#writing a complete cast fic is exhausting. this is one of the reasons why i haven't written this wip in 4 fucking montsh

[geometricalien]

having kouki meet everyone is like having daggers thrown at him and every single one being a near miss.

[irisbleufic]

So, I spent the last 5 days of sitting around with this serious arm injury rereading the very first epic fic series I ever wrote. Although the posting dates on the below chapters are all 18 November 2013, the reality is that these were originally posted as individual stories on LiveJournal throughout the entirety of 2004 and into the spring of 2005. Those were my junior and senior years of college. This series was the last thing I relocated from LJ to AO3, and I was too exhausted to do a proper comb-through for typos and minor formatting issues.

Well, that state of things is no more. I cleaned up all of the editorial issues during this week’s rewatch-the-film-and-reread-my-fic binge. I also changed the names of a few of the chapters (they’re really stories strung together), although not drastically. The chapter called “Clippings” used to be called “Business,” “Spiral” used to be called “You Must Listen to Me Now,” and “Closer to Fine” used to be called “The Middle of Things.”

I had an ask a few days ago along the lines of: What the hell is Toy Soldiers, anyway? On the surface, it’s a 1991 action movie/teen drama. It stars a young Sean Astin and Wil Wheaton as Billy Tepper and Joey Trotta, the central protagonists among the cast of younger characters. At the time I saw it in early 2004, I had only ever seen Sean Astin in The Lord of the Rings. And, incredibly, I didn’t even know who Wil Wheaton was.

That might be one reason I was able to take this film to heart so earnestly (i.e. I completely lacked knowledge of Wesley Crusher, Wheaton’s Star Trek character from around that time who it was traditional to mock, although I still don’t get why). However, the primary reason this film wrecked the back end of my 2004 spring break was that I had watched The Celluloid Closet for the first time only days before watching Toy Soldiers.

I challenge any queer person to watch this documentary (about the Hays Code and the horrible fate met by queer-coded and queer characters in cinema) and this under-appreciated action film back to back and come out of it without feeling devastated and furious about what happens to Billy and Joey. Especially to Joey. And now, in an era of rampant school shootings and hostage situations, Toy Soldiers hits with even more gravity than it did in the 1990s and early 2000s.

These boys are where it started for me. Every every horrific canon media ending that has ever made me furious, every hundreds-of-thousands-of-words long fix-it series I’ve written in the past 19 years, can be traced back to this moment. This string of stories was what I wrote before I ever wrote the likes of Crown of Thorns (Good Omens), Anthology (Pacific Rim), and Delicate, Dangerous, Obsessed (Gotham). Hell, one of my instrumental original characters in CoT appeared for the first time at the end of Book of Hours before I ever thought to use her in a Good Omens context.

This story has meant the world to me even though the fandom around it at the time of writing, and even now, was never more than about 20 people. Most of those people are still with me, the dearest friends I could ever hope to have 💙

*

Chapter Index for The Series / Book of Hours by irisbleufic

1. Stereotypical (2013-11-18)

2. Persuasion (2013-11-18)

3. Taste Testing (2013-11-18)

4. Leaving a Mark (2013-11-18)

5. Trick or Treat (2013-11-18)

6. Omerta (2013-11-18)

7. Translation (2013-11-18)

8. Sketches (2013-11-18)

9. Falling (2013-11-18)

10. Caught (2013-11-18)

11. What It Takes (2013-11-18)

12. Noteworthy (2013-11-18)

13. These Shadows Have Offended (2013-11-18)

14. Love Never Did Run Smooth (2013-11-18)

15. Within Reason (2013-11-18)

16. Composure (2013-11-18)

17. Clippings (2013-11-18)

18. Without End (2013-11-18)

19. Prologue: Every Hour (2013-11-18)

20. Book of Hours: Part 1 (2013-11-18)

21. Book of Hours: Part 2 (2013-11-18)

22. Flashback: Spiral (2013-11-18)

23. Flashback: Silver (2013-11-18)

24. The Orchids (2013-11-18)

25. Closer to Fine (2013-11-18)

[possessingtheproperspirit]

I posted 441 times in 2022

204 posts created (46%)

237 posts reblogged (54%)

Blogs I reblogged the most:

@mppmaraudergirl

@thequibblah

@kay-elle-cee

@emeralddoeadeer

@blvnk-art

I tagged 389 of my posts in 2022

Only 12% of my posts had no tags

#jily - 161 posts

#writing - 154 posts

#fic - 136 posts

#asks - 122 posts

#fic rec - 100 posts

#tpwp - 55 posts

#jple - 55 posts

#lovely people being lovely - 39 posts

#james potter - 35 posts

#lily evans - 33 posts

Longest Tag: 89 characters

#in fact interacting with this is a great way of telling us you don’t hate us lol!!!!!1!1!

My Top Posts in 2022:

#5

Sequel/follow up fic to the way you left me. James returns, and has to find his footing in a life that's completely changed.

The room was too much: things moving, ticking, mutters and colours and not a single thing in rest, apart from him. 

Him, and the phoenix. 

He watched it; watched, because that was all he had the energy to do—to find one thing, to stare at it, and to let the rest fade out around him. 

Continue reading on AO3 -- FFN.

89 notes - Posted July 25, 2022

#4

There's a rule at his school that teachers are strictly not allowed to date the parents of pupils. James has never minded this rule before...

Read on AO3 -- FFN.

103 notes - Posted August 2, 2022

#3

JILY CHALLENGE @jilychallenge | @possessingtheproperspirit vs @thatpinkjacket  'Be My Valentine?' + "it's just an innocent kiss"

Mary drags Lily along to the ten year school reunion at Hogwarts.

Thank you to Lauren/@mppmaraudergirl, who is my sister in exhaustion and was very encouraging as I blurted this fic out into the world. <3

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this.”

Mary’s answering smile is cherubic, all sweetness and light, as if she hadn’t had to drag Lily kicking and screaming from the sofa to the wardrobe, from the wardrobe to the Floo, from the Floo to Hogsmeade proper and then along the long walk up to the castle, familiar somehow even in the slowly sinking darkness. “And yet you did, and you’re here now, so let’s stop muttering and enjoy ourselves, shall we?”

Lily casts her gaze up at the imposing oak doors; it’s strange how, even so long after those formative years here, she still feels that twisting of excitement in her stomach—the possibility of this place, the hum of magic in every stone. Sometimes she thinks back to that time, the innocence of youth, with a wistfulness that surely belongs to someone far older than her.

Being back here is strange. She knew it would be. That was part of the reason why she hadn’t wanted to come along.

Continue reading on AO3 -- FFN.

104 notes - Posted February 12, 2022

#2

Table-Mates

James Potter loves weddings, and he's determined to enjoy this one, even if he's attending alone.

Perhaps it wasn’t a cool opinion to have, but James had always thought that weddings were wonderful. In fact, he couldn’t think of a single wedding he’d been to that he hadn’t enjoyed, and by the ripe old age of thirty-one, he’d been to a few. He had very fond memories of his cousin’s big day just a year ago: drinking, dancing, spending time with people he didn’t get to see often enough. There was just always such a good feeling at a wedding, he thought. Everyone was happy and excited for the couple; the love that they shared was always tangible, a warming, positive force that buoyed him.

Okay, yes, he could admit it—he was a soppy romantic.

This wedding was slightly different, but he was determined not to let it ruin his enjoyment of the day. He only knew two people there, and they happened to be a bit busy, given that they were the bride and groom. He had briefly considered just sending an expensive present and making an excuse, but Sirius had talked him around, reminding James of his love of “romance and heart-eyes and all that shite”. 

Continue reading on AO3.

135 notes - Posted May 27, 2022

My #1 post of 2022

James is approached by a beautiful stranger in a bar. Rated E.

Read on AO3 -- FFN.

144 notes - Posted March 19, 2022

Get your Tumblr 2022 Year in Review →

[byunmyeon]

Philophobia

↳ pairing: lee suho x reader

↳ synopsis: in a world where a red string connects soulmates, everyone knows who they belong with. except you, who hasn’t been able to see your string since you were a kid.

↳ warnings: language (like one word), a copious amount of angst and heartbreak

— note: there’s a serious lack of suho fics out there so I decided to write my own. lmk if you guys want me to write a second part!

There was something inexplicably eerie about being the new girl in a school that was twice the size of your old one. Not because it was an unfamiliar setting, nor was it because you were painfully shy and terrible at making friends. It wasn’t even your disparaging insecurities that had you feeling so shook. No, it was something you couldn’t put your finger on, something you couldn’t begin to name. A discomfort you could feel all the way down to your bones.

Your inordinate unease swelled into full blown panic with every step you took toward your new classroom. Somewhere in your unorganized mind, you could hear your mom’s reassuring voice. Everything will be okay. You didn’t know if her words held any truth, but you really, really, really hoped she was right. You were being stupid, honestly. There was nothing to fear, but you couldn’t shake the foreboding feeling from your stature. Despite all the undesirable emotions you felt, your breathing was normal and your heartbeat was steady.

It took you a minute to gather yourself. You could do this.

After a very ineffectual pep talk, you finally got your feet to move. Your eyes were cast down as you entered the classroom. The rowdy classroom went silent once your presence became known. You swallowed the nerves and chanced a glance at your new classmates. The reactions were a mixture of curiosity and disinterest.

When your teacher introduced you to the class, you decided to really look at your new classmates. Among the sea of unfamiliar faces, one stuck out. An unnaturally attractive face belonging to an unfamiliar boy. His stare was strange. It was full of an intensity you couldn’t comprehend. You kept staring, in spite of yourself. Fuck. Was it possible for someone to be so attractive?

The clapping of your classmates pulled you back into reality. You were quick to look elsewhere, unable to understand the sudden lurch of your heart.

Suho couldn’t take his eyes off the new girl, more specifically, the string neatly wrapped around her index finger. He watched her carefully. The shy smile she wore was annoyingly adorable, and it made a foreign warmth spread across his chest and along his entire body. The new girl didn’t spare him another glance as she took her seat next to Jugyeong.

Lim Jugyeong.

He wasn’t her soulmate and she wasn’t his, but she was the girl who had unknowingly stolen his heart. That wasn’t about to change because some stranger who he was supposedly meant to be with came into his life with no warning.

Suho looked back to the front of the classroom without looking at the new girl again.

The first time it happened, you wrote it off as fatigue. After all, you had just started middle school and trying to keep up with your new workload as well as your budding social life was exhausting. That day, the color of your string had faded a bit, but it was still visible. By the time you were on your way home it disappeared for a mere second before regaining its color. Days later, it was completely gone.

When your mom first found out you could no longer see your string, she became extremely distraught. It had affected her more than it did you, honestly. She wasted no time in taking you to see countless specialists and psychologists. Anything to keep you from becoming a freak that didn’t know who they were meant to be with. She unknowingly made you feel exactly like that.

Apparently, you were a rare case because every person you went to for help wanted to conduct a study on you and your condition. Fortunately for you, your mom didn’t want you becoming a lab rat and decided to stop seeking out help from strangers. Left with no other option, you went to one person who she believed could help you. An old friend of hers.

He wasn’t a specialist, just a regular doctor who came to the conclusion that a deep, scarring trauma had caused you to no longer see your string. You could remember the heartbreak on your mom’s face because you both knew what that trauma was.

Your mom did her best to help you. Spending more time together and countless hours of therapy did nothing for your condition. Nothing worked. You became convinced that trying to see your string again was futile.

And you were right.

As time went on, you grew used to the unease that had latched itself onto you on that first day. The feeling in your bones settled in like an unwelcome guest who refused to leave. No matter what you did, you couldn’t shake the feeling. Eventually, you gave up trying.

However, something shifted when you crossed paths with Lee Suho.

You two had been put in the same group for a science lab. His attention had been solely on Lim Jugyeong, but there were times when your eyes would meet. Those milliseconds were just that, but to you they felt like an eternity. He rarely addressed you, but when he did, you could feel the pressure weighing on your bones fade bit by bit. That familiar feeling soon shifted into a more comfortable presence that you yearned to feel forever.

It was subtle, but at some point, Suho’s emotionless face changed. The change would last for no more than a second, but it always did when he looked at you. That change had your entire stature seeping with warmth. You vaguely recognized the feeling as something akin to infatuation.

It scared you.

Of course, the possibility that he might be your soulmate crossed your mind, but you quickly dismissed that thought.

Too many times had you gotten in trouble for insisting someone was your soulmate when they really weren’t. Any special bond or feelings that grew between you and someone else couldn’t always be interpreted as the ones between soulmates. You learned that the hard way.

Besides, your soulmate would make it clear to name themselves as such even if you couldn’t see the string.

At least, you hoped they would.

Philophobia.

Before you went into high school, your mom insisted you see one last psychologist with the promise that the one she found was different. Reluctantly, you went to see this woman who diagnosed you with this absurd illness. You felt like it was made up, but your mother was adamant that you did have it.

You knew she only thought that because you had told her you no longer had any interest in finding your soulmate. Her panic was unrivaled after hearing those words come out of your mouth. You wrote off her panic because your disinterest in soulmates was only natural. How could it not when—at the time—it was all your friends could talk about? Talk about being the odd man out.

Okay, and maybe you also weren’t keen on meeting new people because of the fear that they could easily ignore the string you couldn’t see. There was also the fear that if you ever did meet someone you wanted to spend your life with, they could end up not being your soulmate and vice versa.

But those feelings would all fade with time, you were sure.

Hanging out near the back of the school where no one ever went became a regular thing for you. It was the one spot where you didn’t have to worry about your soulmate or anything related to that—a safe place. Until it wasn’t.

“You can’t just ignore the bond you have with her.”

The angry voice was one you vaguely recognized. You peeked around the corner, eyes widening when you saw Han Seojun and Lee Suho in the middle of what appeared to be an argument.

“Why are you bringing that up?” Suho’s eyes narrowed. “Do you still like Jugyeong?”

Seojun’s gaze hardened. “It’s not about that.”

It was wrong to listen on what was clearly meant to be a private conversation, but your feet wouldn’t move. You could see Suho’s anger and irritation from your hiding place, and for some reason seeing him that way made a blistering discomfort latch itself onto your chest.

“You’re being unfair to Jugyeong and Y/N.”

The mention of your name had your insides twisting into an uncomfortable knot. You didn’t understand why or how you had anything to do with the discussion, but you had a feeling the reason wasn’t anything good.

“Just because she’s my soulmate doesn’t mean I owe her anything.”

There was a sharp pain in your chest, one that grew into a searing pain as the seconds ticked by. You might’ve cried out in pain had it not been for the shock that consumed you. In a sudden instant, your vision became blurred with tears as you staggered back. His words were the worst form of torture, like a piece of barbed wire that wrapped itself around your heart.

Your fate was a cruel one, forever bound to someone who refused to acknowledge the bond between you two. Lee Suho was your soulmate, but he didn’t want to be.

It was a cruel reality to have your worst nightmare come to life.

“Is it true?”

Suho raised an eyebrow at you. His gaze didn’t soften like it once did. Now it just remained impassive, almost annoyed. The cold look he was giving you was making you regret even coming to him in the first place.

“Are you really my soulmate?”

“Why are you acting like you don’t know?” Suho’s unaffected stare unsettled you. “You’ve known since the first time we saw each other.”

But you hadn’t known. This entire time you had been driving yourself crazy thinking you were only imagining the connection between you two like you had done countless times after you first lost the sight of your string. Despite wanting to tell him that, you settled for a question.

“What about Jugyeong? Don’t you think she—?”

“Are you going to tell her?” He interrupted you.

You could literally hear your heart crack. Of course that’s all he cared about. He didn’t care whether or not you were hurt and upset, hell, he probably thought you had no interest in your soulmate. But he was wrong, so very wrong.

“Why?” He demanded. “You don’t want me as your soulmate either. You’ve been ignoring the bond, too.”

I can’t see my string! You nearly yelled. The words were clawing at your throat, eager to be released. But you found yourself unable to tell him the truth.

“My soul chose yours,” you said, close to tears. “And a soul just doesn’t forget that.”

For a moment, one that was so quick you thought you imagined it, Suho looked remorseful. Stupidly, it made you hope that he would accept you and the bond that bounded you together.

“Don’t tell her.” His voice didn’t sound like a plea, but you knew what he was asking you to do was clearly important to him. “I can’t loose her.”

And so, you agreed. Even if it meant that your own heart would be left in tatters.

[yandere-sins]

Remember that Beast!Reader fic with the yandere prince? I loved that one! Can I please request ‘Tears’ from your prompt list for this please?

I was thinking that maybe a few years pass by while the reader is still stuck in beast form, but during that time the person appointed as an alternative caretaker for the reader (obviously the prince can’t be around ALL the time if he has to maintain his kingdom and keep up his image) slowly starts forming a friendly relationship and with even something as small as a forehead kiss to the beast, it is enough to break the curse. But the two don’t get enough time to celebrate before the prince barges in👀

I’m uncomfortable with nsfw and anything too sexual but I enjoy the creepiness and horror that follows a yandere character so I hope you can write it like that please😭🥺 Oh! And please let there be some hope that the reader will either be saved or she saves herself. Even better if the reader decides that she wants to save herself and the boy who broke her curse🤩

Thank you! So sorry if I’m requesting a lot😭🙏

Oh, my sweet little anons, when was the last time I gave you a happy end, huh? But thanks for requesting a continuation, I am glad you all enjoyed it so much ^-^ What a good idea you had there!

Tears - “Sweetie, don’t cry.. they didn’t love you as much as I did.. I’ll help you over the heart break.” 

»»———————— ♡ ————————««

Panting, you urged your legs forward, always one step further than you made at a time. The chilly night air burnt in your lungs, and your bare feet were icy and wet from the forest ground, but neither you nor the person holding your hand so gently in his thought about stopping. Only wrapped in a big rag, you should have been cold, but when he squeezed your hand encouragingly, you believed you could manage it all.

It hadn’t been too long since you started your way on foot down the hill the old castle sat upon. Sooner or later, the prince would find out you escaped, and surely, they would also notice your Beloved having fled the scene. There had been no reason for him to stay. Losing you was enough to get sentenced to death, his lifeless body thrown into a bog rather than buried. So why wouldn’t he leave with you? There certainly was no reason for him to stay in the wretched service of the king. 

But sooner or later, they would come for you, that much was sure.

So, you two had to hurry, but even so, you couldn’t keep from smiling, especially when he looked back over his shoulder, his warm, green eyes shining without any regrets. You two had known each other far too little, but he never once hesitated to show you his affection for you, even when you still were the hideous atrocity that you had turned into to escape the prince for the first time.

Perhaps, everything that happened was fate. Even if it had been harsh and awful, it happened so that you two could meet and start a better life together somewhere new. Even if you wished now that you two could have met under different circumstances, now, you didn’t regret your life from before anymore. Now, you could simply look ahead to the future that waited for you.

Or so you thought; you should have known better.

The soaring of arrows pierced through the silence of the night. One hit the bark of the tree before you, fire spreading from its alcohol-soaked peak. Your eye widened, as did you’re companions, and you soon found yourself ducking as another one flew over your heads.

You couldn’t spare a second to look back over your shoulder as you two urged onwards, picking up the pace. Your legs were tired and shaking, but you knew that you had to go faster and faster, or else you or he would get hit. It were moments like these in which you wished you were still a beast. One which could run faster than any arrow. One that could fight and protect what was important to you. But that was no longer, true love’s kiss having sealed that specific fate already.

It was too late when you realized that the arrows so far had not been to stop you two from getting away. Instead, as they began to light up tree after tree, you realized they were there to banish the secrecy of the forest and make the dark disappear. At the same time, they made you two run into the directions your followers wanted you to go. If you looked back now, you knew who you’d see, no robbers smart enough to roam the forest around the prince’s castle, so there really was no reason for any other armed party to hunt you down.

And yet, you did, too afraid that if you didn’t, things would go way worse. 

The moment you looked over your shoulder, another arrow flew past you, grazing your cheek. You knew where it would hit way before your companion cried out in pain, his hand letting go of yours as a reflex. He sank to his knee for a moment, cursing under his breath as you hurried to his side, seeing the arrow lodged in his shoulder. “Oh god,” you stammered as you sank next to him, hands hovering over the wound. “W-We can fix it, I’m sure, we just have to--!”

“There’s no time!” he interrupted you firmly as if he hadn’t just been shot with an arrow. Without wasting even another second, he got up again, grabbed you by the wrist, and moved forward. You caught a glimpse at his face, determination brimming from his features, but pearls of sweat collected at his forehead. He was clearly in pain, showing it in the way he held his own shoulder with his free hand, but he hadn’t given up yet. He would move on until you two were safe, and though you sympathized with his pain, you were so thankful he didn’t give up yet.

You two ran as fast as you could, but soon you couldn’t ignore the sound of armor behind you anymore, hooves trotting closer while torches lit up the forest more and more. It was almost spooky that no words were muttered, and you expected someone to call orders every now and then, but you had seen the clothes of your followers briefly; you knew who they were. The prince’s guards, clad in the finest silver and trained to the point of being nothing more than human dogs. They ceased speaking if not absolutely necessary, their eyes were soulless, and their hearts without a hint of benevolence. Them being after you could only mean one thing.

The prince wanted you back.

Another arrow getting stuck in the tree you just passed. You knew everything they did wasn’t fun but coldly calculated tactics. They wouldn’t hurt you. They couldn’t. Your cheek bleeding would probably cause one of them to get degraded to a chair for three months at least, so they really couldn’t afford to hurt you more seriously. But they did know who they could hurt you with. Someone whose pain would hurt you more than your own.

The next arrow missed completely, lost in the leaves on the ground. You two were running out of all the adrenaline you had, slowly and surely having exhaustion catch up to you. No! Please no! You begged the entities above that this wouldn’t be the end! There was so much more to live for, so much to see and experience! You wanted to be with your former caretaker, the only one who ever took you and your feelings seriously enough. You two could build a house and keep far away from the hustle and bustle of the cities, farming and taking care of livestock until the end of time. So please! Don’t let this be the end of it!

However, against your expectations, the one to collapse first was him. This time, the arrows didn’t miss, one hitting him in the lower back, one scarily close to his spine. Teardrops pearled from your cheeks as you fell into to mud with him, your hands scrapping along the roots and stones of the ground as you crawled back to where he laid, softly whimpering. Reaching for an arrow, you wanted to pull it out in desperation, but he began to cry out in pain before you could even start pulling.

“LEAVE!” he screamed. “LEAVE AND RUN!”

You couldn’t hold back the sobs hearing these words. “Please...” his hand reached for yours as he tried his best to look up to you. “Go, find a safe place to hide! Leave for another country and never come back!”

“No...” you sobbed, bringing one hand covered in mud and blood to your face. “I don’t want to leave you...”

“They are after you, not me,” he tried to reassure you, but you knew better. The sounds of their heavy footsteps drew closer and closer, and finding him, they wouldn’t hesitate to kill this ‘traitor’. If you went, then he’d die. But if you stayed and got caught, he’d die as well. No choice you could make would end happily for the both of you. “Please, go. I want you to-- ARGH!” Interrupted by his own scream, you began to panic, calling his name and shaking his arm, only to look up as a shadow was cast over you.

“[Name],” the prince sighed, relief showing in his face. He had this small, exhausted smile on his lips, happiness in his features as he looked at you. However, the moment he looked down at your companion, his face began to contort into a hateful grimace, his leg lifting once more to give your Beloved’s back a not-so-gentle kick. “No! Stop!” you cried, latching onto his leg as the kicks came down, your partner’s screams echoing through the forest.

“Don’t worry, I will get rid of the scoundrel who kidnapped you. I will save you! Just like I always do!”

“No! You’re hurting him! Stop it! Please... Please stop!”

Never had you imagined that you’d ever find yourself so low again that you’d beg the prince for something. Before, it had been for your life, but now, it was for the life of the only person that really mattered to you. “Oh, Sweetheart,” the prince cooed, his fingers finding their way under your chin, pulling your face up to meet his eyes. “Don’t cry... he didn’t love you as much as I do. I’ll help you over the heartbreak once we’re done here.”

The prince let go roughly as he pulled his sword from his sheath as you fell to the ground next to your partner. For a moment, time seemed to stop as you stood up in a matter of seconds. Panicked, you decided to throw yourself in front of the sword instead, but a hand grabbed yours before you could. Looking down at your Beloved, smiling warmly and encouraging as he muttered the final words you’d hear from him.

“Go.”

It was like he set you free, even if your definition of free originally included him. “Eh, Darling?!” you heard as you took off in a second spurt of adrenaline, the prince screaming your name after you. But your mind completely shut off the moment you passed the last lit-up arrow, sinking back into the darkness. Everything was blurry, your vision stained with your tears that wouldn’t go away no matter how much you rubbed your eyes with your dirty hands.

Your feet must have started bleeding as you kept running faster and faster, but you gave them no mind, not even feeling the pain. All you felt was the wound in your throbbing heart, something that the prince couldn’t heal no matter how much he believed he could. You wanted to understand your former caretaker’s action, telling you to go rather than defend him. If you had been in his place, surely, you had done the same. But it was as if you were the one who got betrayed by yourself by running away. By giving up on something hopeless, you felt like you were betraying everything you had ever stand for. How pathetic you were, running, trying to get the better future you had hoped to build with him.

Next thing you knew, you stumbled as the ground gave away to a slope before you, your body tumbling down the wet leaves and sturdy roots, your skim getting scratched by the branches of bushes all around you. It was pure luck that your fingers closed around one big tree root the moment they did; otherwise, you surely would have fallen from the cliff that opened up beneath you, instead of just hanging on to it now.

Only now your ears regained their function, the rushing of waves sounding far too deep and far too rough beneath you as to simply be a river. Had you run all the way to the shore? Was it the big sea beneath you? Either it had been closer than you thought, or you did develop some superhuman abilities after changing into a beast.

Groaning, you tried to pull yourself back over the edge, the slightly forward-leaning stone not being any help in rescuing yourself. Even more so, you had to realize the light of torches drawing closer and closer by the second, while you still struggled to escape the death by falling into the unruly water from a great height.

“[Name]!” you heard the screech of your name, genuine worry resounding from it. The prince’s face was the last thing you wanted to see, especially as he looked so damn horrified at the sight of you barely holding on to the cliff. “Don’t move! I’ll pull you up!” he called as he slit down the slope as best as he could without falling himself until he reached you. It was strange. You should have been happy that you wouldn’t be dying. That someone would save you from this horrific fate.

But all you felt was pure despair.

If he pulled you up, then that would be it. He’d take you back, lock you up again and do as he pleased with you. Who knew if you’d ever get a chance on escaping again, especially if he made an example out of your previous companion about what would happen if anyone ever helped you. You’d have nothing left but to live your life as a mere plaything, captured by the prince that was so beloved by everyone, and you didn’t want to think about all the things he’d do to you now that you were human again.

His hands reached out, and you noticed them faintly in your vision. Your decision fell only seconds before he could grab you by the arms. It was too dark to see, too dark to even speculate how deep it was, but you decided it was better than becoming an empty shell of a person if you stayed with the prince.

No matter what would await you in the depths down below, it couldn’t be worse than being a subject to his twisted, self-righteous love, you decide. Letting go was easier than you thought, making you realize your body must understand this situation very well even if it might cost it its life. The face of the prince as you slipped from his grasp was a priceless last sight to see before you closed your eyes, awaiting the inevitable.

Until your back hit the water, engulfing you wholly like the hungry, desperate maw of an animal. Deeper and deeper until it was everywhere, and only then you opened your eyes again for one last glimpse of the blurred light above.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

By the king’s hand 🐍 XIII

Warnings: noncon/rape, violence, trauma, allusions to torture, mentions of suicide.

This is dark!fic and explicit. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You struggle with the past, present, and future.

Note: So now that the holiday rush is over and my province is in lockdown, I can write so yay? But also, stress anew hahaha. Anyways, I’m enjoying it so it’s not too bad. :D

Thank you. Love you guys!

As always, if you can, please leave some feedback, like and reblog <3

Your stomach curdled as you walked between the guards. For whatever foolish reason, you’d assumed Loki would accompany you. And even more foolish, you were disappointed when he did not. He was king and had much more pressing matters; his usual excuse. As true as it was, you were still irked by your task.

Your thick winter wool had been replaced by your former satin. The gown was not so sultry as before but it offered little protection against the chill of the palace corridors. You were allowed a cape woven in the king’s green, though the hood was to be kept up until you reached your destination. As before, you were the royal shame.

The further you descended, the more your nerves stormed. You remembered your first journey to the dungeons; the night felt long ago. Like many of your memories, it had faded since your time with the prince and his heartless accomplice. It was fragments but still sent a shiver through you. You could, at least, recall, the fear, the anger, the helplessness of your time in the capital.

Your slippers whispered over the stone floor as the gaoler showed you past the cell doors. The stink of unwashed bodies mingled with that of stale blood. There were coughs, some murmuring, and the occasional maddened shout from down the row. The cell you’d been left to was empty and open as you strode by and you refused to look within. It was at the next, that you were stopped and the thick key was shoved in the slot.

You touched your stomach, a thoughtless habit forming as each day saw you a little rounder. Your middle could still be hidden beneath loose fabric. Birger said not yet halfway through your time; maybe for months and with over a month of deprivation, you weren’t so big as you could be.

The door opened and the shriek of the hinges made you tremor. One prison to the next. You were no different than those locked behind these doors. You were kept and controlled. You had no voice, no will, no wants. You only did what was needed to survive.

One of the guards entered first as the gaoler stood with arms crossed beside the door. You heard a scramble within and you were ushered through by the other armored man. He grabbed a stool from against the far wall before he followed. You pushed your hood down and closed the cloak around your body as the frigid air nipped at your gown.

Gilla was dragged away from the wall where she huddled. She didn’t struggle as the guard brought her to sit at the center of the cell and the other planted the stool behind you. You sat and your hand dropped away from your stomach. Her hair was dirty and her face smeared with tears and grime. She was terrified and sniffled quietly as she blinked away the fog of her imprisonment. Your name on her brittle lips made your heart knot.

You recalled what Loki said and cleared your throat. This girl was not your friend.

“Gilla,” you said flatly.

“Have you come to save me?” She clutched her hands. “They found you! Oh, I’m so happy you’re safe--”

“And do you know who took me away?” You challenged. She shook her head in confusion. “So the man you sold yourself to never mentioned me. You never spoke in those times he came to you? Were you so easy to roll over to him?”

“The prince? Oh, if you send for him, surely he can get me out--” 

“Do you have no idea why you’re here?” You sneered, “Even if the prince could, do you think he would save a peasant?”

“The king… the king took you from the dungeons…” she batted her lashes.

“He did and what did he make of me but a prisoner elsewhere,” you looked away from her.

“I don’t… understand,” she lowered her chin. “I don’t know why they’ve brought me here.”

“Well, you best think on it and figure it out. The prince cannot help you for he is a criminal himself.” You looked down at her. How had that little girl you’d grown up with become this? How had you come to this point? “He plotted against the king, surely you must’ve known.”

“How could I?” She babbled as her tears began to fall. “He never spoke to me of such things. He only wanted… love.”

“Love?” You scoffed and stopped yourself from laughing at her naivety. “Do you truly believe these noble men could feel anything for us but the basest desires? That their favour is little more than fodder for their egos? That they delight in our degradation rather than our pleasure?”

“Thor was always kind--”

“Thor used you.” You insisted. A lump rose in your throat. “As he did me. He… as he gave you jewels you have no use for, he got his use off me. He would have worn me until I was dead.” You inhaled and quelled the flurry of emotion inside. “But you never truly cared for more than your own self, eh?”

“What? I… we’re friends.”

“Are we?” You bit down. “I remember my time down here.” You looked around. “I remember how I was even dumber than you. To have begged the king to spare me. You left me behind that night and I was locked up like some animal. Whipped like some braying donkey.” Your mouth was bitter as you spoke, “Bred like a mutt. And when you saw me, still alive, what could think of but the silks and the gold and the crown?”

“I didn’t--”

“You must’ve been so worried for me to have fallen into the prince’s arm’s so easily,” You snorted.

“We all thought you’d run.” She squeaked.

“Oh? Yes then, I suppose it was easy to forget about me.”

“I never did. I…”

“This is the last favour you will have from me, Gilla.” You declared. “And I pray you are smart enough to accept it.”

She blinked, confused, and quivered as she stared back at you.

“Do not lean on your ignorance. The prince is a traitor and you laid with him. Who would believe that in all your time together, he never mentioned his intent against his brother?”

“He didn’t--”

“Listen to me.” You hissed. “The prince will be brought to trial for his crimes, but a whore like you can be cast away and forgotten by all. If you did abet him in his offenses, you will be dealt a cold steely justice. You will not be afforded the same hearing or the same grace as his highness. You are just another commoner fed to the jaws of the rich and their squabbles.”

“But I don’t know anything.”

“Think. Hard.” You stood as you snarled, “And perhaps by the time the inquisitors come to you, you will recall.”

“But--But I--”

“If it had been you that night, I wouldn’t have left you behind. Even if it was your stupidity which led us to trespass. I would have stuck by you.” Your chest tightened as you spoke, “I wouldn’t have abandoned you but I realise now, Gilla, that you never did care for anybody but you.”

“I love you, I do.” She pleaded.

“No,” you uttered, “I don’t think you do, but I did love you, my friend.”

“Please…” She sobbed.

“I will not see you again, I expect,” you said as the guard retrieved the stool, “So let us part without hatred. Take this last generosity from me and save yourself. Perhaps you might live to learn from it.”

“I didn’t know he… I’m sorry.”

“I don’t believe you,” you backed away. “You’re not sorry for me, only sorry for yourself.” You turned and bent your head. “Goodbye, Gilla.”

You strode through the door and the guards followed, signaling the gaoler to lock up behind them. You raised your hand and bit into your knuckle as you were overcome with despair. Your old life was over. The last remnant of your former existence was extinguished. 

It was your final surrender. You belonged to the king completely. Your body, your mind, your child; every part of you was his.

🐍 

You returned to the chambers exhausted. Those days, you were always tired. You hung your cloak and stood by the fire to warm your numb fingertips. You undressed quietly and retired to the bedchamber. You sat in your shift before the hearth and watched the embers beneath the tent of logs.

You thought of the baker’s daughter and that first day you’d met her. She had been sweet, once. When had she grown so… greedy? How could one raised in simplicity come to want what she had never known? You closed your eyes and refused to cry. She would not break you; if nothing else had, she could not.

You floated in a haze as the orange glow of the fire shone against your eyelids. There was much yet to worry for. Would the king’s men arrest the prince before he could evade them? Would the kingdom overcome the rent caused by the royal siblings? Would your child survive the months before you?

Hours passed and you did not move. You stayed as you were, held by the moment. A taste of solace you hadn’t known in ages. No anxiety of your tormentors’ return, no fear of what was to happen in the next instant. It was just you and the hearth; you and your child in what could be the only peace you had together.

When at last you were disturbed by the gentle open and close of the door in the next chamber, you still remained. You listened to the king as he moved around and sensed his shadow as he appeared in the door frame behind you. He was quiet as he neared.

He said nothing, as if he believed you were asleep. You knew he didn’t but he let you think so. You listened to the rustle of his clothing as he shed each layer. As stubborn as he was, as much as he insisted nothing had changed, something had. You were both afraid of it but would not admit it.

You felt a tug at the bottom of the blanket spread over your legs. You tried to ignore it, thinking perhaps he had passed too closely. A rush of air flew up below the wool Loki’s fingertips tickled your ankle. You opened your eyes and looked down at him as he reached below your shift.

“Your majesty,” you yawned and shifted but he caught your knees and kept them apart. “What--”

He hushed you with a soft his and dipped his head below the blanket. You braced the arms of the chair as your body went rigid. He wore only his undershorts as he bent and plied kisses to your thighs in a torturous trail towards your pelvis. You grasped his head as he rolled your shift higher and higher and his breath grazed your cunt.

“My king,” you begged. You were trembling. You knew you could not stop him.

He ignored you still and kneaded your thighs as he pushed closer. His hands slid up your sides as he nuzzled the patch of hair between your legs and you gasped. You weren’t ready. You never truly were. His tongue surprised you as it flicked along your folds and he purred. He cupped your tender breasts as he delved into you, your core alight at his command.

He dragged his tongue along your bud and lingered on it, teasing it with small swirls and hungry suckles. Your arms flew back to grip the back of the chair and he rubbed his thumbs over your nipples as they stood out beneath your shift. He groaned as he lapped you up. His gentleness was disarming though he remained as adamant as ever.

“Please,” you begged as your body responded against your want. “Please…”

He purred and kept on, his head moving against your bunched up skirt and bobbing beneath the blanket. You arched in your seat, unable to resist the bloom deep inside. You felt the release and suddenly you needed it. All your stress, all your fear, anger, and hurt, bundled up and brewed inside you as ecstasy muted them.

You cried out as every muscle in your body tensed and eased in a split second. You moved your pelvis against Loki’s mouth as you rode out your climax and he didn’t relent until you were limp and breathless. He sat back on his heels and let the blanket drop to your feet. His hair was tangled and askew, his lips glistening as he grinned at you.

He rested his hands on your thighs and came closer so that he leaned against the front of the chair.

“My brother has been arrested,” he said. 

Your lashes fluttered and you nodded, speechless. He bent and the tip of his long nose met your stomach. He slid his arms to hug you as he turned and pressed his ear to your middle. You froze as you watched him, as if he was listening for the stirring of his child. You were startled by his tameness. He kissed your stomach as he drew back to look at you again.

“I need you.” He murmured, “I ache. Badly.”

You felt the stone set in your skull. Ever as you were, his plaything. You knew his meaning; it never differed. And he never asked, only demanded, 

He took your hand and stood. He pulled you up and you let him. You hadn’t the strength to deny him. There was no denying him. You didn’t want that Loki; cold and callous. So you would cede to his needs and hope they were met quickly.

He let you go as you neared the bed. He rolled down his shorts and his desire stood up before him. He lowered himself across the mattress and beckoned to you. You lowered your eyes and chewed your lip to keep from showing the turmoil raging inside you. You lifted your shift over your head and dropped it. 

He guided you over him and stroked his cock as he did. He pressed his tip along your folds, his hand on your hip as he urged you down. You sank to his hilt and he sighed. He stilled you and looked at the joining of your bodies. The silence enshrined you and you closed your eyes. He took your hands and placed them on his chest.

He gripped your waist and moved you atop him. Slowly so that your clit rubbed against him. You hated how good it felt, hated that you couldn’t stop, hated that he was being so… nice. You dug your nails into his flesh and sped up. He held you tighter and forced you to slow. You grunted and opened your eyes, frowning down at him.

“No,” he spoke at last, “Not like that.”

You shook your head. When had he ever wanted anything but hard, fast pleasure. You pulled your hands from him and he forced them back as they were. You struggled with him for only a moment as he squeezed your wrists in warning.

“Slow,” he bid as he stared into your eyes. 

His hands returned to your sides and he rocked you again. You shuttered as the tide began to roll inside of you, swelling as it grew. You moaned as you began to quake. Loki’s deliberate stride had you confused. His pace matched your pleasure, quickening only as your voice rose louder.

You came again. You twitched atop him and he moved you as your wits left you entirely. His own voice filled your ears and his thick breaths intermingled with his lurid groans. His hand snaked around to your back and the other spread over your stomach. He stilled you and tilted his hips into you over and over from below.

He exclaimed as his orgasm struck him and impaled you entirely. He slowed and eased you down against him. He embraced you as he laid you over his chest and cradled your head as his chin rested against your head. 

What was that? You wondered as your heart raced with his. His petered out but you couldn’t help as your mind struggled against your body.

When you calmed enough to move. His arms fell away and you parted from him, his seed spilling down your thighs. You fell back on the mattress, your flesh still buzzing. You couldn’t look at him. Why would he do that? Like that?

You were his whore, he’d told you time and again. You rolled onto your side, your back to him and crossed your arms. He ran his fingers along your spine.

“Are you unwell?” He asked.

You didn’t answer. Why would he even ask that? Your eyes tingled and you fought to hold back your tears. He was just torturing you. That’s all this was.

“Speak to me, mouse,” he grabbed your shoulder and forced you flat on your back.

You gritted your teeth and stared at the ceiling. “Why?”

“I was gentle…” He said, his voice tinged with confusion.

“Yes, why?” You repeated.

“I…” He paused and the silence was thick as it choked you.

“When your wife arrives, what will she think of me, your whore, and the bastard inside of me?” You spat. 

He sat up and leaned on his arm as he watched you. You refused to look at him.

“I’ll deal with my wife.” He said, “And I’ll deal with you. Don’t forget yourself, mouse.”

You scoffed and tried to turn away from him again. He held you down and let out a long breath. His hand came up to frame your face. “I am heartened, mouse, that you do remain so stubborn.”

🐍

Sleep did not come easy that night. Not to you. Loki was hardly bothered as he snored beside you. His arm was across you as if to remind you of his power over you. Your thoughts strayed back to all your worries. Gilla, Thor, the man beside you, the child in your stomach.

Your life was not your own. It had never been. As you thought, you realised you had only ever been used by others. You had only ever been a footnote to someone else’s will. You had nothing, not even your own body, your own mind.

You slowly slipped from beneath Loki’s arm. Your thighs were sticky still with his cum and you were sickened by the sensation. You stood and went to the bath chamber and cleaned yourself with the cold water of the basin. You saw yourself in the looking glass. You looked hollow; you felt it.

You went back to the bedroom and covered yourself with the silken robe allotted you. You bent, awkwardly, to feed a log to the ashes and stirred it until you found ember. As the flame began to lick at the pale bark, you stood with a groan and passed into the front chamber.

You wandered around the space; it was smaller than the king’s former residence. You neared the table placed against the wall and stared at the peculiar object left atop it. Careless, you thought as you pulled the leather-sheathed dagger towards you. Or deliberate?

Loki had a wife coming and brother to be tried. You were trouble for both. He was ever a trickster, ever deceptive, and perhaps, you had been dumb enough to believe him. Again. He didn’t want you back, didn’t want a bastard to muddy his inheritance; he’d only wanted a reason to be rid of Thor. Surely, he was so intent on keeping you hidden so that none would notice if you were gone.

Had you been foolish enough to think he felt anything towards you but the need to sate his own lust? That he had any loyalty to you beyond a warm cunt? That you had any place here once he married? That your child would be welcomed as anything but a nuisance?

You sat and freed the dagger from its cover. You held the blade up in the dim and felt its sharp edge with your fingertip. It sliced easily into your flesh. You turned it in your hand and thought of bringing it to your throat or plunging it deep in your chest. Your eyes welled and at last, the dam was broken.

You cried into your palm as your other hand gripped the dagger. You trembled and peered down at your stomach. Would he care? If he found you in a river of your own blood? It would be a favour to all. 

You wept until your eyes were swollen and your throat was hoarse. You were a coward. Why couldn’t you just do it? What did you have to live for?

“Mouse,” Loki’s voice was cautious. “What are you… give me the knife, mouse.”

You dropped the blade and flinched as it bounced between your feet. You shook your head and mopped up the last of your tears from your cheeks. Loki neared slowly and bent to lift the dagger. He took the sheath and replaced it on the silver. His jaw squared as you avoided his gaze.

“What were you thinking to do with this?” He growled.

“Nothing,” you croaked. “I was only curious.”

“Don’t lie to me.” He hissed. “Whatever you were thinking, I don’t want it to ever cross your mind again. Understood?”

You nodded and hung your head. He moved away from you and opened the chest atop the side table. He tossed the dagger within and locked it.

“I told you. It is treason to spill king’s blood.” He stomped back to you. “Death cannot save you from my wrath.”

“I didn’t--”

“You thought to.” He snarled. “Get up.”

“Your majesty--”

“I will not tell you twice.” He barked.

You stood and he seized your arm. He turned you and marched you back into the bedchamber. He sat you down on the edge of the bed and you expected him to tear open the robe. You expected the same as he had been. You were certain he would be atop you in an instant.

But he passed you and went to the cloak hung beside your own. He fished around the pocket sewn into the lining and took out a bundle. He returned to you and held out the folded linen, bound with a length of hide lace. You frowned and he dropped it into your lap.

“Go on,” he loomed over you.

Your hands shook and you pulled free the bow looped atop the bundle. You unfolded the linen and revealed a pair of green booties, winding snakes sewn into the soles and golden ribbons woven along the top. They were small, meant for an infant. You cradled them in your hands as your throat tightened.

“My mother sewed them,” he said. “I found them after she died. I had almost forgotten them before I moved from my own chambers.” He sat beside you heavily. “I don’t know what else to do with them.”

You peeked over at him. You lowered them back to the linen and set them aside. “They’re meant for a prince.” You muttered.

“No, only for my child,” he said, “Prince or no.” His cheek twitched and he stared at the carpet, “Don’t make me hide them again. I couldn’t bear it.”

You were quiet. You’d never seen him so vulnerable. Angry, annoyed, longing… but never so solemn. Despite all your loathing for him, your heart squeezed. You took his hand, he winced, but let you move it. You put it to your stomach.

“It is my child, too,” you said softly. “I couldn’t…”

He nodded and pressed his palm firmly to your midriff. You sat, silently, the crackle of the fire the only noise. Loki did not move, nor did you. A wordless pact forged between you. The child would live. It had to.

[royalflushstories]

Okay. So.

This news probably doesn't come as a surprise after this long of a silence, but, well, we're not going to finish this. There are a lot of reasons for this, which I'll get to in a minute for those who care about them.

For everyone else: we're glad you were with us for this long. It's been four and a half years, which is an astoundingly long time for something like this. We're sorry we won't be able to continue the story, to finish the last little bit. Thank you for everything, though.

We're willing to release the outline that we have as a sorts of closure, though we wouldn't be releasing the significant amount of writing we'd already completed before this decision. Would you be interested in reading the outline? Let us know.

Now, for everyone who cares about the reasons why, hit read more.

Those of you on our discord server have probably noticed that, well, most of the authors aren't active anymore. Truth be told, we haven't seen two of them since halfway through RRG, one moved on to other things, and one just isn't really interested in this anymore.

It's been Paradox and I for over half of these four and a half years.

Gonna be honest, it's affected a lot of things. I don't hold it against the others for stepping away--life happens and interests change, and that's all perfectly understandable. But we made the cast we did because between all of us we had enough people watching the content creators in the fic to manage it. And when people stepped away, well...

Between Paradox and I, we watch a total of maybe a dozen of the featured CCs. We'd watch the others occasionally, or if someone sent us a link, but we weren't the fans, y'know? And when we have a cast of over 60, welllllll... it got to be a problem.

And then Cry happened.

We've moved on now, but it was incredibly hard at the time, especially when he featured so prominently. But we paused and regrouped and dove back in and finished PPC before starting on the short stories. Crimson was born, and I was even looking forward to writing with him.

And then Ohm happened.

I think this one upset me more, honestly. Partially because his story had already had to be changed after what had happened the first time around, and that had required shuffling the entire plot. And now we had to do it again?

Yeah, we took a break. Replaced him, though I'm not sure you'll ever actually get to see the replacement. We haven't really decided about that yet.

And when it came time for us to get back up on our feet and get ready to publish, to finish writing, we... couldn't. We couldn't make ourselves do it. What we'd once loved was now exhausting.

To be clear, we still love the story concept! We still love the premise and the time period and all the fun things we had planned! It had just... been ruined by a couple of jerks.

I'm not sure what we'll do with the discord channel. We'll probably talk that over with you guys and see what you want. If you're willing, well.

Okay. So. Paradox and I are going to take down the Royal Flush series at some point--I'm not sure when, exactly. Maybe a few months. Maybe a year. But at some point.

but

Paradox and I are planning on re-writing it with original characters, changing things up to work better, stuff like that. Not soon. We've got to let it simmer for a while until we're ready to face all the emotions behind this again.

If you're interested, we could probably turn the server into a place where anyone interested could stay in check with the story--learn about the characters, see sneak peeks, things like that.

Or maybe we'll turn it into a general server of some kind? Or maybe we'll shut it down. It depends what you all want, I guess.

Let us know.

And, again, thank you for everything. It's been a great ride. It's just time for us to get off.

-Paradox and Potato

(P.S. We're still writing fic! Not really with the same people, except mr sparklez, but that's because he overlaps the two social groups. If you're interested, feel free to check out our Ao3 accounts and see what we've got going on.)

[luke-patterson-owns-my-soul]

Tiny Pretty Phantoms

Charlie Gillespie x Reader

Title: Tiny Pretty Phantoms

Words: 2241 (only a short one)

Summary: Charlie and his girlfriend are separated by work.

Requested: Sort of. The lovely and talented @dream-a-little-bigger-x​ got this request. Charlie x reader where the reader is on a tv show like ahs or something that’s not necessarily “kid friendly”. But as she’s not taking them atm, I decided to swipe this one. I hope the anon who requested it doesn’t mind.

TW: Swearing, alluding to sexual intercourse. That’s it I think. If I miss anything, message me so I can edit.

Author’s notes: I’m baccccckkkk. This was my way of getting back into writing reader fic. It’s been a while, and I hope y’all haven’t forgotten me. Also, while I’ve seen Tiny Pretty Things, I know nothing about the cast, so anything I’ve written, is completely made up.

Being back at home in my parent’s home was both reassuring and strange all at the same time. I’d been living in L.A. for almost two years, hundreds of miles away from home. While I missed my family like crazy, I loved being out in the world, being independent, and chasing my dreams.

However, rejection after rejection after rejection were beginning to weigh heavy on me and I had been starting to regret making the move. I’d been considering heading back home and teaching dance to kids. Then, I met Charlie through a mutual friend.

From the moment I met him, there was something that drew me to him; it wasn’t particularly hard. He was charismatic, funny, and crazy talented. The good looks were an added bonus. From that first meeting, we’d been inseparable and after six months, I gave up my apartment and moved in with Charlie and his friends.

We both booked jobs on upcoming TV shows within a week of one another, and we’d celebrated the news hard. A week of partying with your friends had wrecked the apartment, but it had totally been worth it. The main difference between our shows were the target audience. His, Julie and the Phantoms was aimed at a younger demographic to mine, Tiny Pretty Things. I was just glad to be using my ballet background as well as my acting abilities. He was also playing a main character, while I was to be in the background.

I was jolted from my memories by my phone ringing, Charlie’s face filling the screen. With a smile, I answered the facetime call.

“Hey, you.”

“Hey, babe. I miss you.” Charlie was still in L.A., but he was at a boot camp thing that the legendary Kenny Ortega was running.

“I miss you too. How’s it going?” in answer to my question, he held up his hand. I could see band aids wrapped around his fingers. “What did you do?”

“It’s nothing. Guitar war wounds.”

“Poor baby.” I snarked, grinning at the mock upset look on his face. “Oh please. You’re loving every minute.”

“Babe, I really am.” His grin was wide. “When do you fly out to Toronto?”

“Not for another three weeks. I’m back in L.A. the day after tomorrow though. Will I get to see you?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure if we get any time off before we head up to Vancouver for filming.”

I couldn’t help the groan that escaped me. I hadn’t seen him for over two weeks, and I was going insane. It was one of the reasons behind my trip to see my family. They were enough to distract me, at least until I climbed into my childhood bed, the bed that only held me at night. That was when I missed him the most.

“That sucks.” I felt the lump in my throat, an indication I was close to tears.

“I know, babe. I know. I’m gonna try and get back, even if it’s just one night.”

“Please do.” I missed him, missed waking up next to him, missed just goofing around and hanging out with him. He was the man I loved, and I hated us being apart.

:: ::

I’d been in Toronto for almost six weeks. A month and a half had passed since I last saw Charlie, and it was killing me. It wasn’t as if I was alone, far from it. I may not have been playing a main character, but the entire cast of Tiny Pretty Things were close, even those of us in the background. We’d all been put through our dancing paces until we were exhausted – that had a habit of bringing people together.

Charlie and I spoke most days, if we could, and when we did, we were often interrupted by cast mates. Through our facetime calls I became friends with Jeremy, Owen, and Madison, and he became friends with the girls I was rooming with, and Brendan who played Shane. He and I had been partnered up during rehearsals and had become close. It didn’t bother him I wasn’t a main character and he was.

I had a rare night off while the main cast were working hard on some night scenes, so I was able to kick back in my room and relax. And I made the most of it. While a hot bath was running, I connected my phone up to my speaker and hit play on a relaxing playlist Charlie had made for me before we’d had to say our goodbyes and fly to opposite end of Canada.

I’d just sank into the steaming water, bubbles up to my chin when my phone rang. Reaching over, I managed to pick it up, and saw Charlie’s face on the screen. Quickly swiping, I answered the call, despite wanting to stare at the photo I’d taken almost a year ago when we’d gone camping.

“Well, if I’d have known you were in the tub, I would have called sooner.” He grinned as he spoke, making me roll my eyes.

“Charles Gillespie, you’re a damn perv.” I attempted to scold him as he pretended to try and look around the screen to see if he could see anything. Joke was on him, the bubbles came up to my neck.

“Only for you.” I laughed at the corny line. “Hey, why are you in the bath anyways?”

“Because I ache like a motherfucker and I don’t have any night shoots tonight. So, a hot bath is in order. I’ve been dancing almost non-stop for ten hours a day for six weeks. I never did this much when I was with the company.” I knew I was whining; knew I sounded like a petulant child, but I needed to get it off my chest. All of us in the cast moaned to one another, but it wasn’t the same as venting to my boyfriend, no matter how much I loved my job.

“I’m sorry, babe. If I could take the aches away, I would.” I knew he would too.

“I know. Ignore me, I shouldn’t be putting this on you. How’s your set?”

We chatted for almost an hour, Charlie making me laugh about his previous night’s filming eating what he said felt like hundreds of cold hot dogs, making me laugh so much, my stomach was starting to hurt when I climbed out of the bath – much to his enjoyment – and wrapped myself up in a large, soft towel. We carried on talking as I made my way into my room and got myself ready for bed.

“Look, I gotta go. But I’ll call you tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“I love you.”

“I love you too.” I couldn’t help but sigh when the call ended, and as I snuggled up in bed, wearing one of his t-shirts, I also couldn’t help crying. It was the longest we’d been apart in over six months, and even though I was loving my job, it hurt how much I missed him.

:: ::

When I walked onto set the following day, it felt as if everyone was acting a little shifty. No one seemed to look at me directly and whenever I initiated a conversation, they either found something else to do, or the director made us begin working.

“Hey, we’re all going out for dinner and karaoke tonight. Make sure you look pretty.” Brendan whispered in my ear as we got into position in the ballet class, ready for our scene.

“Uh, okay. Sure.” He gave me a smile before walking away.

We’d all be out a few times during filming and the rehearsals we’d had before, but this was the first I’d heard about plans for tonight. Rolling my neck and stretching my arms, I put it out of my mind as I followed the instructions of the director as the scene began around me.

By the end of the day, I was yet again exhausted, and the last thing I wanted to do was go out. But, as I packed up my gear, putting my comfiest shoes on, Brendan came over.

“Don’t forget we’re going out. We’re all meeting up in about an hour. Make yourself pretty.”

“Can I give it a miss? I’m ready to have a shower and crawl into bed.” He knew how I was feeling, I could see it etched onto his face too.

“Not tonight, sweetheart. Attendance is mandatory for all.” He flashed me a wide smile before spinning away from me, no doubt off to get ready.

When I got back to the apartment I was sharing with a couple of the other female background cast, they were almost ready. The three of them ushered me into the bathroom to shower, telling me to find a nice dress.

The shower did reinvigorate me, and by the time I was dressed and applying my make-up, I was feeling much better, and was even looking forward to some great food and a good night. There were no shoots the next day, so we were able to let our hair down for the night.

When we all met up, the atmosphere was electric. We’d all worked so hard, and were more than ready for a night of not having to worry about getting up early or having to be in hair and make-up at the crack of dawn.

“Ready for a great night?” Brendan asked, linking arms with me as our huge group began to walk to a restaurant nearby we’d all been to on more than one occasion.

“I am actually. Thanks for making me come.”

“No worries, sweetheart.” He placed a kiss on the top of my head before turning to talk to the two guys behind us.

:: ::

Moving from the restaurant after dinner, we all made our way to a club where all of us were able to let go. I got myself a drink from the bar, and stood on the edge of the dance floor, watching my cast mates and friends having the time of their life, showing off their dancing skills. Laughing, I finished my drink, I put my empty glass down and joined them, losing myself in the deep bass. Brendan was in the center, lapping up the attention in a way only he could. He and Barton, who played Oren in the show, were busting out one of their routines from the show and had attracted a hell of a crowd.

As everyone whooped and hollered, I moved away, needing to head to the bathroom. I pulled my phone out of my purse to check if I’d missed any messages or calls from Charlie, but my screen was blank beyond a photo of the two of us. Disappointment flooded me as I shoved the phone back into my purse. Just as I zipped it up, I crashed into someone, strong hands grabbing my waist to stop me falling over.

Thinking my mind was playing tricks on me as my senses were invaded by the aroma of Charlie, the aroma I knew as well as my own. I looked up to find my boyfriend smiling down at me.

“What… how… huh?”

“Surprise, by airplane, Brendan organized it. Hew knew you were missing me as much as I missed you, So Kenny gave me a couple days off while Madi does some scenes with Jadah.”

“You’re really here?” I still wasn’t sure I was hallucinating.

“I’m really here, until tomorrow afternoon.”

With a squeal, I flung my arms around his neck, and kissed him. The evening suddenly got one hundred percent better.

:: ::

Waking up wrapped up in Charlie’s arms was the best thing. I’d missed it so much, and I knew I was going to struggle when he had to leave again, but I felt so happy being with him.

After he’d surprised me at the club, we’d mingled with my friends for a while before slinking away, going back to the apartment and making the most of the quiet as we got reacquainted with one another, multiple times, all night. So much so that when I managed to untangle myself from Charlie’s arms and legs to go to the bathroom, I ached in a completely different way I had been from work.

Once I was finished in the bathroom, I swiped my phone off the counter in the kitchen and sent a text to Brendan.

Thank you. I owe you one.

Once it had sent, I set the phone down and crawled back into bed with Charlie, making the most of having him with me. Especially naked.

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Tagging: (strikethrough unable to tag) @dream-a-little-bigger-x​​ @calamitykaty​ @crybabyddl​​ @xplrreylo​ @morganayennefertyrell​ @lovesanimals​​ @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve​ @echocharm17618​​ @kinda-really-lost @n0wornever​ @all-in-fangirl​ @5sosmukefan​ @kcd15​ @charliesmountains @amazinggracy​ 

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[mirrorforevers]

the wrong side of the bed • damon albarn/reader

smut with feelings, i guess. sorry if is this is too long – this prompt excited me too much. i hope you guys like daft punk - though this is not a songfic, but you’ll get why - and i promise i’ll write something not involving sadness and alcohol someday. this is unbeta’ed, and english is not my first language, so have mercy

thank you so much for the music teacher prompt, anon! hope you enjoy it x also, just in case you haven’t read my graham/reader fic yet, here it is too.

tw: unprotected drunk sex

word count: 4.477

Music has been a very important escape mechanism for you recently. Your job has been hellish, and getting your degree has also been a chore - in the midst of so many deadlines and professional disappointments what has been a light for you is Damon Albarn, your newly divorced music teacher who is old enough to be your dad.

You detail these little “buts” as a mantra whenever the subject is him, whether in internal monologues or when you talk about him with your close friends. You never really believed in relationships between two people of very different ages, and you felt like you needed to remember those details whenever you could to keep that completely carefree crush from becoming something you couldn't control.

You started taking classes with him every Saturday after you were cast on your city’s production of a musical. You knew it was a very small step for a career in the industry, but it was very significant for you. You were exhausted from any activity that involved learning given how tired you were from college, but learning music with Damon was definitely something that you didn't even place in the same mental category. It was with him that you vented about how your week was, how you missed your parents who lived absurdly far away from you, it was with him that you shared the small victories of the day-to-day that were too insignificant even to share with your longtime friends. Which is funny, since this symbolic relationship was built in a matter of 2 months. Damon, in the beginning, was very reserved and “gray”, and it was amazing how in a matter of such a short time he shown himself to be someone so energetic, observant and empathetic; although a little bit of a control freak sometimes. When the wild waves of life seemed to take you everywhere at the same time and left you lost, despite so little time in your life, Damon became a constant.

And it worries you.

What are you going to do when the money to pay for his classes runs out? Certainly, although significant, what you had seemed to be was, above all, a friendship of convenience. You were very different people, with very different aspirations, and especially at very different points in life. As much as you liked each other *as friends* and considered yourselves people you wanted close by, Damon had a well-lived life to sustain. He would not have time much less willpower to listen to your complaints and insecurities in a context that did not involve an exchange relationship. At least, that's what you thought.

Saturday was also one of the two days you could wake up late, so in addition to having a rare time for your leisure, you were able to rest at least a little more than normal. That particular morning, you noticed that there were two missed calls from Maggie on your cell phone. Maggie was one of the producers of the musical. She used to bring you very decisive and very good news. If she called you, you did whatever it took to answer her right away. An unbelievable wave of anxiety takes over you. “Hello, Mags, you called?” You say, excited, but very nervous. Dealing with people who have your dreams constantly in their hands is somewhat stressful. You bite your nails.

“Hey, Y/N, yes. Um. You okay?”

“Yeah, thanks for asking. What happened?” You notice that Maggie's tone is different. The funny thing is that everyone is always so apathetic in the artistic world, and Maggie was the only person you knew so far that showed any kind emotion.

“So… you were dropped.”

Ah.

“I’m-I’m sorry?”

“You… were dropped. We made some changes here and there and you won’t be on our show anymore. If anything changes again, we’ll call. I promise.”

“Thank you. Bye.”

“Good luck, kid.”

Um.

Your stomach drops, and for a moment you feel like you've been punched. Maybe you've been wrong all along.

My God. My God. My God.

You feel like your entire world has collapsed around you. There aren't even reasons for you to keep going to class. All that effort and money spent... are now in the trash.

Artists spend a lot of time investing in themselves. You always have to become better. Faster. Learn techniques. Reinvent yourself. Stay beautiful. And you don't believe that in your first real experience in this world... that happened. Most likely a friend of the director took your place.

My God.

You swallow the tears, after all, you told everyone you knew that you knew how this world worked and you wouldn't be shaken if something like this happened. No one is watching you right now - but you still feel that you would disappoint them if you cried.

But you couldn’t smile anymore. Nothing could take away your expression of shock and uncertainty.

Not even funny posts on Reddit. Not even funny memes sent by your friends in the morning.

Nor the message from Damon confirming the class of the day.

I won't be able to go today ☹, you type, and you erase it.

Hey, I got dropped from the musical. you type, and you erase it.

How are you doing? Definitely not.

I’ll be there! 😅 You hit send.

Hope we finally figure out that bloody solo, he replies.

You do not answer.

You change your clothes, without your motivational playlist playing in the background this time. The beginning of a great plan going on in your life was no longer there. You didn't even pick up your headphones and the subway ride was completely silent, except for the ambient sound.

You arrive at school, and Damon welcomes you with the usual tight hug, and wide smile. You give a yellow smile in response, and he immediately realizes that something is out of place. “Is everything okay?” His expression quickly changes to one of concern. Your stomach drops even lower. Maybe it hit the ground by now.

“I…”

You don't want it to end. Your dream ended, but not this, too. This cannot end. “Can we try another song today? One not from the musical?” You ask, exasperated.

“Uh… I mean-”

“Please?”

"Did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed today?" He laughs nervously. “But... the musical’s why you’re here. I’m confused--”

“I know, but pretty please?” You insist, cringing by now to keep from crying.

“Um. Sure – but did something happen? Tell me. I’m-I’m here to help.”

“I woke up on the wrong side of the bed today. Please.” You feel your voice weaken more and more. You don’t wanna cry, though your eyes are already burning. “Please, Damon.”

“Right. Okay.” He says, raising his hands in defeat. He starts collecting his material.

“What are you doing?”

“No class today. Something clearly happened and we need to talk it out.”

“I-I got sacked. But there’s no need to…”

“I got it. C’mon. I’m not a monster, I won’t charge you for talking it out. All we’ve worked for… fucking cunts.” There’s the visceral side of him. “You gotta tell me how it happened.”

“Okay.”

He only leaves your two chairs in place.

After you two sit, he starts. “This happens quite a lot in this world. And every student reacts the same.” Though this sounds a little too insensitive, you imagine it’s the truth, and his tone does the job of conveying his compassion. “Did they call you? Or did you find out through somewhere else, like Patti LuPone?”

“Huh. At least they called me. They just straight up told me I’m no longer in the cast.” You say, totally not comforted by that. But it would be even worse if you found out by other means. “I don’t know what to do now.”

“Don’t let your spirit be broken by that – you’re really talented, and I don’t like paying compliments. You know that.”

“Talent is not enough sometimes. That’s also something you’ve said to me before.”

He goes silent, and you start apologizing in the same instant.

“No, no, you didn’t hurt my feelings.” He interrupts you. “That’s true. But you’re really young, I shouldn’t have said that to you. Shit like that happens all the time. We learn a lot from it and you have your entire life ahead of you. That was… limited of me.”

“I know I’m almost getting my degree, and there’s other things for me to do… but fuck. I-- I really wanted that. You know how much.”

“I do. I also know exactly how you’re feeling now. We’re always so excited when this kind of thing happens. We plan our entire lives based on that one fragile and uncertain plan, and then boom, it’s gone. We always count on the fact that we’ll eventually have to decide between our career and something else when the choice comes, but what do we do when it doesn’t come? I know how that feels. Also--”

He grabs his guitar. You roll your eyes. “Don’t tell me you have a song for that.”

“I don’t.” he answers. “But I do have a story to tell you.”

For the next two hours, he tells you all about a very ambitious audiovisual plan that he tried to engage in his early 30s. Among countless questions and answers, Damon Albarn showed you through his history how very determined he really was. He goes into the most minute details about the ideas he had for a film and several concept albums for a virtual band that, in your opinion, sounds like something very innovative and, at the same time, incredibly palatable to the mainstream. You thought that the band he was part of when he was even younger was already very wronged because, from what you heard from the demos, they were really incredible, but the fact that such a project didn't go ahead ... just proved to you more and more that talent sometimes really wasn’t enough. Just when you thought you couldn't admire that man more.

“So, believe me when I say I know how that feels.” Goddamn. He looks at his clock, and almost jumps at how the time flied. “Bloody hell, I have another student in like, 5 minutes.”

“God, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. This is a tale very few people know about. I’m glad I shared it with you.”

“…That had potential. Don’t give up on it.”

“Don’t give up on your plans either. I really mean it when I say you’re talented as fuck.”

You couldn’t help but smile through the dried tears and puffy eyes. You say your rushed goodbyes. But before can you leave the room, he holds your arm. “Wait. I know it’s hard, but don’t spend the rest of the day thinking about it. Do you want to do something tonight?”

“Uhhh—what you have in mind?” You can’t believe your ears.

“I don’t know. Do you drink?”

“More than I should.”

“Perfect. So I know a place we can go. Any preference of hours?”

“After 7 pm, I guess?”

“Works for me. I’ll send you the address soon then.” He says. You stand still, frozen, still processing what just happened. He’s blinking as if he just told you how’s the weather outside. “Now you can go.”

“O-kay. See you in a few hours then, Damon.”

“See you in a few hours, Y/N.”

You tried to hide your excitement, in vain. You smiled like an idiot.

This was one of the scenarios of your daydreams when you were walking around, talking quietly to yourself. Damon Albarn, your newly divorced music teacher who is old enough to be your father, just asked you out. You don't care if it was pity. After such disappointment, you allow yourself to create a little more of that stupid, inconsequential hope that your life would take an exciting turn for the first time.

He sends you the address a few hours after your class/conversation, when you were starting to get ready to meet him. It was a pub that you already knew well, and had visited with some friends in the past. You choose a dress that has become your “uniform” recently, for valuing your body type well and for translating your style in a way that is both stylish and very comfortable. When you finish getting ready, you take a deep breath. There is a world of difference between what you wanted to happen and what you think will happen. But you do not care.

The tragic call you received in the morning barely crosses your mind on your way to the pub.

Upon arriving, you find Damon - always so punctual - sitting in the corner of the lounge fiddling with his cell phone while he takes a few sips of a drink that you have no idea what it is made of. You never took him for a complex drink guy. He is really full of surprises. You feel slightly self-conscious out of a sudden, stomach churning in anticipation. He raises his eyes, and his gaze meets yours. His usual welcoming smile makes all your worries go away. You couldn’t help but smile wide too.

“Hello there. A stark contrast to this morning’s Y/N.” He notes, looking you up and down after you two share a tight hug, that smile still there.

“My plan tonight is to forget everything that happened before we talked, okay? Just let me forget about the call!” You answer, playfully, trying to pretend you weren't in the least ... affected ... by the way he received you.

And the time you spend together goes as usual. It’s amazing how there’s no space for awkward silences between you two. To one thing you tell him, he brings you three more things to tell, and vice-versa. You two just… click. You make each other laugh, and even if things don’t go the way you daydream about, which is totally okay, given that he’s twice your age and you’re not sure if you can handle the implications that age difference has, you’re glad to call him a good friend. He’s amazing, and you’re having a great time with him.

By your fourth beer and his fifth fancy drink, your conversation enters a territory that hasn’t been truly explored by you two yet. His romantic past. You only knew he was divorced because he mentioned it very vaguely one day, nothing else. You didn’t know why, who was her, or when. But apparently, he was about to tell you.

“We were both really… young… and didn’t have a clue of what we were doing with our lives. She was a musician too, Justine. Not anymore.”

“Because of what happened between you two?” You ask, the beers gradually taking the indiscretion filters out of you.

“Maybe. I don’t know. She seemed tired of everything. She wanted a life I’m not sure I would be able to live. I also pressured her a lot, I tried to create a version of her that somehow fitted all my expectations and, long story short, we weren’t right for each other. But I still think she’s incredible. I still admire her a lot. Not sure how she feels about me though.”

“Are you still in love with her?”

“Oh, no. There’s a big difference in admiring someone and being in love with them, kid.”

After that sentence of his, for the first time that night, an uncomfortable silence hangs between you - Instant Crush, by Daft Punk, almost ironically, starts playing on the pub's speakers. You feel like you're in a movie.

You're still a kid, aren't you?

“Definitely.” You finally answer him, finishing 70% of the bottle in a few gulps. You become a bit more lightheaded after that, and your eyes start to struggle to focus. You try to hide how slurred your voice wants to sound. “I confess I still don’t know how to really differentiate between the two.”

“Oh yeah?” His wistful tone gives place to one of amusement. “You never told me about your exes. Feel free to.”

“This is not about them.”

He turns to you, after a one-sided staring competition with his own cup. His voice is calm, and somehow even deeper, when he asks you: “Then who is this about?”

You gulp. The cramped space you were sitting on somehow feels even smaller. And hotter. You feel drops of sweat sliding on your belly. You’re sitting by his side, not in front of him, and that interaction feels almost… primal. You two are trapped by a huge table in a corner very few people can see.

“I think I need to go to the loo.”

He lets you, and you feel his eyes following you to the restroom.

My God. My God. My God.

You take a much longer time to do everything than you really need while reflecting on the dialogue you just had. You feel the ground is starting to spin, and the desire to sleep on literally any place grow. You’re drunk. And confused. And anxious.

You spend some good minutes staring at your own face in the mirror before you return to your table. He’s still in the moment, judging by the contemplative look on his face. This is the point of no return.

This is no movie – this is a fucking RPG.

“It was full,” you justify.

“Yeah, it’s always pretty crowded in there.”

That goddamn awkward silence again. You try to talk at the same time, but he wins.

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

“Yeah.” You clear your throat. “It’s… about a guy. He’s a…current… thing. Not from the past.”

“Right.” His tone is serious, more teacher-like than he has even acted while actually teaching you.

“I met him through an ad. I was looking for music teachers in my area and I found him. He had a fair price.” He was now smiling in disbelief, shaking his head. You’re both tipsy and you don’t care if your words are slurred anymore.

“And?”

“I have classes with him every Saturday. It’s the event of the bloody week for me. I can’t believe I’m saying that now because at first he seemed quite intimidating and not open to any meaningful interaction. Like, all frowns and monosyllabic answers and all.” You steal his drink, and he’s not even bothered. “We talk a lot, and even though we talk every day I somehow always thought he didn’t give a fuck about me when we were out of class. That he only saw me as a student, not as a friend, you know? I think about that chap every single day too. He’s handsome--like. Fuck. And he pays attention to everything I say. He’s always so nice to me, he makes me feel welcome. A part of… something.” You take a few more sips, and he gently takes the drink out of your hand, mouthing an ‘enough’. “He’s old enough to be my dad and I feel guilty for thinking of him that way. He invited me for drinks when my world fell so I could get my mind out of the shambles my life’s in and I almost died because I’m madly in love with him for a while now, but I don’t want to ruin everything. I don’t know what to do now. People shouldn’t start things thinking of how they’re going to end, but, you know?”

“They should, though. He’s indeed too old for you. And your life isn’t in shambles.”

“But…”

“Everything sounds pretty lovely in theory, but, he’s probably thinking that he’s going to slow you down in a way. You’ve got too much life to live. He’s probably really tired of everything he’s already lived.”

“But I love him. He makes me laugh! I don’t wanna have children.” You whine.

He muffles a laugh. “It’s not that-“

”Please take me home tonight.” You plead; your tone more serious now. “I know what I’m doing, I know where I am. Just please take me home.”

“Y/N…”

“Please, Damon. If you don’t feel the same then fine, call me an Uber and I’ll get over it.”

That triggers something in him, apparently, and he kisses you deeply and intensely. His hands caress your back and the whole kiss, though a little disjointed because of the state you’re both in, is full of affection and love. His lips taste of strawberry vodka, and your mind is spinning.

When your lips part, you stare at each other for a while, thousands upon thousands of thoughts per second, unsaid. “Are you sure you wanna come with me?” He asks, kissing your hand.

“Yes. I am.”

-

After he fumbles with his keys, you’re finally in his apartment – it’s surprisingly nice and tidy. Judging by how carefree he’s with his looks, you imagined that characteristic would overflow to other aspects of his life.

From the Uber drive home to his door, his hand never left yours.

He locks the door, and you stand staring intently at each other, sizing each other up like men before a fight. This time, you start the kiss, with a little less hurry than before. But the desire is still burning hot on both of you.

“Do you have any idea of what you’re doing to me?”, he murmurs, discarding his jacket while he does his best to not break the kiss. You take this as a signal to start taking off your clothes too, starting by kicking off your shoes. It has become a choreography of sorts - his hands grasp your buttocks and pulls you closer after you’re done with them, drawing a gasp from you.

“I wanted you for so long.” You reply, your hands exploring his body below the fine fabric of his shirt. You motion to take it away from him, and he lets you, completely entranced by how red your lips look from everything it went through. He guides you to his sofa, quickly adjusting it so it’s comfortable enough and serves as a bed for both of you.

He lies down first, eagerly waiting for you to stay on top of him. You finally do, and you feel like a goddess from the way he looks at your body. You take off your dress, and now you’re almost fully exposed to him. You have no bra on, and his hands immediately travel to your breasts, fingers running tantalizingly over your nipples to get them stiff and erect before he pinches them between his fingers, smiling at the whimper his actions elicit. You start bucking your hips on the rough fabric of his trousers, and you feel him harden below you. “God, you’re… something else.” he whispers, and you respond with another whimper, biting back a full on moan when your clit hits the perfect spot. You separate your legs a little further so you can feel him better, drawing a groan from him. He takes this a signal to take his jeans off, eyes not leaving your hips.

Now that a distance of an entire layer is shortened between you, the contact is even more intimate, and the bulge of his cock straining against his underwear is driving you mad. You’re aching for him. He brushes against you and your moan is higher than you expected, and you immediately cover your mouth in order not to wake up his neighbors. As he feels the wet heat of you around his painfully hard cock, he takes your hand out of your lips, grip then tightening on your hips as he pushes you down right on to him. Your moan is even louder. “Let them hear.”

“Fuck-Damon-I’m getting so close--” As if you just gave him a command, his hands now grab the flesh of your inner thighs, massaging them further and further up until he reaches the center of your arousal, and the sound you make when he pulls your panties to the side and runs his finger between your folds while still grinding against you is somewhere between a whine and a whimper. “Fuck, you’re so wet,” he says, voice rough from how excruciatingly aroused he is. “Come for me, baby.” Your clit was more exposed now, pressed more tightly against him and you whine in relief when your orgasm finally floods through your body.  

Before you could fully recover, he finally frees himself from his underwear and, with your help, effortlessly aligns himself with your (quite ready) entrance. You bury your head in his neck the moment he enters you in one swift motion and your moans are almost like cries by now - the overstimulation is driving you insane. You take his face on your hands and give him a passionate kiss while he gradually picks up a merciless pace inside of you, the more heated the kiss becomes the more shamelessly you ride his cock. “Shit,” he mutters, massaging your breasts in an almost desperate way. It’s too much - you’re almost becoming one.

You could tell by how frantically he fucked you now that he wasn’t going to last much longer. His thrusts were becoming irregular and you were so close once again. His head falls forward, buried in between your neck and shoulder - his cock twitches inside of you and his movements become staccato, his mouth curving into a beautiful ‘o’ shape as he comes inside of you. His movements stop before you could reach your second one, but the entire situation you were on was so arousing to you that just by touching yourself while still feeling him inside was enough. Not letting you alone in this, one of his hands focus on one of your nipples while the other one is below yours, providing pressure above your clit. And like that, you come undone a second time, head above his shoulders.

For a few minutes, your panting was the only thing that could be heard inside of the apartment.

“Thank you. You were amazing. ’s been quite a long time.” He notes with a tender kiss on your forehead. After a while, and with much reluctance, he slides out of you, and gets up to fetch a warm, wet cloth and carefully clean you both, finally collapsing next to you with a groan.

“It was everything I expected.” You confess, smiling.

“Did you… think about me like that when you…?”

“Of course. But let’s save this talk for another Saturday.”

[writtenonreceipts]

Square One Pt 2

I got some ideas and thoughts on the background for the story.  I should have thought about all of that prior to posting but I can be really impatient. Ha.  So bare with me if there do seem to be slight inconsistencies between this and the first chapt.  Also, I am the worst outliner.  I am a discovery writer through and through--just a small warning haha.  

And then as soon as I say I want to write a multi-chapt fic I loose all inspiration and motivation.  story of my life...enjoy anyways...i hope

#

“I hate your boyfriend Manon,” Elide announced as she entered her friend’s living room with a glass of water and bowl of chips.

Manon was seated casually on her couch wine glass in hand and computer already settled on her favorite site to online shop through.

“At least he’s cute,” Manon said half-heartedly.  She took a long sip of her drink as she filtered through her shopping.

In the bedroom, Marion was snuggled with the “puppy” Abraxos and an ipad loaded with cartoons.  It was only Thursday but Elide couldn’t bring herself to announce no more television.  Especially if it meant having a brief moment of solitude with her friend.

“He’s making me be friends with Lorcan Salvaterre,” Elide said.

Manon snorted into her wine and gave a choking cough. ��He’s doing what?”

“Apparently neither of our kids have friends,” Elide said.  She paused when a sudden wave of emotion washed over her.  Scowling at herself Elide shook her head.  “Dorian says it would be a good idea for Marion and Tavish to have playdates, become friends.  So now I have to be friends with Lorcan Salvaterre.”

Cackling madly, Manon threw her head back with a laugh.  The woman seemed to be enjoying this far too much.

“It’s not funny,” Elide growled.

“Oh yes it is,” Manon said. “Especially if we get a repeat of the fourth of July."

Manon may have found it hilarious, but Elide was struggling more and more to hold back on the emotion building in her chest. When Elide didn't reply, however, Manon went quiet which of course only made it harder for Elide to hold back her tears.

"Lide," Manon said in an uncharacteristically soft voice.

"It's fine," Elide insisted. She brushed furiously at her eyes. "I'm fine."

She didn't have to look at Manon to know that her best friend was about to call her a liar when the front door to the apartment opened and Dorian entered.

"Hey babe," he called out before he saw Elide. "And babe."

"No," Elide said, "you shouldn't call me that."

Dorian grinned before making his way to the kitchen and grabbing a beer for the fridge. "Where's the menace to society?"

"You're child?" Manon asked quirking a brow.

"It's a dog, and it's a demon," Dorian replied.

"Uncle Dorian!"

Dorian managed to turn just in time before Marion attacked Dorion, nearly sending him toppling over. Abraxos, a rescue pit bull with half a missing ear and plenty of battle scars scampered into the room to join the attack on Dorian.

It was enough chaos that Elide was able to forget her earlier rise in emotions and laugh as Dorian struggled to keep his feet and beer.

"Where was my hello this afternoon?" Dorian exclaimed with a laugh. He managed to put his beer up on the counter and scoop Marion in his arms.

"You're a teacher, I can't know you," Marion said.

Elide and Manon leaned into each other laughing heavily while Marion dictated all the reasons why she had to ignore him.

"And you're old," Marion concluded.

"I love your daughter," Manon said as she finished her glass of wine.

Elide couldn’t help but agree.  She watched contentedly as Dorian accepted Marion’s help in getting dinner together.  The unspoken agreement of the Havilliard-Blackbeak household was that Manon did none of the cooking.  And Elide was in full support of it.  She’d tried Manon’s cooking before and it hadn’t been great.

It wasn’t much later when Marion had finally collapsed from exhaustion on her mother’s lap and was in a peaceful slumber.

Dinner had consisted of grilled cheese and soup, both of which Marion declared were her two favorite things.  Ever.  Another reason that Elide decided Dorian was one of her favorite humans.  If he could get her daughter to eat something without complaining, he could do anything.

“Do you need us to watch her?” Dorian asked as he settled onto the couch beside Manon.

It took Elide too long to really grasp what Dorian had asked and remember what day it was.  “Can you tomorrow night?  They have me on a closing shift.”

“Of course,” Manon said immediately.  She tucked her head back against Dorian’s chest and nodded encouragingly.

“I can always Aelin too, I don’t want to bother you and Dor--”

Dorian cut her off. “You’re never bothering us.”

Elide could only nod.  There was an unspoken invitation lingering behind Manon’s words.  An invitation that Elide would never accept.  She couldn’t.  Maybe she was too stubborn, but there was something about accepting the help--the charity that she knew she would never get over.  Besides, Manon and Dorian had already done more than enough for Elide.  More than she would ever be able to pay them back for.

“We should probably go,” Elide said, running her fingers through Marion’s hair. “It’s a school night.”

“I’ll pick up Marion so you can go straight to work,” Manon offered.

“That would be great,” Elide agreed.  She carefully pulled Marion into her arms and stood. “I can give you money for pizza or something.”

“Hell no,” Dorian said. “We’re making our own pizza tomorrow.”

“We are?” Manon asked doubtfully.  “You remember what happened the last time we did that?”

“Well this time the damn dog won’t get on the counter and eat all the cheese,” Dorian said.

Manon grinned slyly at him. “You love that damn dog.”

“Not as much as I love you,” Dorian replied.

Elide let out a groan and moved to the door before they started jumping on each other. “You two are disgusting.”

Manon cackled loudly and jumped up to follow Elide to the door. “Love you, Elide.  I’ll text you when I pick her up from school.”

Elide flashed one more grateful smile to Manon before hurrying out to her car, Marion still deeply asleep in her arms.

#

“So,” Rowan said with a deep frown, “Havilliard’s making you and Lochan be friends?”

“Our kids,” Lorcan said.

Rowan shrugged and leaned against the kitchen counter of Lorcan’s place.  In the living room a cartoon was playing and Tavish was yelling along to it--something with power rangers or something of the sort.

“I still can’t believe the two of you have kids,” Rowan said. “I thought she went off to play soccer at Wendlyn University.”

“So did I,” Lorcan said.

He could remember the day she told him about her plans.  She’d said she was going to get the hell out of Terrasen and never look back. That no one was going to stop her.  Lorcan remembered that was the day he realized that he kind of loved her.  They were only seventeen and Lorcan was always in awe of her spitfire nature and her passion for life.  Even when her uncle tried to break her continually.

“I didn’t think she’d ever come back here,” Lorcan added, “let alone stay here.”

Not after what had happened near the end of their senior year.  What he’d said.  What he’d done.  But Lorcan pushed that thought aside.  Thinking about the past had never done him any good.

“Dad?” Tavish poked his head into the kitchen and blinked up at his father innocently. “Can we go visit Momma tomorrow?”

Lorcan looked at his son, confused.  It wasn’t completely an out of the ordinary request, but strange nonetheless.

“Of course, bud,” Lorcan said, “but you know your momma wants you to go to bed on time.”

Tavish’s eyes widened to an impossible size before he nodded sullenly and dashed through the kitchen to his room.

“How has he been?” Rowan asked quietly as Tavish began slamming drawers in his room to get ready for bed.

“He was barely three when she died,” Lorcan said, “it’s been what?  Four years?”

“Yeah but if he’s being distant in school to the point that the principal--” Rowan began, but Lorcan scowled at him.

“Havilliard’s an ass,” Lorcan said, “and is just looking for something to do.”

“Lor,” Rowan said softly, “you know he’s right.”

Lorcan sighed heavily as Tavish dashed back out of his room to the bathroom.  The water turned on and the brief sounds of brushing filled the silence.  Tavish skidded back into the kitchen, his shirt was on inside out and his pants were pulled on unevenly so the left leg was bunched around his knee and the right flopped over his foot.

“Uncle Rowan,” Tavish said “can we go to the park with Fleetfoot on Saturday?  Aelin said we could.”

“Maybe on Saturday, my man,” Rowan said, he flashed Lorcan a look, “I hear your dad has plans for you on Saturday.”

Tavish cast Lorcan a long look that could easily be interpreted as uncertain and disbelieving.

“Marion’s mom invited us to play soccer on Saturday,” Lorcan explained.  Though he tried, Lorcan couldn't quite hide the grin when Tavish smacked a hand on his head.

“Marion doesn’t even like rocks or worms dad,” Tavish said. “Why do I hafta be friends with her?”

“Because friends are good for you,” Lorcan replied.  It was the worst explanation imaginable and Tavish fixed him with a look that was so obviously exasperated and reminded Lorcan so much of himself that he actually laughed out loud. “Besides, it’ll be fun.”

Taish let out a loud groan and slumped off towards his room.

“I’ll tuck you in in a minute, bud,” Lorcan called after him.

“Good luck with that,” Rowan said under his breath.

“I’m not looking forward to the teenage years,” Lorcan agreed.

Rowan grinned and shook his head before heading out for the night.  It was a regular thing that Rowan or any of their other friends would drop by at any given time.  Lorcan had decided long ago that he would have an open door policy with his friends and Tavish.  His home was a safe place.  No matter what, Lorcan would make sure his son didn’t have the same childhood he did.  

As Lorcan entered Tavish’s room he helped pile the blankets on the bed, making sure they were tucked sufficiently.  He also had to make sure the stuffed animals were all properly arranged as well.

“Marion’s weird dad,” Tavish said as Lorcan brushed his hair back. “She brought her stuffed animal to school.”

Lorcan shook his head, deciding not to remind Tavish that he’d defended Marion’s choice.  Instead he posed a question.  “What’s wrong with being weird?  Everyone’s a little weird.”

Tavish sighed and squirmed in the bed, getting comfortable. “I dunno.  No one really talks to her.”

“Sometimes talking to people is hard,” Lorcan said.  He knew Elide had been the same way in High School, always quiet, always careful.  Until you got to know then the dam would burst and insanity would ensue.  Lorcan smiled softly and leaned over to press a kiss to Tavish’s forehead. “You don’t have to be friends with her if you really don’t want to.  But just try this weekend okay?”

Tavish nodded slowly.  “Fine.”

“Good,” Lorcan said.  “Do you want to read something tonight?  We can finish that Spider-Man comic?”

“No s’alright,” Tavish said with a yawn.  “G’night daddy.”

Lorcan kissed his son once more and stood.  He made it to the door before Tavish spoke again.

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” Lorcan said as he turned off the light and headed off to bed.

#

as always, thank-you thank-you thank-you for reading/commenting/reblogging. 

I have bits of the next chapter ready, hopefully by next weekend it’ll be done...

tags: Using my general TOG taglist and specific requests for this fic. Let me know if I missed you.

@tottenhamboys20 @morganofthewildfire  @aelinchocolatelover @more-espresso-less-depresso-xx  @bamchickawowow @bri-loves-sunflowers @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln

[ddaenghoney]

my masterlist is in my blog description

Prompt: Kisses on the corner of the lips (thank you for requesting!)

Pairing: Veil!JiminxY/N (pre-Veil, my fic which you can find here xx)

Genre(s)/warning(s): Fluff, friends with benefits(though there’s nothing smutty in this lmao), mentions of alcohol/intoxication, y/n is a bit jealous and so is jimin lmao

wc: 3037

You recall what Jimin said at the beginning, “This way we don’t have to be obligated to each other.”

At that time you nodded immediately, completely accepting of his words because they gave sense to everything. You are both friends, but sometimes went beyond that in random, sultry rendezvous. After meeting at SoundWave, the two of you found yourselves getting along well, and with Jimin’s debut a project you were deeply involved with, it was only natural to grow closer. Though you never anticipated the connection to become physical, you didn’t want to change it.

Or rather, you do not want to stop, but something about your current predicament of watching him interact so closely with another coworker makes your throat uneasy. She smiles at whatever he says to her while Jimin talks casually to all of those around him at the table. He doesn’t go out of his way to give the girl particular attention, but the way that she bumped passed you as you all arrived in order to secure a guiding hand on his shoulder so that they would sit together told you enough about her intentions with him.

Jimin is not your boyfriend, and no one at the company recognizes either of you as anything more than close coworkers. He’s not allowed to date anyone, so of course everything is under wraps. There’s no reason to say anything about you and him to begin with-- there’s no reason for you to keep glancing from the table you sit at. No reason you should bite your tongue every time she puts a flirtatious hand on his arm.

“Y/N, I heard you’re going to help make our next title track.” A cheerful voice across from you breeches your ears, causing your shoulders to twitch you back to the conversation. You manage a smile easily enough, finding the male appearing quite happy with what he said, as the other member of his group who sits next to him, “You are, right? I want to learn from you about the writing process.”

“I don’t know if I’m good enough to be a teacher.” You take a sip of your soda, ignoring the nudge from Jihyo beside you whose eyes combat your dismissive attitude.

“As if. You could probably teach everyone at this table something.” She presses, earning a roll of your eyes. Grinning at your reaction, she turns back to the two across, “I’d even bet the song you make with her will end up charting for weeks.”

“I’ll do anything to help you then.” The male across you persists with a jovial curl of his lips. “You’re like the company’s golden songwriter.”  A loud affirmative from the member beside him causes a ripple with Jihyo and other people at the table to agree senselessly, even though some of them you’re sure are too intoxicated to know what the conversation is. “Cheers to our golden songwriter!”

You giggle at the dramatization of the whole thing, but reciprocate the energy by clinking your glass to his as those around do the same to each other and drink happily. You go ahead and down the rest of your mostly club soda beverage, setting it back down on the table with a small clunk and release a breath.

In the corner of your eyes, you catch Jimin’s head again and don’t stop yourself from angling your face to look. The return of his gaze startles you, making your hand squeeze your glass. The girl beside him remains, but she chats for the moment with someone else. Jimin’s focus forces the air in your chest to remain there as you sit somewhat transfixed and in wonder of what he wants. His lip quirks-- you think it does anyways; it’s difficult to discern from the distance. You wish he were across from you.

No; you shake your head at your thoughts, and return your eyes to your table. You take hold of some of the snacks on the table, tossing them into your mouth swiftly. It isn’t a good idea to dwell in those thoughts too long. In the first place, it should not matter to you where he is in the room, and you should be much less bothered by the lack of his attention on your person.

It’s not like either of you want to let even the smallest detail of your affairs into this place amongst all of your coworkers.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket. When you go to glance back at Jimin, you see him back conversing with those around him. You scoff softly and pull out your phone, smiling a bit wider when you see how ridiculous you are acting for assuming a particular name to appear in the pixels.

Seokjin, 12:10AM: You’re going to regret skipping out on watching the latest episode with us-- the show is getting crazy.

Y/N, 12:11AM: You better not spoil anything.

“Hey, I’m going to head out.” You say to Jihyo, as you reach for your bag hanging from your seat.

“Aw, already?” She pouts, eyes following you as you stand. “You barely drank at all with us though.”

“I have to go to work in the morning.” You explain, laughing as she clings her arms on your waist.

“Want me to help you catch a cab, Y/N?” The guy across the table asks before sipping further at his beer. You shake your head, while you work to gently tug off Jihyo.

“Thanks, but I’ll be fine-”

“You heading out too?” Jimin’s voice feels like it pops a bubble. You turn your head to him, as he walks with his jacket in hand, smiling casual as the inquiry remains in the air.

“You too, man?” The younger member across you asks him.

“Yeah, my manager would kill me if I couldn’t wake up on time tomorrow.” He answers with a smile lazily on his features, then he glances back to you. “I’ll give you a ride to your apartment.”

“You sure-”

“Yes, you need to! She uses too many taxi rides-- it makes me nervous.” Jihyo exclaims into the mix as she finally releases her hold on you. “You better make sure she gets home safe, though, Jimin.”

“Deal.” He’s still looking at you while he speaks, his eyes gentle. If you think about it, you’re sure you could misinterpret his expression, so you don’t. You just nod your head, and follow his lead outside of the restaurant.

—

“To think we’d leave at the same time.” You buckle your seatbelt with ease, as Jimin turns on the ignition. Relaxing your head on the seat, you barely arch your neck, eyeing him coyly. “Almost like we intended to.”

“Well, I did.” Jimin chuckles, wrapping a hand on the gear shift. Then he looks at you, and speaks just as easily, “I only went because you did.”

You try not to acknowledge the way your rib cage constricts for a moment at his words. Like it tries to lock them close to your heart. You half-smile at Jimin, helping the sentence to trickle away into nothing. “Smooth.”

“I think so.” He nods his head as he begins to drive away. The expression of his is nothing bashful or satisfied; nothing in particular at all. It’s just words. You relax back into the familiar seat and stare at the road as it comes, settled in your understanding of everything. You smother the confusion, putting it away before you are able to ponder it and get your flimsy feelings hurt. The last thing you would need is a relationship with an idol at SoundWave.

You can’t even imagine the complications that could entail.

“Are you very tired?”

You perk your eyebrows at the inquiry. Incidentally, his words brought you out of a stupor that was melded with the exhaustion from the day, but your curiosity wins over your response.

“Not very. Why?”

Jimin’s index finger taps the steering wheel as a red light forces a stop. His eyes fixate ahead as casual as ever, but the hesitation in his sentence reveals itself when his lips barely part without answering your question. More curiosity swirls in your expression, maybe too much, but Jimin is not looking at you so you let it slide, and merely hum to press for an answer.

“Do you care if I stay over tonight?” You should immediately throw away that nagging thought in your brain that tells you Jimin really did only go to the dinner because of you. You should cast it away, because this request is not dressed in sweetness. It’s implications are just a testament to the relationship between you: the friends and something more but nothing too much. Not ever to be more. It’s already settled, unlike him and that girl who could still take a relationship in any direction they want.

Your hand curls on your lap in recollection.

“To be honest, I’m not really feeling sex tonight.”

The car continues down the road, smoothly trailing closer to your apartment less than minutes away. The air conditioning’s breeze does more than it needs to as your legs garner goosebumps that you notice with the silence. Only a second passes then another, but it feels slow and you cannot stop your thumbs rubbing against each other.

“That’s fine. I’m not very interested in that either right now.” You glance towards Jimin, but it’s noticeable as your hair shifts and your eyes gleam from the passing street lights. Pondering the implications of his words should be at the forefront of your mind, but they are shoved aside by satisfaction. Satisfaction that he doesn’t just think of you for sex-- logically you never did consider that to be the case, but the words are reassuring. There’s still the friendship; a connection you care about more. “But I understand if you don’t want me to-”

“You can.”

You catch the corner of his lip curling upwards, but he stares ahead at the road. Resting his head against his knuckles as he eases the car around the last corner with a single hand, Jimin hums softly, and your hands close atop your lap with his reaction. You don’t bother smothering the small smile of your own, and can’t stop a tiny, playful scoff as he finally speaks up, “Slumber party it is then.”

---

“Hey,” You begin as the television streams a movie long forgotten about. Though opposite sides of the couch were occupied originally, Jimin mentioned simply through a soft mumble that his chest is comfier than the awkward positioning of your head on the stiff armrest, so the current arrangement of your body loosely entangled atop of his came to be. For a moment before being coaxed by his offer, you tried to play it off, giving a little hum and a small glance from him to the television then back again when he poked your thigh with his toe. His lips were a bit pursed, but he smiled like he knew you were trying to play it coy. Who were you to feign resisting further? “I thought you said earlier that you had to go home so your manager wouldn’t kill you in the morning?”

Jimin chuckles, fingertips easing in a slow trail along your back, before going up then back down like a leisurely gondola ride. You don’t believe you care about whatever reason he gives you for tagging along. You think you just wanted to talk and take your focus away from the embrace that you don’t know how to categorize.

“Like I said earlier too: I just went to begin with because you did.”

“You didn’t even sit with me.” The words come out in a mumble with a tone that sounds too whiny, and you wish they hadn’t slipped out so easily. Jimin shifts beneath you, adjusting your frame with his hands that find your waist and his neck cranes to look at you,

“What was that?” His grin teases you, clearly amused by your little admission. You huff, trying to avoid his gaze as a blush of embarrassment threatens to creep to the surface. “And this whole time I was wondering why you kept looking over at me, baby.”

“Jimin,” You bite your lip, now trying to count the amount of times you may have glanced over at him, and wondering how in the world he ever caught sight of a lot of them. You open your mouth to continue, but find nothing to say further in your flustered state. Jimin’s eyebrows raise as though he awaits for whatever you want to say as a rebuttal. You put your hand to his cheek and gently attempt pushing his stare back to the television.

“No-” He laughs, resisting your lackluster strength and simply takes hold of your forearm with one of his hands. “Go on, baby, tell me what you wanted to.”

You don’t know what you wanted to say, and really there’s nothing for you to complain about in the first place. How was he supposed to know, and given the way things were between them, who are you to ask for a specific seating arrangement out in public? Especially with all of the other employees, and especially when that girl went out of the way to monopolize him herself.

“Well, I wasn’t going to interrupt you and that other girl.” Your lips clamp shut. Thankful you’re not looking him in the eyes as yet another uncontrolled thought escaped, you merely breathe in through your nostrils, briefly considering that you stepped beyond a line you should not have.

“What girl?” He asks you like nothing else in the statement could concern him. Slowly, hesitantly, your eyes find him once more. Jimin’s focus is calm, yet something about his expression tells you that beyond confusion he wants to settle any worries. Whether obligated or not.

“The one who grabbed your arm on the way in,” You say, captured by his eyes that feel more intimate than you’re used to. “She’s clearly in to you.”

Jimin’s head tilts to the side, lips remain in a straight line and there’s nothing to say the idea interests him. “Didn’t notice.”

“Yeah, right.” You press without knowing why. If it bothers you, it would make sense for you to leave the subject untouched further, not to try and peek at his own interest in the subject. “It was clear to me.”

“Yeah?” One corner of his mouth rises. A strong beat in your chest ricochets within your ribcage, and your hand begins to curl a grip onto his shirt as he inches closer. “Couldn’t care less about her.”

The moment Jimin intends to press his lips to yours, you shift your head, causing a collision with his kiss landing on your cheek. Your hand remains tightened on the fabric of his shirt, certainly able to give it wrinkles as time passes. Jimin’s eyes blink as he pulls back, now appearing to be concerned he may have done something wrong, and he nearly verbalizes his worries, but you beat him to it.

“You’re not allowed to kiss my lips tonight.” The matter-of-fact tone stops Jimin’s mind in his tracks. His head tilts again, and a single breathy chuckle leaves his lips in a baffled confusion,

“Am I being punished?”

“Maybe.” Jimin’s head falls back against the couch with laughter at your words. A small fit, but nonetheless finding himself amused and from the appearance of his cheerful eyes when he looks at you again, you think he may even be endeared.

“Just your lips, baby?” He questions with a bright voice, causing your eyebrows to furrow in confusion at his question. Answering the curiosity towards his words, Jimin leans towards you, lips brushing along the bridge of your nose, testing. Your lips tighten into a line, not dissatisfied but instead trying not to show any of the flowers growing meadows in your hearts from his action. Like he graces you with sunlight, Jimin slowly moves his lips to the apples of your cheek, kissing softly.

“Can I confess something too?” He utters the molten words as another peck lands on your forehead, following along a path of his own to continue in tiny ministrations. You hum, feeling your hand relax its grip on his shirt, and your body nearly growing limp from his tender actions. “I didn’t have a great time watching that guy flirt with you all night, baby.”

Your eyes open as you tug your head away looking down at Jimin in surprise. He smiles at your stupor, reaching a hand to cup your cheek and guiding his thumb to ghost over the skin just beside your mouth. “Who was flirting with me?”

“You’re adorable-”

“The guy across from me? I don’t think so-- he’s just hoping I make a good song for their group’s next comeback.”

“It’s pretty common knowledge among the artists that he has a soft spot for you, actually.” Jimin elaborates simply, eyes gazing from yours to your lips. You watch his jaw tighten and can’t help your chest tighten from his reaction to the whole thing. You wonder if he’s ever said anything to the guy in regards to you, but you’re sure not. “Can’t say I blame him, though.”

“You’re pouting.” You smile then grin as Jimin groans softly and stretches his neck to avoid your assessment. “Adorable.”

Your copycat compliment makes Jimin chuckle with a roll of his eyes. His hand on your back tugs you back to him, and you do nothing but giggle as his lips find the space beside your own, kissing in a gentle frenzy. Mindlessly your fingers tangle in his hair, once again content as he follows your silly rule and leaves his lips kissing just next to your lips, warming the skin and making your heart flutter.

“Jimin,” You murmur, listening to his blissful hum as he breaks from your skin only to reposition a kiss on the tip of your nose so that his eyes can find yours when you speak again in a bashful voice, “Punishment’s over.”

Jimin smiles, not even sparing a second of teasing as he mumbles his words against your lips, “Say less.”

[curiosity-killed]

Hi....If you don't mind me asking, who are your favorite MXTX characters (top 5 from each novel)? And why? I'm sorry if you've answered this question before.

Aw of course I don’t mind! Though I feel like my answer is going to be a disaster bc I love these casts so so much aha let’s see:

✨ SPOILERS AHEAD ✨

MDZS/CQL

1. Wei Wuxian

Ah so I feel like this is obvious based on the sheer quantity of things I produce and the effort I put into hurting him 😅 but yeah! I love how much of a classical tragic hero he is and I love how much love he has and how that gets twisted around and shaped into a collar of spikes around his own neck. I saw gif sets of wwx before I ever knew about CQL and my reaction was “fuck. I’m going to love him” and I do! And I love that he does learn from his past and I love most of all that he learns to accept the love he is given and is able to make a happy ending in a place of being loved and held in respect and appreciation

2. Wen Qing

On the other hand, I did not expect to be like “mine now” with Wen Qing. Don’t get me wrong, the sexy immortal look got me but it wasn’t really till I started writing fic that I was like ohhhhh Oh Boy. Wen Qing is brilliant and ruthless, fiercely loving and aloof and cold. I love that she gets the lose-lose challenge of balancing what is right for her family vs what is right in the world, what she owes to her sect and what she owes to individuals. The golden core transfer is my favorite dubious science experiment in p much all media I’ve consumed. She gets to be so human—prickly and tough and also achingly gentle and afraid and putting on a tough face and sometimes still crying. “I’m sorry and thank you” ! Im!!

3. Jiang Yanli

The first fic I wrote for this fandom was literally “Jiang Yanli died no she didn’t” lmao I do feel like I underserve Jiang Yanli in that I often fall prey to using her to further the complexity that the male characters are permitted while denying her the chance to be given the same space for development and breath — something to work on! But in that, I really genuinely love how tightly she binds herself to her family and how she tries so hard to be what others need her to be—and then she does make a choice for herself and for a single moment at least, she gets to be loved and to be happy and to have this, a husband and a son and a place, for herself. And terribly I love how much she permeates the story still after death. She is the unspoken voice, the face turned from the camera but always still present, carried in the hearts and names and memories of the ones left behind

She deserved better but—I am weak for the tragedy of it all

4. Jiang Cheng

Another surprise (tho hardly surprising in hindsight): Jiang Cheng is just...horribly understandable. He makes terrible choices and his greatest heroism is undone by a choice made for him or, in the case of “killing the Yiling Laozu” is a lie. He is such a youngest sibling who doesn’t want to be the youngest until all at once, he’s the one in charge and he doesn’t want it at all. He is full of anger and hurt and so much love he doesn’t know what to do with it, doesn’t want it anymore, has no place to put all of its terrible, overwhelming flood.

5. Lan Wangji

I almost didn’t put Lan Wangji or Jiang Cheng on here and then I realized that this is sort of a list of characters I’m pickiest about in fic and...yeah. I think what I love best about Lan Wangji is his journey of grief and healing and through that, his decision to step into world. Where Wei Wuxian’s decision to travel and be removed from the cultivation world (in varying degrees depending on your headcanon preference lol) is really, really important to me, Lan Wangji’s decision to go from being an isolated lone agent working apart from the systems of the world to being involved and invested in changing those systems and working to make them better is also really important to me. I’ve talked before about how relatable Lan Wangji is to me (esp with regards to our interaction with the outer world) and there is something deeply hopeful and comforting about post-timeskip Lan Wangji being in his like mid-/late-30s and still making decisions and growing and changing and choosing to invest himself in the world and the future

yeah. i have thoughts here that I don’t really have the maturity, life experience, or articulation to put into words but Lan Zhan Good basically

TGCF

1. Xie Lian

suuuurpriiiiise!! Yeah honestly mxtx’s mains in TGCF and MDZS really just hit all my buttons basically. What appeals to me most of all about Xie Lian is, fittingly, how he is humanity taken to extremes. His capacity for incredible kindness and compassion is equaled with his capacity for cruelness and ruthlessness. His heaven-shaking highs are matched with calamitous lows. He is the hyperbolic of what it is to be human—and he is also the small moments, the wildflowers and the maple leaves and the mundane chores and the comfort of whispered conversations late into the night. I could quite literally go on for pages about what I love about Xie Lian but I am not Hua Cheng and can restrain myself LMAO

2. Hua Cheng

of all the characters on these lists, Hua Cheng is the one I’m pickiest about tbh! When I say I love him for similar reasons as Xie Lian I don’t actually mean this as being similarities between the two but the fact that both of them so richly convey mxtx’s points about the nature of humanity and what it is to be human. Hua Cheng is both the boldest and most arrogant of all and also the most vulnerable, the one who shies away from the truth because he’s braced for it to hurt and isn’t sure he can take it. He is gory blood rain and an umbrella to shelter a fragile bloom; he is a blade whose wounds only heal if he permits it and he is a sacrifice that he brushes aside as a fit of madness. *pats his head* this boy can fit SO MUCH inside him that he refuses to acknowledge

3. Jun Wu

Definitely my favorite antagonist in recent reading. I was doubtful of him from the start (something something issues with authority something something probably should talk to my theoretical future therapist shhh) but the unfolding of his reveal was so delightfully painful and exquisite that I was like “YES!!!” reading all of it. About the epitome of a satisfying plot twist imo. But about the character himself, I love how he parallels so many — Xie Lian in his rise and fall, his glory and disgrace; Hua Cheng in his fixation and ruthlessness; He Xuan in losing himself to the plot and not knowing how to move forward. I love that he feels beyond human in a way the others don’t—he’s so old and has gone through so much and he doesn’t feel things the way humans do anymore, doesn’t remember right how love squeezes the heart or how hate can exist without acting on it. I love that he thinks he knows how to control everyone and that it’s such mundane things that fool him: Xie Lian’s absurd stubbornness, Hua Cheng’s foolish faith, Yin Yu’s...emotional maturity??? Not Sure how to verbalize that one. But in the end, he is defeated by both the humanity of others and by his own—he’s so tired. He’s exhausted in a way that gods and ghosts aren’t meant to be. He is, under the armor and the masks, the curses and the power, human—benevolent and cruel, evil and good.

4. He Xuan

I love my fish man! No but really I love how He Xuan is so fixed on his one goal that he refuses to acknowledge anything else in his (after)life—which doesn’t make it go away. I love that he is left unmoored, purposeless through the very act of completing that which gives him purpose. I love his long con and the ways he clings to himself but loses himself not in the act but in the telling himself it’s an act. I love that he tries to be a moral man and then becomes a ghost king, a calamity. His reveal is also terribly badass and I do love his bone fish wholly unironically. Like I’m not going to get a He Xuan tattoo (for one thing I’ve been meaning to get a tattoo for 5 years and still haven’t gotten around to it) but also. B o n e f i s h

5. Mu Qing

Of course! The Jiang Cheng of tgcf lol Mu Qing (which my phone desperately wants to autocorrect to my Qing) is so...gah he’s such a mess! And he so fully commits to the belief that no one will ever see and understand him as he is but will always view them through their own convictions about him and his actions — which is simultaneously heartbreakingly lonely and also. Sir You Are a Clown. I genuinely think he’s owed apologies from both Feng Xin and Xie Lian for their treatment and assumptions of him and think that he would be HORRIBLY offended at the thought (while secretly touched? But like secretly even to himself). He will never explain himself and will just clam up tighter the more people accuse him and it’s such a self-sabotaging behavior and also so horribly relatable. I love u sir, you’re a disaster

SVSS I have not read but I do really like the moshang art 😂

[sleepylevii]

moon’s laugh

ship: rivetra word count: 1.9k warnings: one (1) bad word genre: canon | hurtcomfort/fluff

chile! here’s my first rivetra/first aot in general fic...i just lub them a lot...a lot of u guys asked for established relationship but i lich rally could not get this out of my head i just think it’s SO cute anyways here go:)

The warmth of the open flame that illuminated Petra’s face was the only source of light at the mess hall at this time of night. Even though she knew the moon was awake and based on Gunther’s ever accurate chats that it would be full, the orb had already passed by the sole window to her right side, leaving Petra alone with her pair of candles, one in front and one to her left so that her right hand would not cast a shadow on her work. She didn’t mind the dark, though–with the nighttime always came safety. A moment to herself away from Orou’s teasing and Eld’s chattering was perfectly welcome after a day as long as today has been.

It had started off as an expedition outside of the wall that was continued from the night prior. Due to an injury in her early teens, her lower back was home to lasting pain, and sleeping on the ground, hard–and cold, too, at this time of year–was no help. Without Hange’s specially crafted medicine for her, as she’d forgotten to take it with her before they left, Petra woke up in an uncharacteristically sour mood. Without a titan in sight, the group had traveled relatively far until they’d reached the chosen stopping point to turn around. The mission was only supposed to be a day and a half, a brief expedition to scour which land beyond the wall could be suitable for farming. It was nothing short of a normal expedition until Gunther’s horse spooked and tossed him, leaving Petra bringing his horse home as he rode on Eld’s during the journey home. Hange deduced it as a concussion, though not terribly bad, once they had made it back.

It wasn’t the worst report she’d ever had to write. Levi had begun to task her months ago with writing the reports that would be sent to the king as an update for what his branch of scouts was doing, as Titan activity had been relatively low recently. Really, it had been a general offer–Petra couldn’t yet figure out why Levi didn’t want to do it himself, as he typically liked to be in charge like that–but the others complained about the task, so she took it upon herself to complete it. It’s not like she would pass up on a chance to impress her captain.

For less naive reasons, Petra was very skilled in literary talents. Her older brother taught her to read at a young age, and words kept her company as he left to join the scouts. Now, books were both a painful reminder of what was and a hope to a more peaceful future. She’d scribbled notes in the margins of pages for as long as she could remember–an analysis there, a definition from Alec there, a letter to a friend, her grandmother–all were intertwined in language. Her handwriting was precise at the worst and not unlike a printed sheet of newspaper at the best, and her abilities to describe events and plans were unparalleled within the rest of the scouts, meaning Levi was more than happy to appoint her to accomplish the chore.

However, it did mean that there were nights–like tonight–that she was up far past the sun’s setting, pencil cramped in hand, a cup of tea by her side that has gone cold hours ago. As she finished up her report and scrawled her name at the bottom, Petra folded the sheet of paper in half and secured it with twine, laying it on the table for Erwin to pick up the next morning since he was visiting. She sipped the rest of her tea, blew out the candle, and with lidded eyes, made her way back to her small bedroom.

It was dark, and even though she was tired beyond belief, Petra was sure she knew the path to her own bedroom. Fairly sure.

She rustled around the room for a moment, fatigue exhaling from her quiet grunts as she attempted to cozy herself under the covers. But there was–something?–next to her leg–no, it couldn’t have been anything. Perhaps she’d left her pillows a mess before leaving two days ago. Besides, she wasn’t actively being hurt, so she supposed that whatever the problem was could wait until the next morning.

—

Just because a day was uneventful did not mean that Levi slept well. He wished it could be that way–after knowing all of his scouts were secure in their beds, titans slumbering under the safe eye of moonlight–there he would find peace. But it was not often so, and Levi found himself tossing and turning as per usual that evening.

But such trivialities shouldn’t have ever made their way into the mind of the captain, and he did his best not to entertain them. Covers pulled tight around his chest, Levi did his best to fight off any energy left inside of his busy brain and instead succumb to the sweet embrace of sleep, trying to keep the image of a certain ginger-haired girl out of his head.

Levi wasn’t sure if he was asleep or not by the time he felt a rustling near his back and a weight pull the covers off of him, but he was certainly awake by the time the ordeal in question was over. Normally, he wouldn't have hesitated to react–maybe he was asleep–but he had, and now it was silent.

Brows furrowed, Levi cautiously turned to his left, trying to figure out what had happened while making the least amount of noise and movement possible. To his complete surprise, he found ginger locks messily splayed on the pillow beside him, Petra’s chest gently rising and falling with her breaths. The moonlight cast a soft shadow across her face and for a moment…no. He had to have still been sleeping.

“…Petra?” he murmured, the faintest hint of a whisper leaving his lips. This had to have been a mistake. Petra was sensible, intelligent, and most important, focused on her work. Not him.  Perhaps she’d notice in the morning and skirt off before he awoke, and he wouldn’t say a word about it. Still…sleep hung from his eyes and Levi found it difficult to make a decision. This was what he had wanted for weeks now, was it not? It would be selfish to not wake her, letting her know that she’d made a mistake. But Levi Ackerman was sometimes a selfish person.

He rolled back over, breaths steady, and tried not to think about the girl slumbering next to him, the way her warmth felt in his bed. Goddamn, his brain simmered. You’ll pay for this tomorrow.

—

Petra woke up to sunlight dusting her face, squinting her eyes as she cleared her throat. With the daylight came another exhausting day of trekking through the woods, eyes peeled for roaming titans, and–within moments of opening her eyes, Petra was sure that something was wrong. There was a weight pressed to her side, over her waist, and the morning seemed eerily calm. Slowly, as if a sudden movement could trigger a disaster, she rolled to her side, wincing from the ache in her back. A single night of good sleep would not fix the chronic pain that plagued her. And then–oh, God.

If it was a dream or a nightmare, Petra couldn’t tell which–just that she found herself face to face with none other than her captain, still fast asleep, his arm draped over her side. Petra thought he looked precious asleep, the ever-present scowl gone from his face–but she couldn’t pull herself away from the panic that enveloped her. What happened? Why was the captain in her bed? No…why was she in the captain’s bed? That was even worse. If she moved, would he wake up? Could she crawl out without him noticing? She wished she’d never begun having that silly little crush on him, knowing nothing would ever come of it.

“Petra?”

The captain’s eyes flashed open, squinting in the sunlight as she had just moments before. Frozen, there was nothing she could do except stare at him, his deep grey eyes piercing into hers. “Captain, I–”

“I didn’t think you’d still be here in the morning,” he murmured, face softening.

Lips parted in a semblance of fear, Petra glanced away from his gaze. “I–I’m so sorry, I was–” She pulled herself up with another wince, getting ready to scramble out of the–his–covers–“I was up so late last night; I just, I–” She felt the pressure of Levi’s fingers around her wrist. His grip wasn’t too tight, however, she was sure he could feel her pulse, beating fervently. And then–“You knew I was here last night?” The question seemed to surprise even her, as if she hadn’t quite pieced it together in her brain by the time it spilled out of her mouth.

“I–” Now it was the captain’s turn to flush, lips pursed. “You’d had a long day, I…I felt it would be rude to ask you to leave,” he said. Petra didn’t think he sounded genuine. But, he continued: “I was being an asshole. I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable.”

Petra couldn’t focus on anything except for his hands gently tracing patterns on hers, as if he was distracted as well. “You–I’m not, um, uncomfortable,” she forced out, trying to regain her composure. “I just…oh, Levi…I don’t know what to say.” She turned her head to the wall, sucking in a deep breath. After a moment’s silence, she looked at him again, still laying on his pillow. “I should go.”

It was strange to watch his face fall in such a real way. It was not like the grief that gripped him on the battlefield as a plan went wrong, nor the annoyance with his teammates when they argued too much for his liking. No–his face was soft, eyes gentle as they fell from hers to her waist, then the covers. “You don’t have to,” he suddenly said, voice barely louder than a whisper. “I–I hope I’m not being too forward. But it’s still early. You can stay.”

“Oh…” Petra licked her lips. Was this a good idea? She turned back to him, and for the first time noticed a new kind of fear in Levi’s eyes. She felt like she understood, then–he wasn’t upset at her, or embarrassed–just afraid of losing what could have been. Slowly, the faintest of smiles spread across her face, eyes fluttering. This can’t be real. “I…are you sure?”

“Five weeks sure,” Levi admitted, his cheeks coloring.

Petra slid back down under the covers, cozying up into Levi’s open arms with a hint of a giggle on her words. “I’ve got you beat,” she said slyly, eyes fluttering up at him. “Four months,” Petra said, laughing at Levi’s surprised face. “You didn’t know, did you.”

“I…I knew,” Levi said, smirking.

“You did not,” Petra chuckled. “Knowing you…you would have made a move if you did.”

Levi gasped quietly, the blunt of her words surprising him. “I…I suppose you’re right about that.” There was a brief silence between the pair before Levi rolled over, burying his nose into Petra’s hair. “I’m glad you were stubborn enough to stay up late to finish that report.”

[bibislut]

Merlot and Meddling

I present to you; a fic born from the inspiration at the bottom of a bottle of wine.

Synopsis: Maybe Pansy could be right for once, maybe this is the closure Draco needs. Or maybe they’ve both just had a little too much to drink. After all, nothing bad ever came from drunk advice, right?

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 2494

Find it on Ao3 

-----

Draco took a large swig of his wine, swilling it around his mouth as he thought over Pansy’s idea. The two had already finished their second bottle and were now well into their third. The blond was laying languidly on his best friend's sofa, the raven-haired witch in question haphazardly strewn across the neighbouring armchair.

“Not a chance.” Was he slurring?

“Why the fuck not?” Pansy’s high squeal of disbelief echoed in draco’s ears.

“Because it's a moronic idea.”

“No it's not.”

“Yes it is.”

“No. It. Is. Not.” Pansy enunciated each word harshly, pushing herself up. Draco flicked his eyes over to her, meeting her determined gaze. “This will be good for you, Draco. And even better for me, when I read it sober tomorrow.” She grinned.

Draco squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose as he resigned himself to the whims of a stubborn, drunk heiress, with a loud groan. “Fine.”

Pansy squealed, a horrific noise that only Draco ever got to hear. Sometimes he wished that being her best friend was a bit quieter. She clapped her hands eagerly. “Wonderful. It’s about time you got some of this mess-” She waved her hands at him, “- out.” 

Draco sat up, enjoying the slight spin of the room as he downed the rest of his glass. “Top me up then, gorgeous. I’ll need my strength.” He drawled.

“In your dreams.” Pansy scoffed, placing her own empty glass on the coffee table. “I’m going to grab some parchment. Top me up too.” 

If Draco was lucky enough, he’d wake up before Pansy tomorrow, and could burn the blasted thing before she could bully him about it.

----

Harry yawned widely, scratching his head as he plonked himself down at the staff table. Neville nudged the pumpkin juice towards him, shooting him a sympathetic look.

“Remind me why I took this job again, Neville?”

“Because you’re good at teaching people and making them believe in themselves?” The herbology teacher took a bite of his jam-laden toast.

Harry huffed. “Well it certainly wasn’t to stay up all night grading mock exams.” He pulled a plate of pancakes towards him. “I had more than enough of my own bloody OWLs and NEWTs.” He grumbled. “Should’ve thought this through more.”

Neville hummed. “Do you want me to pour some cold water on you?”

“Don’t even try it.” Harry smirked. “You can’t just throw water on The Saviour of The Wizarding World.”

“Did you forget I’m the one who stood up to Voldemort?” Neville raised an eyebrow.

“What has happened to you?” Harry shook his head jokingly. “Where’s the shy boy I grew up with?”

“Still bloody here.” Neville chuckled. “Just a bit more comfortable now.”

“Teaching suits you.”

“It suits you too, most days.”

Both young men turned back to their food, Harry reaching for the pot of coffee he’d asked for. The noise in the hall rose, and he looked up just in time to catch the post before it hit his plate. Being a Hogwarts alumni and a seeker definitely helped during breakfast.

It was just the usual, a copy of the day’s Daily Prophet, a copy of The Quibbler, a letter addressed in Hermione’s writing, no doubt reminding him of the Weasley spring get-together, and...another letter. He didn’t recognise the handwriting. He pried open the seal curiously, unfolding the letter inside:

-Dear Mr Potter,

The most famous, most brilliant, most bravest man to ever exist. Who’s arse we must all kiss, and lick, and fondle, though that may be just me. It really is a nice arse you know. Have you ever looked in the mirror? A truly fine specimen. You wouldn’t think it spent so much time on a broomstick being a bloody show off, but here we are, you with a nice arse and me with a picture of it in my head. How delightful.

I have been told to write this letter to get my feelings out. And though I would usually deny these feelings, everything must end - including these ridiculous thoughts. “What thoughts?” You may ask. Well, let me tell you.

 I hold a rather large grudge, fuelled almost completely by my own damaged pride. Pride bruised by a lack of you in my life, and pride bruised whenever you are in my life. It is quite the conundrum, I tell you.

A lot of my feelings are unnecessary, some unscrupulous, some unwanted, unfounded, but most of them unreturned. For when have you ever looked into my eyes the way I do yours? When have you lain in the dark, retracing our encounters? Or remembering the colour of your eyes, or the pattern of your freckles, or the way you thin your lips in rage, or lick them with anxiety or when, perhaps, have you thought of me at all? Outside of your obligation to that is? Your obligation to hate me, despise me, distrust me. Please tell me that’s what it is; an obligation. Or at least tell me that you don’t anymore, don’t resent me, loathe me. That’s what I need to believe.

I certainly did you. I hated you, it's true. For many reasons. For stealing the limelight, for bettering me, for dismissing me. But I also admired you, envied you. Resented you, and myself, for my cowardice, for my choices, for having the family that I did, that I do. 

I could go on and on, but the point is this- you still plague my thoughts. You still fill my head. You’re in my dreams, my nightmares, my desires… 

And this is not healthy, it can’t be. Progress is healthy, moving on is healthy. And perhaps just imagining you reading this will contribute towards that.

So let me leave you with this, Potter: I feel so many things for you, and none of them can be resolved, or come to fruition. This is my attempt at goodbye. This is my attempt at starting anew. -

The writing is messy, the ink smeared in places, a stain of some kind in the bottom right corner. But Harry knows this handwriting, spent his teenage years seeing this writing, obsessing over it some nights. And he knows the writing on the front of the letter doesn’t match. 

Which means Draco Malfoy did not intend for Harry to see this.

---

“Fuckkk…” 

“My thoughts exactly.”

Draco’s eyes shot open, focusing on Pansy as she sat on the armchair, hair brushed, face washed, sitting in a fresh set of pyjamas. “Why the fuck are you okay?” He groaned, rubbing his face. 

Pansy shrugged. “I had a pint of water and a sandwich after you passed out. Woke up feeling perfectly fine.”

“You bitch. Why didn’t you make me one?”

“And wake the beast? No, thank you.” She motioned towards where a mug of steaming tea sat under a stasis charm. “Cuppa?”

Draco hummed thankfully, sitting up carefully so as not to anger his throbbing head further. “Less of a bitch.” He murmured. He sipped at it, the warmth of it easing a bit of the tension in his body. “What time is it?”

“Just past eight.”

“So, really-fucking-early.” 

“Yeah.” Pansy picked up her own mug. “I’m glad you’re awake though.” 

“And why is that?” Draco sat back against the cushions, easing his shoulders as he took another sip.

“What do you remember of last night, love?”

Draco offered an exhausted chuckle. “Some of it.” He tried to think back. “We finished the third bottle of merlot, right? Or was it the fourth? And your dancing, that was great.” He snorted. “Merlin. You do squeal when you’re drunk Pans, I thought my eardrums- OH FUCK!”

“And there it is.” Pansy smiled at him. 

“Oh Merlin, Pansy. Please tell me you burnt it. Please, Please.”

“I’d love to, Draco, I really would. It’s just…” She paused, looking uncharacteristically nervous. “I mean, I was drunk too.”

“Oh no, please tell me you didn’t send it to Blaise!”

“Okay, I didn’t send it to Blaise.”

“Pansy Bernadine Parkinson. What. Did. You. Do?!” 

“Don’t use my full name!” She whined. “You know how much I hate-” 

“Pansy!”

“Look, I’m sorry, okay? It might go well, you never know. I do sometimes have good ideas, and honesty is always the best pol-”

“PANSY!” Draco lurched forwards, his stomach doing the same. Merlin, anxiety and alcohol did not mix well.

“I sent it to Potter.” She whispered, eyes wide.

“WHAT!” Draco stood up so quickly he spilt his tea.

“You never know-”

“At Hogwarts?!” The blond slammed his cup down on the coffee table, standing over his friend.

“Yes?”

“Merlin’s tits!” Draco’s hand flew to his hair, running them through nervously as he began pacing. “Merlin’s fucking tits!” 

“I mean, it's not so bad, right? You could still make it.”

“Make it?” Draco spun around to face her, his mind racing. What had he said? He didn’t even remember half of it. He was pretty sure he mentioned Potter’s arse, and maybe his father? The memories were returning slower than he’d like. Had he signed it?! “What time is it?”

Pansy cast a quick tempus. 8:11. 

“Maybe I can get there before the post does?”

“Not looking like that, you can’t.”

Draco dashed over to the mirror, taking himself in. His hair was knotted and sticking on end, his trousers wrinkled, his shirt untucked and half buttoned, and he probably smelled as bad as he felt. “Shit, right, okay." He bit at his lips nervously, his head racing. “I’m going to go back to mine and shower and change.” He turned to face her. “Can you send a message through firecall asking McGonagall if I can meet her at the end of breakfast? Say something about a tour of the new quidditch pitch.”

“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”

“Wish me luck, Pans, or it’s gonna be you who’s in the shit.”

“Yeah, I get it, I’m dead to you.” Pansy waved her hand nonchalantly, as if she was already over the mess she'd created. “Just go and sort yourself out.”

-----

Harry read, and re-read the letter at least five times, barely even tasting his coffee. Was it true? Did Malfoy really care for him? He couldn’t deny that the slytherin had been his thoughts since the end of their eighth year, but to think he had been in his? That was insane, unbelievable. And yet, here he sat, holding the letter. 

Maybe he was wrong, maybe it wasn’t Malfoy. Sixth year had certainly proven that he wasn’t the best at handwriting. But it added up, the ‘limelight’ , the ‘cowardice’, the ‘family’. And who else had been close enough to him to comment on his freckles, or lips, or eyes, and still matched the things that had been said like Malfoy did?

Fuck, what was he going to do? 

“Come on Harry, you don’t want to be late.” He looked up at Neville. “You alright, mate?”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Just some unexpected news.”

“You sure? You look a bit frazzled.” Neville’s eyebrows drew together in concern.

Harry pulled on a smile. “All good. You alright?”

“I’m good. Got a whole day of first years today, you’d think they’d be better behaved this far into the year, but they can still be a bit tricky.”

“You’ll do well with them, you always do.” Harry clapped him on the shoulder.

“Thanks, Harry.”

The two men headed out of the Great Hall together. Harry was so distracted he almost didn’t recognise the head of white blond hair standing just outside the doors.

“Malfoy?” 

Draco Malfoy spun around, meeting Harry’s gaze with a look he couldn’t decipher. 

“Potter.” He nodded.

“What are you doing here?” Why was his heart beating so fast?

“I’m meeting Mcgonagall for a tour.” Malfoy wasn’t quite meeting his eyes. He looked good, his hair falling softly over his forehead, no longer slicked back. He was dressed in an all black suit, one hand tucked into his trouser pocket. He looked handsome and confident… except for his other hand, which was tensing and untensing over and over again.

“I’ll catch you later, Harry. Malfoy.” Neville waved goodbye, nodding at the Slytherin. 

“Why are you really here?” Harry asked, though he was sure he already knew the answer. 

“Well,” Malfoy’s voice caught and he cleared his throat. “I suppose I wanted to apologise, for the, um, letter.” He looked down, finally conceding his nervousness.

Harry nodded towards the doors. “The kids will be out soon, follow me.”

“Look, Potter. We don’t have to make this bigger than it needs to be. Let’s just agree to forget about it.”

Harry stopped, turning back to face him. “Why would I do that?” Malfoy finally looked at him. Harry lowered his voice, taking a step closer. “I don’t hate you, Draco.” He licked his lips, terrified of what he was about to say. “It was nice to know you’ve been thinking about me, too.”

Draco’s eyes lit up, before drawing together again. “I’m not in the mood for jokes, Potter.”

“I’m not joking.” Harry took another step forward, until they were only a few feet away from each other. He summoned his Gryffindor courage. “I’ve been thinking about your arse too.” 

Malfoy’s jaw dropped, and he shoved Harry in the chest. “That’s not funny.”

Harry laughed, catching his hands. “It kind of is.”

“Oh shove off, you great big git.” Draco gave a small smile, trying to pull his hands away.

“Make me.” Harry whispered, holding on tighter. If you had told him two hours ago that he would be flirting with Malfoy outside the Great Hall, he would have told you to go and get your head checked for wrackspurts. He felt almost giddy with excitement and disbelief, and most of all, anxiety. He was just riding on the wave of adrenaline at this point. 

Draco snorted. “Good idea, Potter. The hallway is about to flood with students.” The Slytherin didn’t look away though, his silver eyes holding Harry's with a hopeful look.

Harry finally let go of his hands, but neither man stepped away. “Take me to dinner then.”

“You’re asking me to ask you to dinner?” Draco shook his head in disbelief

“Yeah, why not?”

“Very romantic.” He drawled.

“Hey! I’m the one who had to decipher your horrific handwriting.” And read your half-lusty, half-sad ramblings on four hours sleep, he thought.

“Oh, Merlin.” Draco winced. “Fine. Do you want to come to dinner with me?”

“You could be a bit more enthusiastic.” Harry mock-pouted.

“I’ll bloody take the offer back if you’re not careful.”

“Alright, okay.” Harry looked over Draco’s shoulder to see students starting to pour out of the Great Hall. He grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. “Owl me the details.” 

And with that, Potter dashed off down the hallway, leaving Draco’s fingers tingling and his stomach fluttering with butterflies. They were both doomed, surely, so why were they both so excited about it?

[mira--mira]

I love summons. They’re so cool and they don’t get enough love. And while going to big is the same monster kaiju problem that late shippuden has...thinking about what they are and how they work has so much rich potential for worldbuilding. In other words, the text post I told myself I wouldn’t write bc it’ll come up in BoaF and OoT, though slightly customized to each AU, but I can’t contain myself so here we are. 

Summons are purely nature chakra. Not all ‘groups’ are capable of teaching sage mode, but all of them use nature chakra and nature chakra alone (though, with how oddly vague ‘nature chakra’ is bc it powers up physical and spiritual energy, summons can, in effect, do all ‘kinds’ of jutsu it’s just from a different source.) 

They also eat chakra. Which, at one point, did mean that many ate humans as they were concentrated sources of chakra. This is why summons contracts are extremely important, it protects both summoner and summon. Proper contracts exchange some of the summoner’s chakra for the service of the summons. However, if they run out of chakra or decide their service is complete they ‘poof’ and are set back to their home. A summons can, theoretically, push past the point of exhaustion and by doing so does put their life and the summoner’s at risk. The summon must be supplied with chakra and that balance of ‘too much’ and ‘not enough’ is very thin. Also if terms aren’t properly stated the summon can theoretically drain their summoner of chakra and be set loose to cause havoc. Contracts are written in such a way that protects them from each other and it’s very rare that new contracts are written bc they’re so lengthy and complicated. It’s why passing down the contract is important. Lengthy contract legacies assure the summoner that the summons won’t try to trick or manipulate them and assures summons that the summoner won’t abuse them or try to push them to the brink of death. 

Non-contracted summons are extremely rare and are a walking nightmare for all parties involved. They don’t usually last long. 

Summons have their own legends of creation, and some overlap with older human ones. Most notably that the first summons, collectively known as the First of Their Name, predate human gods. These summons were literally named the animal they would become “Crow” “Slug” “Fox” etc. and most have died/disappeared. The summons look upon these ancestors with pride, but humans are understandably terrified of them because the few left living are ancient and powerful, on par with the bijuu. 

Fun fact, Katsuyu was originally Namekuji (Slug) and Tsunade is only living person with a personal contract with a First Summon (in OoT AU). I love Katsuyu and her unique powers. so much. This comes up in the unpublished chapter 8 of BoaF but the Uchiha are known as ‘crow demons’ for a reason and don’t be surprised when ‘Lady Karasu’ starts to be name dropped. BoaF Uchiha are a whole different animal though, because they constantly keep their summons with them and their contract is hyper specific to their arrangement. It is, by no means, ‘normal’ in that world. 

One last relevant thing to OoT summons...the ‘mixed’ animals that make up the bijuu? Are absolutely despised by their summon counterparts. I’ve read a few fics that actually cast the bijuu as the ‘boss’ summons and that’s a cool idea...but I love the idea of summons’ being offended that their form was ‘taken’ (this, admittedly is also part of OoT’s Plot) without their permission. It also causes issues between summoners and summons and summons that have bijuu counterparts are seen as overall more untrustworthy. What I’m saying is Saiken would not want to meet Katsuyu and god forbid one of the foxes run into Kurama or Naruto 😉

[voxofthevoid]

Taking It Up The Ass Isn’t Character Growth - A Rant

So, in response to an ask a while back, I said I had a rant brewing on fandom and sex positions, and well, a lot of you wanted to see it, so here you go. You literally asked for it.

Disclaimer: This is going to talk a lot about top/bottom roles in slash fic and fandom attitude towards them and is heavily filtered through the lens of my own tastes and experiences with fandom. I’d also like to be upfront that I am 100% in favor of people writing whatever fictional content they want, and it’s not what fandom does with characters that bothers me but rather how that translates into attitudes towards real, live people. Also, this is the essay version of a slow burn AU because I regurgitate my entire fandom history before getting to the point. Beware.

I discovered fan-fiction around a decade ago, had no clue what the hell it was, got hooked and dived deeper. I started participating in fandom circa 2013, and I was fairly young and also completely inexperienced both sexually and romantically. The fandom in question was Hannibal and my ship of choice was Hannibal/Will. It was/is a very chill fandom in general, but we had our drama. And chief among the contentious topics was—you guessed it—the top/bottom debate. I can’t actually remember any other topic that was discussed and argued for so ardently in that fandom, at least in those days. Even after I drifted away, I came across a few posts on the matter.

Generally, you had two camps—people who supported strict roles and those who were in favor of switching*. And because we’re a society plagued by illogical assumptions, the strict role camp mostly had people who thought Mr. Big Bad Cannibal in the Fancy Suits wouldn’t take it up the ass because he’s older, more experienced, more mentally stable, and of course, more ‘dominant’ in personality. Yes, that sentence is chock full of problematic shit. I am aware. Lots of people were aware and argued strongly against attributing top/bottom roles to personality. I don’t remember anyone arguing as enthusiastically for Top Will, but those voices were also there. But the general idea was that assigning strict top/bottom roles to a male/male couple was casting them in a heterosexual mold and thus, the progressive option was to make them switch. Strict roles also garnered comparisons to “yaoi” and uke/seme stereotypes, which was of course bad and fetishizing and we, the Western media fans, of course had to do better. Stealth racism is fun to untangle.

Anyway, I lapped up the woke juice. Partly because I was a baby queer from Buttfuck Nowhere, Asia, who had zero exposure to LGBT+ communities and what queer folks did with each other. Partly because it was the stance taken by most of my favorite writers so it seemed like a good position to emulate.

Emulate it I did. Most discussions I had about this happened in private with the handful of close friends I had in fandom. Where it really showed was in my writing. I made sure to write switching—maybe not in every fic, but then I alternated between fics. Thing is though, I did have a preference. I liked Top Will. I created and consumed a ton of Top Hannibal, and sometimes it was okay, sometimes it was not, but I couldn’t pinpoint why it made me uncomfortable. Back then, I thought I was a cis questioning/bi girl and once again, the impression I got was that not being MLM, having a preference was automatic fetishization. So I tried my best to justify my preferences, to my friends at least. I think what I said was that fandom was skewed towards Top Hannibal, and I liked the opposite because I’m a contrary fuck. Which I am, to be fair, but this was just me desperately trying to figure shit out without being offensive.

That’s the line I touted all the way until 2018, which was when I fucked off to grad school in A City, finally freed of Buttfuck Nowhere and able to actually date. At this point, I was settled in my sexuality (girls only) and questioning my gender (non-binary or trans guy). I had also tentatively figured out during undergrad that I’m an exclusive top and a Dom. Actual attempts at dating cemented that, yes, those are my preferences, about as flexible as a steel rod. Cue motherfucking epiphany over my fanfic tastes.

And see, over these years, I was engaging intermittently with fandom. I dutifully wrote switch couples. I also continued to have rigid tastes and continued to explain it away as being a contrary fuck—to be fair, until Steve/Bucky, my preference did seem to be the opposite of the larger fandom preference. But correlation, as we know, isn’t causation. Until Steve/Bucky, I continued to write versatile couples because I honestly didn’t have the guts to just say I liked it just one way. I do now but even then, I feel compelled to add that it’s because I want to see my own taste reflected in fic, so I write/read the character I relate to as a top, it's not that deep etc. Would I be as forthright if I didn’t have that reason? Would I have such strict preferences in fic if I didn’t have strict preferences IRL? The latter’s a mystery, but the former isn’t—I wouldn’t be because fandom is still entrenched in the same ideas that got me to this point to begin with.

In every fandom I’ve been in, I’ve seen some version of this debate go around. Sometimes, it’s one party saying “why would you write Character X as a bottom, he’s so Reason A” and a reblog chain that insults the OP and/or extols the virtues of switching. Sometimes, it’s a general-ish message that says they don’t understand why people have strict preferences when we all know real gay couples switch. Sometimes, it’s blanket statements that accuse anyone with preferences of fetishizing. Sometimes, it’s the same reasoning that gets you “Character Y is a top because of Reason B” transposed on versatile couples except this takes the form of “they switch because they’re equals.”

Ya’ll, I’m fucking tired.

I have long since lost count of the number of stories I’ve seen where an exclusive top learning bottom and liking it is character growth. Where a character who prefers to bottom taking a turn on top is empowering.

Isolated, these are fine. But I’ve seen enough of such stories that it’s distinctly discomfiting and a major squick. Sometimes a trigger, if I'm too immersed in the story. I’m not going to try and burn an author at the stake because they pissed me off. I am just going to close that window and quietly handle my shit. People can write whatever they want. But this one theme hits too close to home, as you can see from this 1.6k rant.

My friend (also my ex-girlfriend) and I had an all-out bitching session about this the other day. Both of us are kinky fuckers who have rigid, complementary roles we prefer and we have both had our grueling days of struggling to reconcile our sexual tastes with our ideologies precisely because of how these things are frowned upon in conservative and progressive circles. Seeing that in fandom, of all places, is both insulting and exhausting. Topping and bottoming aren’t personality traits. Neither is D/s. It’s sexual preference and power play. It really does not have to be that deep. I am not exorcising childhood trauma using the bodies of women. My partners, former and current, have not been brainwashed by the patriarchy. We will not become better, more complete individuals once I magically stop being a stone top and my partners embrace the joys of a strap-on.

I have, with my own two eyes, seen someone say that in a really committed relationship, of course the couple will switch.

Bullshit.

It’s transparent bullshit. This does not get attributed to cisgender M/F couples. Even when the automatic assumptions of woman = bottom and man = top get addressed, switching isn't presented as the default. No one’s saying “oh, if you really love your husband, you’ll peg him”. I do know butch/femme sapphic couples get their own share of shit. Because it’s all heteronormativity, right? Can’t have any other reason for top/bottom roles.

You have two extremes with “so who’s the woman” on one end and “it’s woke only if they switch” on the other, and as far as I’m concerned, they’re equally damaging. There shouldn’t be a pressure, however subtle, to conform your taste in fiction to some arbitrary idea of progressiveness. People are going to like whatever they want anyway; all this does is create an atmosphere where those likes can’t always be freely expressed without a lot of mental gymnastics. We’re seeing so many versions of this in the pushback against so-called problematic content, but smaller, subtler versions exist too.

Fictional characters aren’t real. They can be whatever you want them to be. And yes, other people will often want them to be the exact opposite of your ideas, but that’s just how things work. Meanwhile, the people behind these usernames? They’re real. No one should be throwing real people under the bus to ‘protect’ characters that don’t exist. Hannibal Lecter doesn’t care whether he gets fucked or dismembered in Author B’s fanfiction, but the discourse that surrounds the dick up his ass? That does affect flesh and blood people.

I am not claiming that this is the only attitude in fandom. Middlegrounds do exist. Plenty of people abide by fic and let fic and there are folks who pipe up to say not every RL queer couple switches. But it’s often the extremes that reach most people. That was certainly my experience, and I’m not the only one.

I don’t really know how to end this post. It is 100% a rant and one that’s been building up for a while. Bottom line is that people’s sexual behavior varies wildly and whenever you attack sexual tastes in fanfic by saying it’s unrealistic - or worse because let’s be real, that’s a very tame word choice - please remember that there’s likely someone out there who practices it.

* I’m using switch and versatile synonymously in this post. It’s mostly concerned with top/bottom debates. A lot of what I’m saying is also echoed in portrayals of and discussions surrounding D/s dynamics, but I’m not addressing that as much for now.