little comfort with the knowledge that she was now trapped here with him. She tried her best to settle her mind into coping with the situation. “Who’s Tav?”

Gale's back straightened, hearing the name come from her, and she watched as he circled around her before sitting next to her. She could see on his face the way he was trying to compose his thoughts and emotions on the subject. “Tav is... was a good friend of mine.”

“Was?”

He nodded before continuing. “The unexpected journey, I spoke of. It’s to visit Baldur’s Gate to discover what’s happened to them.”

“Ah... I’m sorry to hear that.” She saw the pain on his face and wondered why he had not spoken of it, and then she recognised her behaviour, her father’s actions. No wonder he had not told her with how hostile they had both been towards him. “I’m sorry...Gale.”

He lifted his head to see her, a small smile on his lips, a relief at this one small step between the two of them. “Thank you.”

She felt the building silence around them from the situation, the two of them trapped in this small area, both still feeling the tension between them. “Do you want to talk about them, perhaps?” She wanted to help him, if only in a way to repay him, but if he opened up to her and she offered advice, then she would be forced to be open with him about her father. Gods damn her for not being able to manage having people in her life.

“Tav was someone I met during a very dark period of my life.”

Lissa patiently listened as Gale explained the previous year, of the battle against the Netherbrain, of the orb and Mystra, and how ultimately it had been his close friend Tav who had saved his life and helped him to become the man she saw before her today. She noted the mixed emotions when he spoke of Tav, the brightness in his eyes as he spoke of nights under the stars, the darkness as he explained the situation with Mizora, and now his journey to the city hoping that maybe the letter he’d received was all a lie.

“So that night I visited? You just needed someone?” She realised her error from that evening, how she had fled without listening instead of being there for him.

“I did, but I shouldn’t have reacted to you in the manner I did. You must realise that in some ways you remind me of Tav. Your personality, your strength.”

She scoffed at the words. “Strength? I somehow doubt that.”

“Lissa, my dear. Each day I see you carrying more on your shoulders than even the mightiest of knights have had to bear and you never complain, you never give up, you simply keep moving and surviving. Even if you can not see it yourself; you are strong.”

She wanted to deny him the words. He had no idea what she was like, the things she had done for this survival. It wasn’t strength but desperation to see another day, and yet his words hit something, an area of her heart she had long since closed off to protect herself from turning into her father. How could she accept these kind words without growing selfish like he was?

She heard Gale’s voice. “Look at me.”

Lissa had been looking down at her hand, mindlessly tapping the fingers to displace her attention from the situation at hand when he’d spoken again. She lifted her head but kept her eyes from meeting his gaze, only wanting for the world to swallow her whole.

“Lissa,” he said as he brought his hand to hers, stopping the motion of her fingers. “You have been through so much. I may not know the details, but I see the struggles that weigh you down. You deserve so much more, to love yourself, to be loved. You know this, don’t you?”

She could feel the tears building up, her mind at odds with how to react to how he saw through her so easily. She wanted control of the situation, to lash out and reject him, to give herself to him just so he would leave her alone like the others had. She hated his words and yet so desperately wanted to believe them. “You’re just saying that.”

“What reason do I have to lie to you, my dear?”

She knew he had no intention of hurting her, he really had no reason to lie to her. He’d been completely honest with her and yet her guard would not lower. A stray tear escaped her, and she wiped it away quickly hoping he would not notice it. “You might not have a reason, but I can’t accept your words. I’m sorry.”

Gale gave her hand a gentle squeeze of support. “Maybe you can’t in this instant but try to keep them in mind as we journey onwards. I only wish to help you, for you to see yourself as I see you.” He paused watching as she composed herself, pushing away the emotions. “You can talk to me. I won’t judge.”

Lissa hesitated before she spoke, the words she wanted to spill probably too much for the moment but ones she had wanted to say out loud for longer than she could remember. If anything, she owed Gale this much. “If he just died, my life would be easier.”

She heard the shock in his voice. “You surely don’t mean that, do you?”

Saying that had been too much, hadn’t it? And yet it was what she felt deep down. She felt shackled to her father; all her choices in life were dictated by what he wanted. If maybe he was dead, she could find herself, figure out who she was other than the broken shell she walked around as. Maybe she could even learn to love herself, to love someone like Gale, if her father was dead. “I do. At least, I believe I do.”

Gale frowned but he did not comment further. This was not his place to pass judgement, especially without all the details of her upbringing. “Tell me about him.”

“My father...” This would be the first time she’d spoken openly about her father to another person. She had always presented him to be the doting parent to avoid the pity of others, but Gale had been honest with her and now it was time for her to repay in kind. She distanced herself mentally from the words she spoke. “I don’t remember when things became the way they did. I remember moments when I was young, being stabbed with a fork for arguing with him; being beaten with a shoe, for most likely for the same reason. But it was only as I got older that things changed.”

She could feel the tension rise in Gale’s body. This was why she didn’t share, it was too much for people to understand, to even believe. They’d all come with their advice and platitudes, telling her that she should leave, but never understanding fully the situation of what it was like to have someone you simultaneously loved and hated.

“He started drinking. Gambling had always been a problem, but it didn’t affect us much. As I got older, he would drink and play music. It was fun as we’d shout to the songs together, this time of bonding over his favourite tunes. But as I grew up, I realised this was his way of escaping, this was his slow-motion suicide, and I was a part of it.”

Gale pulled an arm around her as the tears began to flow readily, all her walls down, leaving her exposed. “You can’t take blame for what your father is doing to himself. You’re not responsible for his actions.”

“He’s my father though. If I don’t then he won’t...”

“He won’t what?”

She fought back a sob trying to reign in the desperate sadness that had been buried for so long. She was terrified of saying the words out loud lest she’d experience the truth of the situation. “He won’t love me.”

Gale held her that little bit tighter hearing these words. A young woman simply desperate for her father’s love, struggling each day for the affection of the one that should have been giving it unconditionally, and yet each day she failed to achieve it, never good enough for him. He had no words for her in this situation, but he knew how deeply she felt that feeling of worthlessness having been there himself.

She rubbed at her eyes and straightened her body up. “I’m sorry. This was far more than you wanted to hear.”

“Don’t apologise. I just wish I could help in some way.”

“You have. Just by being here, you’ve helped.” She did appreciate his company, being able to let someone into her circle, to not be alone any more with everything. She felt his arm around her, and she looked into his eyes, for the first time seeing the true concern he held for her. This was no spell, no trick used to make her fall in love with him. She was genuinely falling for him despite all her reservations. She brought her hand to his face, letting her fingertips weave into the locks behind his ear and she leaned in close to him making her intentions obvious.

***

Gale had heard everything she said as she spoke of her relationship with her father. He’d understood now why she cared so little about herself, why she was so quick to run to her father’s beck and call despite the way he spoke to her and treated her. He wished he could save her as Tav had saved him.

As Lissa looked at him and stroked his cheek, he knew what she wanted to do, his own mind telling him to do the same, but he hesitated. After everything she had just said, how he had previously called her Tav this didn’t feel right. “Lissa...”

“I’m sorry, Gale. Please let me make it up to you.”

He shook his head, placing his hand over hers and removing it slowly from his face. “It would be wrong of me to take advantage of you in this state. Take time to process everything, if you’re feelings are still the same, then maybe we will revisit this.” He hoped that this answer would suffice, that this was not a rejection of her, but a longing to have her when it was the right time.

“Hm.” He watched as she registered the words and there was a hint of confusion on her face. “You’re right.”

“It’s not because I do not want to, it’s simply because I would rather, you be sure.”

She looked out past him to the rest of the cavern. “Sorry, I guess I’m just not used to being given an option in these matters.”

“Then it certainly is best we do not rush things.” He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it lightly. “Lissa, I understand that right now it is difficult to believe in the words I say, to believe you’re worth something, but I know you’ll make it through all this. You just need to have a little more faith in yourself.”

***

The following morning came, and Gale worked on getting rid of the rocks blocking the exit, allowing them to return to the caravan. Viktor was quick to start shouting at him, asking what had happened to him and his daughter, demanding that Gale stay away from them both.

Lissa had stepped in to diffuse the situation, getting her father to calm down, before helping him to the cart so they could leave and continue their journey. Now and again, she would glance over to Gale with a small smile of recognition, her father’s words hitting that little bit less harshly than they had in previous days.

[rorykeanersactualgf]

request where Benny uses a love potion on the reader but it doesn't work cause she already loves him

A/N: i have seen a few other people do this and i have liked their ideas, i don't mean to copy any ideas, only take inspiration. should i create a masterlist so its all in one place or wait a bit? xx

side note, on posts where its not specified for gender, i do gender neutral so everyone can read it, if you want specified gender or different versions where it has specified genders, please let me know so i can do that for you, the reason i say this is because there is the use of she in the request but i am more than willing to do other versions :)) sorry it took longer than usual to upload but i had a few things to do today but i will compensate by doing 2 today :))

CW: Fem! Reader version, Benny and reader being cute and oblivious, Benny being nervous, Grandma Weir being amazing as always :)))

@regalisonata for the GIF of Benny :))

The Potion Of Love

Over the years of being friends with Benny, he developed a little big crush on me, which somehow managed to go undetected by me seeing how obvious he can be when he wants to be. But seeing as he has been my friend for ages and his advances towards me just seemed friendly, I never noticed and thought he was being nice... That was until middle school when I started developing feelings for him too.

This crush however was not very well hidden from Ethan and Rory since they had figured it out within the first few weeks, which is why they get told and documented on pretty much interaction or small look from across a place or slight touch, which they quickly grew interested/tired of. Rory was always the one to be happy to talk about what it could mean while Ethan was the more rational and realistic one.

As Benny and I grew closer as friends, our feelings for each other only grew and made Ethan more indifferent and Rory more invested. As we talked more, I fell more in love with every and anything about him, like his smile, style in clothes, his little gestures that he had for me, his ability to make me laugh no matter where we could be, etc.

"Man, she's so pretty, I can't not look at her," Benny said, Ethan trying to regain his attention but ultimately failing when he realised why he couldn't get it back, he noticed that Benny was looking at me from across the lunchroom, while me Sarah and Erica were getting our food. "Dude, she's looking at you... she just smiled," Rory whisper-yelled into his ear, feeding into his feelings for me. He sat there and waved, almost as if he was in a trance, with lovey-dovey eyes like he was under a sirens call and finally broke contact when he saw me approaching.

Benny realised he couldn't wait much longer to tell me his feelings, scared he would be rejected and have to try to move on from his first and only real crush he's had. He was looking through his old spell book when I sat down opposite from him, not questioning what he was looking at since he had a serious face, which usually meant he was trying to concentrate.

What he was concentrating over wasn't something like memorising incantations or spells that could be useful in a fight, it was love potions, their benefits and drawbacks, the things that could go very wrong and very good, but funnily enough it had nothing on if the other person already had a crush on the person giving the potion, interesting.

Throughout the day, Benny became increasingly more nervous and but excited, hopefully with this potion, I could be his girlfriend and he could give Ethan and Rory a break from being all lovey-dovey, or would it make it worse. He knew that Rory wouldn't leave it alone, wanting to know what its like to have a girlfriend and helping Benny on dates and such, but for Ethan, hopefully it would quieten him down at least a bit.

When Benny got home, he almost flew to his room and started on the potion making, getting all of the ingredients he would need and putting them together in a frantic manner like his life depended on it. A flurry of swirls and sparks flew around him, making various shapes until finally it made a pink heart, to which he had to say one final incantation and my name and then it would be done.

As he did so, a realisation befell him, what if it doesn't work, nothing in the book said what would happen if it didn't work, what if she hates me, what if it DOES work, what then? A mix of excitement and nerves coursed through his veins, wondering all the possibilities, meanwhile I was on the phone to Sarah and Erica, on the same old spiel as always, talking about Benny and how cute he was etc. In this case, Erica was like Ethan, not too bothered about it and just wanting me to say something because it was obvious he liked me. Sarah was similar to Rory, very willing to dissect what had happened and give educated guesses about what it could mean.

The next day, Benny came into school with the potion in his bag, cradled around a jacket so it couldn't break in the vial it was in. When he reached Ethan and Rory, he had a feeling of anticipation and apprehension crawl up his spine as he waited for their reactions after pulling out the potion. Rightly, both of them were confused even with the pink slurry of liquid and the vaguely heart-shaped container. After explaining to them that it was a love potion for me, there were polar opposite reactions, Rory was ecstatic because it was fool proof, it had to work and he would finally have a girlfriend. Ethan on the other hand, was uneasy to say the least, relighting all the past worries Benny had.

I, on the other hand, was ignorant to any strange behaviour Benny was exhibiting. When I did walk up to the group, I saw that Benny was almost unable to look at me, Rory having a big smile on his face and Ethan looking almost disappointed at the other two.

I wasn't able to talk to them much before the bell rang signalling us to go to our first class, to which I didn't share with anyone which was a bit upsetting but it was over soon enough. After a few more lessons, it finally became lunch. Almost a full repeat of yesterday but this time (Reader) was sat in between Benny and Rory, talking about my lessons and any recent news about assignments or projects that would need to be done. After Erica and Sarah came to the table with their trays of food, I stood up and went to the bathroom.

As I was getting up to leave, I had a sip of my water and placed it back down where it was and I turned towards Benny so I could get my legs out and get up, Benny go up with me while sneakily taking m water bottle and taking it with him. I didn't think anything of it, but when I came back Benny had an eye on me at all times, which was odd but I brushed it off thinking he was being a little bit weird. What I didn't know is that Benny had taken my bottle and poured all the potion in and said a small incantation so the pink slurry it was creating turned back into a clear mixture so I wouldn't suspect anything.

"Hopefully she loves me now," Benny said with a sad but hopeful tone.

The only thing that he didn't account for was the fact it tasted different. When I had a sip of the water, my face scrunched up slightly and confused me, wondering what that unfamiliar taste was. It made me feel weird but it was probably because I hadn't eaten anything. As lunch went on and our table got to chatting, Benny and Rory had a closer eye on me than normal and I decided to bring it up.

"What's going on? Do I have food on my face or something?" I said with a light-hearted tone, not wanting to seem annoyed but more confused than anything.

Since it had been a few seconds, Rory decided to say something so it didn't weird me out. "Uh, yeah, you've got some food right there," he said, pointing to a part of my cheek and slightly kicking Benny under the table to snap him out of this trance.

"Oh, thanks Rory," I said, less confused now and getting back to talking with my friends.

As the day went on, Benny kept looking for any sorts or behavioural changes and when he couldn't see any he gave up and went back home at the end of the day. When he got in, he flopped onto the couch face first and heard his grandma shout a greeting, to which he replied in a lack-luster way to. That was when his grandma walked in and sat next to him, rubbing his back and asking what's wrong since Benny never usually acts like this.

"Okay, promise not to be mad?" He rolled onto his side as her eyebrow quirked up at this and she let him continue.

"So I gave (Reader), yknow the girl I'm crushing on," his grandma nodded, urging him to continue, "well I gave her a love potion..."

"Benny..." she said, warning laced in her tone.

"Hey, you said you wouldn't get mad at me," he said rolling onto his back and going to sit normally, "and it didn't work anyway."

She looked back at him, a small smile stretching her face as she realised something. "Don't you know what this means?" She asked with a small laugh hiding behind her voice.

"That she doesn't like me?" he said more like a question, "The book didn't have anything on if it didn't work..." he trailed to a stop.

"Or if the person given the potion was already in love with the potion maker." She said with a knowing smile, waiting for Benny to understand what she was getting at.

"Wait... she likes me?" He said with hope rising in his voice.

All she did was nod and he took off out of the door running to confess to me.

After a few minutes of running and panting on my porch, Benny rang the doorbell, waiting for me or my parents to answer the door. Luckily it was me that answered the door and as soon as he did, he looked up at me and said all in one breath,

"Look(Reader)IreallylikeyouandIcametoaskyouifyou'dliketobemygirlfriendofvourseyoucansaynobu-" He was cut off by my hand covering his mouth.

"Okay, I think I caught about 3 words in that whole sentence but I like you too Benny, I was literally getting ready to go to your house to tell you." I gestured down to my feet and he saw I had my shoes on.

After a moment, I pulled my hand away from his mouth and placed it behind his head, over the small hairs on the back of his neck and pulled him down gently and as soon as he was at the same level as me, I leant in and kissed him. After a moment, we pulled away and I spoke up again,

"I've always liked you Benny, since we were kids but I was always too shy to tell you so I always told Sarah and Erica about it. I'm surprised that they didn't tell you."

"Me too, I've liked you since we were kids, and I always told Ethan and Rory, I was for sure certain that Rory would have told you by now." I looked at him again and realised we were just two dumb kids, not realising our feelings for each other until we almost burst. We had a sleep over that night and caught up on lost time together, falling asleep in each others arms with content smiles on our faces and a bit story to tell our friends next week.

[popponn]

hi dear, hru? if i could eat your theme for breakfast, lunch and dinner I'd die a happy human it's super cute and crunchy even though i forever will memorise the green themes you'll still manage to pull it off

BUT i genuinely need your opinion on bllk side characters (shidou, ness, aiku, barou and maybe karasu) rate them spell your favourite and last favourites because I'm ready to set up a chair with side of tea and listen to them rambles :3

im currently running away from deadline hello. pls don't tell them im here bae : D (i really need to lock in);;;; my love, as someone whose country is full of sour strawberries you kinda scare me. but i heard overseas strawberries are sweet tho so!!! also girl :(( im :((( wait im bad with praises but pls know i love ur themes and u especially skskdhfsf

now. to my bullshit. (please do know YOU are asking for this okay ^^) so while i put my yappings down the read more to spare some poor souls, tldr: honestly i cant really pick faves simply because my ass is indecisive as hell and i constantly switch rankings lololol and like when it comes to fictional character honestly as long as they manage to catch my eyes (whether by being amusing, complicated and so on) they are immediately an okay to me. and bllk is pretty good at making entertaining charas no matter how much of an asshole they are. so, yeah, this ranking rn is more of "what i can see from whatever spotlight was given to them and how much it makes my personal taste raises an eyebrow character-wise rn": aiku > shidou > ness = barou > karasu (give crow man more spotlight im begging)

shidou: honestly he is like. a force of nature himself. and also remember that one trivia on why he cries? yeah, that trivia honestly raise him up so much in my eyes it's kinda insane. but he is hard to write because i do n o t get him. i wish i do tho, he seems interesting and he praised isagi. already a pretty cool guy in my book, if we ignore the whole other package on the side but hey what is someone without spice. solid 8/10. the fact the first person he really kinda gets on with was sae is also hilarious. like talk about not seeing it coming. common knowledge that bllk side charas deserves more screentime bUT BOY. does this guy really deserve and need it (going back to isagi for a bit but i really want to see isagi work with types he really clashes with like shidou and reo. not even as a simp, but isg is our main pov so. like. isagi dissect this guy's brain pls. or hey light novel pls)

ness: despite his whole relationship with isagi i don't wanna deck him the same way i do to kaiser. absolute soggy wet meow meow to me, whoever calls him babygirl has taste. if i have to say anything is that i really hope his growth will be outside of kaiser. when a character is connected to much to another character in a canon setting, let's just say i can see why people like it but i prefer it when the narrative forces them to face the horror and save themselves in one way. honestly, a goofy guy who i wish to see develop more in the same way barou did. like we know kaiser will (unless the plot twist is twisting) but seeing a character like him who gets stereotyped as a "masochistic, dependent sidekick" by most getting more dimension and spotlight? yeah honestly i really want that. but for now... yeah im sorry but my personal score is 6/10 (but i really hope he will rise up because him being a dark horse in the narrative will be a breath of fresh air honestly)

aiku: i left bllk the first time right before u20 so let me tell you how amused i am when this guy is more than what i expected. if bllk wc team doesn't have him as captain im asking ego WHY. like as a captain? aiku really got my respect. like his canon cheating aside, one of the most decent dudes who can admit their faults out loud. if bllk was about defender instead of striker he would SHINE as a main rival. he kinda already does tho. the whole cop roleplay with isagi was so funny in an amusing way. honestly i really like his writing as a character. very mature, but his selfish bet was really telling of the another side of his character too. 7.5/10. minus point because i cant write him and im mad about it!!! (aka in all serious: 8.5)

barou: first time reading bllk, when isagi chose him i think it becomes one of those moments that really cements bllk. like?? the canon fodder villain who usually was just relevant in the first arc???? become one of the main rivals now???? also he is so housewife and why lmao. also put him and rin in a room. it will either end with a massacre or just them ignoring each other. honestly tho, he is funny to me because this guy has the Deep Voice but then he opens his mouth, call himself king, also dye his hair before uber vs bm match, and i remember how he truly is lmao. also the bowling and his whole dynamic with nagi are so entertaining. like nagi doesn't have to try to piss him off. hilarious. as a chara, 7/10, minus point simply because while dating him in rl sounds like a healthier option, i like my man a blaring red flag. on field a 9/10 because his whole asshole personality comes out and things get interesting

karasu: this guy is like. i am really mixed about him because i think fanon give him more dimension and raises more interesting points than canon has done him so far. but honestly, considering self aware he was and the rare moments the series gave him? he is an interesting character to have in a sport manga. this guy is realistic as shit, and he is also very self-aware of his own downsides. like. read his trivia. this guy is interesting honestly. another one i wish will work with isagi simply just to see more of him. also he is such a little shit but he is funny about it so it's okay. so, yeah, canon wise i don't really can say much about him (yet? idk). but there is this version of him i seen in a gen fic from the red white holy websites of fanfic that just makes me: yo. i wanna see more spotlight on this crow. so uhhhh 6/10 too?

[aquadestinyswriting]

Story Snippet

So I don't have anything concrete to post just yet, but I have been working on stuff. Mainly on stories for The Wizard's Tale because Selene's story is just feeling a little more compelling right now. I figured I might as well post a little snippet of one of the stories I've been working on since I know some of you guys love the relationship Selene has with Chrackle

Tags: @druidx, @sparrow-orion-writes, @mariahwritesstuff, @ashirisu, @thesorcerersapprentice, @philosophika, @the-down-upside-finch, @lexiklecksi

Selene gently put her quill down and pushed her glasses up her nose, eyes narrowing behind them. Whatever this ripple was, it was too small to be anything too threatening. That, however, didn’t discount the use of some sort of cantrip designed to distract her attention away from something more malevolent. Selene stood, ready to cast a Dispel at whatever or whoever was trying to intrude, only to whip her head around at Chrackle’s squawk. She blinked as her magpie harried a slim, furry creature out from behind the bookcase. A ferret. 

Chrackle cackled at the ferret, fluttering up out of range as it whipped its head up to snap at him. He hovered over it glaring at the furry intruder, debating whether to cast something at it to chase it out,

~A familiar?~ Selene’s voice echoed in his head. Chrackle glanced at his mistress and clacked his beak,

~Yes. Unknown too. It’s not one of the students’, I’ve got all their coat patterns memorised.~ he confirmed, sending his mistress his mental images of the ferrets he knew. Selene nodded and walked around her desk towards the ferret that was now hissing at her companion as he hovered above it, out of reach. She huffed a sigh and loomed over it, gently pulling some magic in. Not enough for any major spells, just enough to get its attention. Immediately the ferret sat up on its haunches and stared up at the human woman, the only movement it now made being the twitch of its nose. Selene snorted,

“Ah, so you are capable of somewhat rational thought.” she said, “Now, given that you don’t belong to any of the students who study here, I have to wonder who you belong to and why you’re in my study without permission.” She waited patiently, glancing at Chrackle, who huffed at her mentally,

~Do I have to?~ he whined, ~You know I hate debasing myself like this!~

~Unfortunately, Chrackle, Sylvan is one of the  few languages I can’t speak or understand. So, yes, if you could please translate, it would be much appreciated.~~Alright, fine! But I want some extra shinies for my nests this year!~ the corvid demanded.

[teatitty]

Dandelion, in book and game canon, is noted for being a master of the seven liberal arts. For those that don't know, the liberal arts irl are: Grammar, Logic, Rhetoric, Arithmetic, Astronomy, Music and Geometry; so lets briefly breakdown what each one was back in the medieval and middle ages [since those eras are the basis for the series] and see exactly how intellectually smart Dandelion was

First we have the Trivium, which were the three basic tools of reasoning and expression and were the gateways into much higher fields of learning

Grammar: The study of written works and forms of writing, usually through memorisation and reading of classical texts. Learning and diagraming the parts of speech became common, and other language-related knowledge like spelling and vocabulary have grown out of grammar studies

Logic: The easiest way to describe this is basically philosophy - there's a lot of "discussions and investigations into truth and opinions" which would be why Dandelion has so many Thoughts about things

Rhetoric: Closely related to Logic studies, this one was about learning how to express your opinions and make clear concise arguments

Next we have the Quadrivium, which are all about maths and the traditional arts we know of

Arithmetic: The basic mathematics such as addition, subtraction, division, multiplication etc as well as mathematic notation

Music: Though less widespread now, back in the day music studies were incredibly important for students to understand and appreciate creation by learning about the various forms and instruments of music - in short, Dandelion would be able to play far more than just the lute if he wanted to

Geometry: This one would have covered everything from architecture to engineering to surveying, all of which are now their own separate disciplines of study. So, in ye olde times, Geometry used to be far more practical in application. This is why I like to joke that Dandelion is like if Shakespeare and Leonardo da Vinci were fused into one person

Astronomy: The contemplation of the heavens and humankind’s place in them received more emphasis in an era where less was known and more was imagined than today. Astronomy was at first considered essential for fields such as navigation and determining dates, but grew to include more advanced mathematics and physics studies

Plato is probably the most famous of real life masters of these arts to give an example of how impactful and important they are in our history, so Dandelion being a master of all 7 and being qualified to teach at the university itself is no small feat by any means. Intellectually speaking, Dandelion is easily one of the smartest characters in the books - but he's also impulsive, curious to a fault, tempermental and often doesn't follow his own common sense, which is why he has Geralt and the Hansa to look out for him lol