#you get to see it in a rare state of melancholy

[deathbxnny]

hey I need you SO BAD to do like an arcane reaction where they’re drunk and what they do/say while it and btw I love your writing

What Arcane characters are like when drunk. | Vi, Caitlyn, Jinx, Ekko, Sevika x Gn!Reader

So this may have become a little too angsty for some of them, so uh... don't mind me-

Also, thank you so much! I'm glad you love my writing. It means a lot to me!<33

Content: Alcohol obviously, some potential heavy angst, Pit fighter Vi, established romantic relationships, some toxic behavior, this has been written by someone who has never drank a sip of alcohol in their life so I'm sorry if this is unrealistic, sfw

Reader has no set pronouns.

((Not fully proofread))

》VI

Her being drunk wasn't unusual, and in fact, it has become the norm for her at this point. It was the only way for her to numb the agony she was going through every day, and there was no stopping the cycle she was in. If she wasn't drunk, then she was fighting. But even the line that was drawn between those two states she was constantly in was becoming blurry and unintelligible. Things were getting out of hand, and so was her aggression towards everything that moved, anything that cared for her.

But at least you were still here with her, trying your best to keep her together and intact when she refused to be.

She can be cruel and unfocused whilst drunk, often either yelling or punching things to express her frustrations, and yet she never dared hurt you. You were the only light she had left, and she'd be damned if she snuffed you out, too. But this doesn't mean that she can control her words at times. She says things she regrets all the time, insults that cut deep or accusations that made no sense were common. Yet you stayed, you always stayed.

A part of her knows you deserve better, but until Jinx showed up, she refused to wane off the bottle that kept her even partially functioning daily. In a different life, she'd put the bottle down, however, and just finally hug you instead.

》CAITLYN

She doesn't drink much, and when she does, it's in strict moderation. She has a reputation to keep up and can't let her sharp senses falter at any time, especially once she becomes the commander of Piltover. But when it's just the two of you attempting to relax after an impossibly stressful day, the alcohol helps her relax and become more open with her troubles. Her grief had manifested into an uncontrollable force she shyed away from every speaking on, but in drunken moments like these, she'll allow herself to find melancholy in your arms, her flushed face pressed into your shoulder as she did so.

She may cry or laugh of the worries of the day, maybe break down from the guilt and frustrations, let the anger quell over but only still hesitantly even with her judgment clouded. This is a very rare state to see her in after the loss of her mother, and she trusts you to keep this vulnerable part of her safe and sound in your heart behind locked lips.

With that said, knowing how emotional she can get whilst drunk, she tries avoiding drinking too much during functions in case things get too much out of hand. She'd rather not make a fool of herself infront of everyone after all.

》JINX

She doesn't typically drink. But the few times she does with you at her side, she somehow becomes extremely calm and lazy. She'll practically lay in the chair she was sitting in, eyes squinting at a far away point on the wall, whilst she seemingly contemplates life. Most would think that the alcohol would enable her crazy tendencies even more, but alas, it simply turns her mostly docile.

I say mostly, as she usually mentally comes up with the craziest plans instead, all of which are questionably more unethical than the last. She'll eventually lose herself in those thoughts and become either unresponsive or mutter the silliest, incomprehensible things known to man. And there is certainly no in-between.

With that said, she will probably eventually snap out of it and begin rapidly speaking about all these thoughts to you without a single care in the world. Drunk Jinx is somehow less miserable and yet absolutely doesn't like the feeling of it afterward. Sure, it makes her mind stop thinking about her issues and past, but it still feels wrong, hence why it's rare to see her drunk.

Her terrible hangovers alone also cause her to stay away from alcohol in general. It's definitely not worth that pain to her.

》EKKO

Another person who doesn't drink often at all, albeit out of his responsibility as a leader. He has to be a good role model for everyone and only drinks when the occasion calls for it, like a festival or get together with friends and you. That's when he lets loose a little and allows himself to drink more than he probably should, resulting in a very clingy and loving Ekko.

His alcohol tolerance is embarrassingly low, and he always tells himself that he should know better than to down so many glasses at once... yet it's hard to keep count after about 2 and a half of them. Or so he'd say after he sobers up in the morning, much to your amusement. During the time he's fully hammered, though, he'll always have a hand in you and slur his words rather heavily, whilst he practically near proclaims his love for you for everyone to hear. This often results in you having to slap a hand over his mouth before he embarrasses himself further... which is somehow he hates.

He gets teased by the others all the time for it and glares when they mock his loving tone of voice that he only uses when he's in that impaired state with you. This alone makes him abstain from even a singular drop of alcohol... until the next festival roles around and he forgets to keep count again.

But hey, maybe he'll remember next time because you sure as hell won't remind him.

》SEVIKA

She drinks at bars all the time with you, although it's rare to see her ever get completely drunk. She has an extremely high tolerance to alcohol and it shows when there is barely a difference in her behavior. The only thing that may indicate something influencing her would be a slight slur in her voice and her being unwilling to get up or move around much at all. She'll just want to relax and play poker in peace, even if it starts getting hard to see the cards after a while.

Another way to tell that she may be getting drunk is by her sudden overprotectiveness. Sure, it was always there and never left, despite you being able to handle yourself alone. But when she's drunk, anyone that looks at you for too long in a way she doesn't like will either be punched in the face or yelled at to keep it moving.

She also definitely always denys being drunk or even tipsy when you ask her. Whether out of pride or stubbornness, you'll never know, but she will never admit to it. It doesn't matter if she denies it whilst being unable to walk straight either.

[lovelykil]

despite literally coming here yourself and sleeping in his bed, you wouldn't cuddle with him. It really wasn't your thing.

"why won't you turn around y/n..?" Izu whines, poking at your back some more. You on your side, away from him sealed your eyes shut and tired to fall asleep but you couldn't. Not with his whining ass.

"I don't feel like cuddling." You grumble, shifting away some more. Izuku's poking eventually ceased now that you moved away from him. There was a pause.. the peaceful silence lingered around, you were in content for about 4.5 seconds.

"but I miss you." He muttered, sounding like a sad little puppy. He was truly being sincere and sorrowful right behind you, even though you couldnt see it physically.. his voice gave it away. Your eyes dilate, you quickly turn over and look at him.

"you do?" You whisper. Izu nods slowly, his dejected eyes fixing on yours. You stare into them feeling as if you are being hypnotized, his pretty shade of green melancholy eyes have this strange effect on you that you despise.

but adore at the same time.. of course, you never admitted that to him.

you sigh, scooting closer toward the teen. His once sad eyes were now stunned and grateful as you inched towards him.

after a pleasant scoff, you grin into his warm neck, where you nuzzled your face into it.

"you're such a baby you know.."His cheeks flutter and his hearts skips a beat. He's growing nervous but he ached for your touch, wanting it all day. In the classroom, during training, outside of the classroom.

he just wanted you, and now he has you after endless waiting.. You're here finally.

he's quick to embrace you, hold you tight into his cozy chest. He knew you weren't big on affection, rarely giving him hugs or kisses out in public even barely when alone.

he respects your wishes and doesn't force you to do anything if you don't want to, keeping his space with you and suppressing his urges to just squeeze you into his strong arms, inviting or more so forcing you into a big hug.

at least you're getting accustomed to hand holding now.. it's a start, right? Well it definitely is for him. And now cuddling possibly?? Has he won the jackpot or something?

whatever the case, you were finally growing closer to him even if it was insults you threw at him to shield away your flustered state. You did love him but you weren't going to say it.

at least not yet.

you blush into the crook of his neck when he held you tightly, gosh, he is so clingy.

but you secretly enjoy it. His chin rests ontop of your head after he kisses your forehead with such sweet love.

you hold back a giddy smile but form one anyway.

damn this boy. what has he done to you?

[reidmarieprentiss]

Better Together

Summary: Spencer knows he messed up, he wants to prove to you that it was a mistake. His words, not you. You would never be anything but his person.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Category: fluff, hurt/comfort, angst

Warnings/Includes: aftermath of taking a break, reinforcing love and commitment, mild groveling, happy ending

Word count: 2.9k

a/n: i would just like to say that i do not think engagement equals love and i also don't think it's necessary to get engaged to "prove" your devotion -- this is fiction and mama wanted a ring lmao

main masterlist part one

As Spencer stepped into the quiet of the apartment, the absence of your presence was palpable, a silent echo of the space growing between you both. His gaze drifted across the familiar surroundings until it settled on the note affixed to the fridge. The sight of it—a stark, solitary piece of paper in the place usually bustling with the warmth of shared meals and conversations—felt oddly jarring.

The note was simple, void of excess detail, stating only that you had gone to stay with a friend. It didn’t say who, nor did it need to. The message was clear: you needed space. Spencer’s heart sank a little more with the understanding, yet there was also a part of him that acknowledged the necessity of this distance for both of you.

He stood there for a long moment, the weight of the empty apartment pressing down on him, reminding him of the gravity of your last conversation. It was time to use this space effectively, to reflect on everything you had said, on the emotions that had driven you to seek solace away from him. Spencer realized this was not just a moment to passively wait for your return, but an active opportunity to address his own fears, to understand his hesitations about the future, and to think critically about how he could make you feel more cherished and included in his life.

With a heavy sigh, he moved away from the note and sank down onto the couch, the silence enveloping him. He knew the coming days would be challenging, filled with introspection and perhaps painful realizations. But there was also a glimmer of hope—the hope that this time apart could lead to healing and a stronger foundation for whatever lay ahead. Spencer pulled out a notebook and began to write, outlining his thoughts and feelings, the fears he rarely voiced, and the steps he might take to bridge the gap between you. This was his chance to transform understanding into action, to show not just through words but through meaningful changes that you truly were his world.

—

Spencer was acutely aware that healing the rift between you would require more than just time; it demanded meaningful, heartfelt efforts. The damage done was not something he could fix overnight, but he was committed to doing everything in his power to mend your heart.

He started with texts. Spencer wasn't one to rely heavily on technology for emotional communication, but he knew you cherished seeing his name light up your screen. Each message he sent was carefully crafted, infused with warmth and affection, designed to remind you of his presence and his regret. Despite the sweetness of his words, you found yourself wrestling with the urge to respond. You appreciated his efforts—they tugged at your heartstrings, yes—but they weren't enough to sweep away the hurt that had built up.

Recognizing the limitations of digital words, Spencer transitioned to something more personal: handwritten letters. Since he didn’t know where you were staying, he sent them to your workplace, hoping the surprise of receiving mail would bring a smile to your face. Each letter was filled with his unmistakable handwriting, his words oscillating between heartfelt confessions, sweet nothings, and the occasional goofy remark that was so quintessentially Spencer. You couldn't help but smile sadly with each letter you opened, touched by his efforts yet still guarded, the emotions each letter evoked a mix of nostalgia and melancholy.

As days turned into weeks without a reply from you, Spencer realized he needed to do more, yet he was mindful of your dislike for public displays or grand gestures. He knew whatever he did next had to respect your boundaries and preferences.

So, he kept it simple. One evening, he showed up outside your workplace with nothing but a small bouquet of your favorite flowers and a hopeful smile. He waited for you, not as a grand gesture, but as a quiet statement of his willingness to do whatever it took to begin mending the gaps between you.

When you saw him standing there, something inside you stirred. It was a testament to his understanding of you, a reflection of his desire to make things right in a way that felt safe and respectful. The sight of him, so hopeful and earnest, cracked the protective wall you had built around your heart just a bit more.

His approach was soft, his voice tentative when he spoke. "I didn't come to pressure you, just to give you these," he said, extending the flowers towards you. "I just want you to know that I'm here, and I'm not going anywhere, not unless you want me to."

The simplicity of the gesture, the sincerity in his eyes—it all resonated with you, reaching deep into the places in your heart that still ached for him. This was the Spencer you loved, the one who understood you sometimes better than you understood yourself.

—

Your stay with Penelope provided a comforting pause, a needed respite that allowed you to sift through the whirlwind of emotions and considerations that clouded your thoughts. Despite the necessary distance and time for reflection, your draw to Spencer persistently tugged at your heart, a constant reminder of what might be at stake. After all, he remained the love of your life, despite everything.

Motivated mostly by yearning and somewhat by determination, you felt it was time to go back home. It was a Saturday, a day Spencer typically reserved for introspection and journaling—a practice you respected for its purpose, though lately, it seemed to fall short in facilitating effective communication between you two.

You entered the apartment quietly, the familiar setting wrapping around you like a well-worn comfort. You navigated through the silent spaces until you reached his office door. There he was, ensconced in his usual spot, pen in hand and deeply absorbed in his journal. For a moment, you just stood there, watching him, taking in the sight of your handsome boyfriend, so focused and earnest in his contemplation.

With a heart full of mixed emotions—hope, love, and a tinge of residual apprehension—you approached him quietly from behind. As you wrapped your arms around him in a gentle embrace, you could feel him tense briefly, startled by the unexpected contact. However, as soon as he recognized your scent, the one so intrinsically linked to home and comfort, his body relaxed under your touch.

“Hi, darling,” Spencer greeted, his voice a soft murmur of relief and warmth, the endearment lingering between you.

As you nestled closer into Spencer, the warmth of his neck against your cheek, you felt the familiarity of your bond slowly rekindling the embers of connection that had seemed so threatened recently.

"Hi, Spence," you mumbled softly, your words barely audible, filled with the comfort and sadness of everything that had passed between you.

"You came home," Spencer responded, his tone tinged with a mix of sadness and hopeful surprise, as if he hadn't fully believed he'd hear those words or feel your presence like this again.

You nodded against him, the gesture simple but loaded with emotion. "I missed you," you admitted, letting the truth of your feelings spill out in the quiet sanctity of his embrace. It was a confession, an olive branch extended in the hope of mending the fractures that had formed.

Spencer's hand came up to gently rest on one of yours, securing it against him, a physical affirmation of his gratitude for your return. He turned slightly within the circle of your arms, attempting to catch a glimpse of your face, needing to see the sincerity in your eyes that matched the words you just spoke.

"I missed you too," he confessed, his voice a whisper of relief mingled with lingering apprehension. "A lot more than I thought possible," he added, giving voice to the depth of his feelings during your absence.

There was a pause, a breath of silence as both of you allowed the honesty of the moment to sink in. Then Spencer ventured further, his words cautious but necessary, "Are we okay? I mean, can we... talk about everything?"

You felt a flutter of nerves at the question—it was the one you both needed to address, yet feared. Taking a deep breath, you stepped back just enough to look into his eyes, searching for and finding the earnest worry reflected there.

"We need to talk, yes," you agreed, your voice steady despite the tumult of emotions. "But first, let me just say this... I came back not just because I missed you, but because I believe we can fix this."

His eyes searched yours, looking for the reassurance they so desperately needed, and he found it in your steady gaze. "I want that too," he said, the vulnerability in his voice striking. "I want us to work through this, no matter what it takes."

Encouraged by his words, you suggested, "Let's start by really listening to each other. No interruptions, just us, trying to understand where the other is coming from."

Spencer nodded in agreement, the gesture firm. "I’d like that. I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and there are things I need to apologize for and areas where I need to do better."

"And I have things to admit too," you added, acknowledging your part in the strains that had tested your relationship. "Let's make a pact, here and now, to move forward together, with honesty and open hearts."

"Agreed," Spencer said, a soft smile finally breaking through the earlier tension. He extended his hand, a symbolic offering for you to shake. "Partners?"

"Partners," you affirmed, placing your hand in his, feeling a renewed sense of commitment enveloping the space between you.

—

"My parents' marriage... it wasn't something I ever wanted to emulate," Spencer confessed, the weight of his past evident in his tone. "And my father... he wasn't around. That left a mark on me, more than I usually admit."

Listening, you could see the struggle in his expression, the conflict of a man torn between his desires for a future with you and the scars of his past. His next words came slowly, each one a careful step forward. "I've been scared, really scared of turning into him, of failing as a husband... as a father."

"But," he continued, looking directly into your eyes, seeking the connection that had always grounded him, "knowing you, seeing how strong and committed you are, it gives me hope. When you came back... it meant everything. It told me that you're here, really here, even when things get tough."

You reached out, taking his hands in yours, squeezing them gently to offer reassurance and support. "Spencer, your past doesn't define your future. We can create something different, something better together. And I know you, you could never be like him. You're too caring, too thoughtful."

He nodded, a tentative smile beginning to form as the weight seemed to lift slightly off his shoulders. "Hearing you say that... it helps more than you know. I want to face these fears, not just for me, but for us. I want us to build a life together, free from the shadows of what was."

The conversation stretched on, each of you taking turns to lay bare fears and dreams, weaving a tapestry of shared hopes and commitments for the future. It was a pivotal moment, one that felt like a new beginning, as if you were both stepping out from under the heavy curtains of the past into a clearer, brighter day together.

—

One lazy Sunday, you were curled up on the couch, grateful for Spencer’s thoughtfulness as he had volunteered to run to the store to pick up the products you needed for your period. He had been so sweet and doting, eager to make you as comfortable as possible. In his rush to take care of you, however, he had left his phone behind on the kitchen counter.

When it started ringing, you instinctively picked it up, not even glancing at the screen, assuming it was your own phone. "Hello?" you answered casually.

"Spencer," Diana's familiar voice greeted you without skipping a beat. Before you could say anything, she continued. "I have your grandma’s ring. Would you rather I send it in the mail or do you want to come pick it up?"

You blinked in confusion, processing her words, especially the mention of a ring. "Um, hi, Diana," you replied awkwardly, realizing far too late that you were answering Spencer's phone, not your own.

"Oh, Y/N!" Diana's surprise was evident as she corrected herself. "I didn’t realize it was you."

You forced a small laugh, your mind already swirling with what Diana had just said. "Yeah, Spencer’s out running errands. I, um… picked up his phone by mistake."

"Well, no harm done," Diana chuckled lightly, though there was a warmth in her voice. "It’s good to hear your voice."

"Likewise," you replied, though your thoughts kept drifting back to the mention of the ring. "So, about that ring...?"

"Oh!" Diana said, realizing she might have let something slip before Spencer had a chance to talk to you. "It’s your grandmother’s engagement ring. Spencer and I were talking, and, well, he thought it might be nice to have it... for the future."

Your heart skipped a beat, the weight of her words settling in. Spencer was thinking about marriage, about proposing to you. Suddenly, the reality of your relationship felt larger, heavier in the best possible way.

"That’s... really sweet," you managed to say, though your voice wavered slightly, emotions swirling beneath the surface.

Diana’s tone softened, sensing what this meant for you. "He loves you so much, Y/N. I can see it every time he talks about you. I’m sure when he’s ready, it’ll be perfect."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. "Thank you, Diana. I appreciate that."

After a few more moments of polite conversation, you hung up the phone, still clutching it in your hand as you stared off into the distance. When Spencer came back a little while later, arms full of bags, completely unaware of what had transpired, you gave him a warm, knowing smile, your heart swelling with even more love for the man who had just picked up your favorite snacks.

"Everything okay?" he asked, noticing your slightly different demeanor.

"Yeah," you replied softly, still holding onto that secret knowledge. "Everything’s alright."

—

When Spencer finally brought the ring home, he did so with a heart full of intentions and a mind made up to bridge any distance that had crept between you two. The apartment you shared was softly lit, the ambiance calm and intimate—an environment that felt right for what he planned to do.

It was just an ordinary evening by all appearances, but for Spencer, it carried the weight of every moment that led up to this, every trial and misunderstanding, and every reaffirmation of his love for you.

You noticed he was a bit more fidgety than usual, pacing slightly before stopping in front of you, taking a deep breath as if to steady himself. You watched, curiosity piqued by his nervous demeanor, a soft smile playing on your lips, encouraging him silently.

"Y/N," he began, his voice stronger than his trembling hands. "I know there have been times when I haven't communicated well, when I've let my fears and past dictate how I handle our future." He paused, searching your eyes for understanding. "For every moment you felt you weren't enough, I am profoundly sorry. It was never about you not being enough; it was about me being too scared to admit how much I needed you."

You felt a rush of emotions at his words, warmth spreading through your chest, your eyes welling up with tears that mirrored the sincerity and vulnerability in his voice.

He took another deep breath, then knelt before you, the little box in his hand now open to reveal a ring—his grandmother's ring, rich with history and sentiment. "I can't imagine my life without you, and I don't ever want to try," he continued, his voice steady despite the tears that started to form in his eyes. "Will you marry me, Y/N? Will you be the joy in my every day and the peace in every night? Will you let me spend the rest of my life proving that you are, and always will be, more than enough for me?"

The room seemed to hold its breath as you took in the depth of his proposal, every word infused with his love and regret for any pain he had caused. Smiling through your tears, you nodded, words momentarily failing you as emotions took over.

"Yes, Spencer," you managed, voice choked with emotion. "Yes, I will marry you."

As he slipped the ring onto your finger, a symbol of promise and continuity, you both embraced, a long, tight hug that spoke volumes. It was a new beginning, a recommitment not just to each other but to always striving to be the best for each other.

In that moment, the past's shadows seemed to dissolve, replaced by the clarity of a shared future, one built on mutual love, respect, and the unwavering commitment to see each other through not just the easy moments, but especially through the challenging ones.

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[bluerosefox]

Gothamites Never Really Rest

Small warning in this: very light swearing, light mentions of deaths, and tw light touching on the subject of abuse, like very light. But still an fyi.

Danny was used to his main Rogues (Boxy, Ember, Skulker, etc etc, you know those guys) showing up randomly and at odd hours, causing some chaos around town due to their own boredom or just wanting some fun (the more deadly ones were rare to show up and his main Rogues do at least respect him enough to give him the rest of the day off when they sense a ‘big bad’ fight), he fights them, wins, before he send them back to the portal. Then they rinse and repeat this for the next day.

So as he really wasn’t expecting, especially since he had just sent his ghostly quota for the day back to the portal a few hours ago (Boxy of course, and Youngblood (dressed as a Firefighter this time, though the ending for their fight actually ended on a good note. YB had been asking Danny about space, Danny kinda hoped YB will be an Astronaut next time cause that would be fun)), Johnny 13 (and Shadow) to phase into his room as he was heading to bed.

Honestly (he groaned when he realized who it was, dealing with Johnny, Kitty (and Shadow) during a ‘break up’ or ‘lovers spat’ always was a pain) he was expecting Johnny to just start attacking but before Danny could demanded to know what he was doing in his room Johnny hesitatingly asked if they could talk.

Now Danny, talking to his main Rogues, like legit talking was a very rare thing. But it has happened a few times.

With Johnny asking if they could talk, his face nervous but not in a 'I pissed off Kitty and idk where she ran off to again', Danny nodded and agreed.

"Hey, so like I know we all kinda agreed not to go roaming too far from Amity because of the whole government suits guys and bringing unwanted attention to us ghosts in the names of the Super Dorks but is it alright if Kitty and I head across the state for a few days? I promise we'll be back and stay under the radar..."

"What?! Why would you guys need to something like that?!"

"....."

"Johnny, look dude I know Amity can get boring sometimes but-"

"Someone killed Kitty's abusive waste of space father three weeks ago, you know that fucker that killed us in cold blood when he found out Kitty and I were enloping. Yeah him. We felt it, we felt him die and... kid I can tell you how our cores SANG about it when he croaked. Whoever ended him, they did so for us. It was a revenge kill... It felt amazing. Its why you havent seen us too, we... we needed time to process that." Johnny quickly explained and that shut any protest Danny had up, he knew a bit of the story how Johnny and Kitty died, and it was respectful to allow one's fellow ghost to talk about their deaths should they talk of it.

With a melancholy smile and a hand petting a chirping Shadow who sprung up to comfort his other half, Johnny then said "Kitty's been avoiding returning to Gotham for ages since we woke up in the Realms and whenever we found a natural portal back to it. She's always been terrified of running into him and even being a ghost she's still can't. But he's gone now, we felt his life end and he isn't a ghost either! Like legit, if he became a ghost we'd still be able to sense our murderer you know!... Anyways she wants to visits her old haunts and maybe see if we can find some old friends, see how they're doing you know. We won't mess with them or anything, just a small pop in..."

"We... We also kinda wanna find the guy who did it too... We could feel his emotions when he ended Kitty's old man and firstly let me tell you, rage. Like a lot of it. But also we felt his need for justice and... he felt familiar... like someone we knew and he knew us. That's how we know it's a revenge kill. Someone did that for us and well.... Kitty and I wanna thank him you know."

-x-x-

Meanwhile in Gotham about three week prior.

A budding Crime Lord had crossed out the face of a older man from a photograph pinned onto a corkboard, below and connected by red strings was two other papers as well. One held the newspaper clipping of two bodies being found in a ditch with the remains of a busted up motorcycle, a young male and female were reportedly found halfway buried in it. The male was reported to be a trouble maker from Crime Alley, knowen for stealing tires while the female was the daughter of a suspected mob boss.

The other string however, lead to a small, yellowed from age and tiny bit damaged photo of three people. The photo held two older, nearly out of their teens, male and female both looking like rough city street kids. A motorcycle could be seen behind them an it was missing a wheel. The young man with blonde hair was kneeling on the ground, his hands holding onto a tire iron and he looked rather proud, the young female was wearing red and had some dye in her hair and was smiling as she held the camera taking the picture in a selfie as best as she could.

In between the two was a young kid, blue eyes and black hair, a beaming smile on his face as his own hands were on top of a tire wheel. A wheel he had finally learned how to take off in record speed thanks to Johnny teaching him.

Green eyes that shifted for a second to teal stared at the photo for a moment before saying

"Hope you both are resting easily now. Kitty, Johnny."

[cepheustarot]

Who will appear in your life soon and why?

Attention! This reading is for entertainment purposes only. This tarot reading does not give a 100% guarantee that all the described situations will occur or being ultimate truth. You build your own life and destiny and only you know yourself best.

✧ Masterlist ✧ Paid readings

Pick a pile. Choose one or more pictures. Trust your intuition.

Pile 1: An optimistic and cheerful person will soon appear in your life, who is looking for the pros and positives in everything. By themself this person is calm, reacts calmly to difficulties and problems in life because he believes that everything can be overcome. This person is able to adapt to sudden changes but prefers a stable life without impulsive changes. They can also be called moderately emotional, they do not dramatize and do not react sharply to anything but they are not stingy with feelings. By the way, they are very good friends, loyal, always ready to support and help, ready to help with solving any problem. They can also be generous, constantly give gifts, can pay the bill at the store / cafe for you, can get tickets and invite you to an event, to a movie, etc. Next to this person, there is a feeling as like a stone wall, you can always rely on them, you feel calmer with them. But this person can be very picky and categorical at times as they may have a peculiar taste and therefore it is difficult to make a choice. This person can also fall into melancholy, apathy at times and at such moments becomes uncommunicative, talks little, shares something, generally closes themself in. During such a period it is important to support them the same way they do and then they will be able to return to their former state soon.  This person will appear in your life as support and help in order to fulfill your goal. They can either directly participate in achieving the goal (for example, motivate, work with you on, be in the role of your coach, etc.), or morally support. To a greater extent I see that this person will play a role in realizing your desires but this does not mean that they will do everything for you, they will inspire you to take action.

Pile 2: A very emotional and sensitive person will soon appear in your life, to some extent i can say that they like to romanticize a lot around them, like to create aesthetics and a certain atmosphere, look beautiful, dress up, decorate a room or something like this. I see that they like to create something with their own hands and their activities have creative features, for example, they can draw, write, create something from clay, they can create compositions from flowers, do scrapbooking and everything like that. As I said earlier, they are very sensitive, they may have developed high emotional intelligence, their facial expressions are very emotional, they may have competent speech in which it is very rare to hear word-parasites. They deeply appreciate the connection with loved ones and if you can get closer and trust each other, then such a person will remain in your life for a long time. They also work a lot of time, they are purposeful but they need to see the result, otherwise their work will come to naught without it. They can become very attached to things because for them it is something memorable and associated with significant events in their lives.  This person will come into your life as an employee, a work partner, you can work on a project with him, make a deal, you can come up with ideas for creating something (here you can also include the creative sphere, for example, you will write a song together, you will work on creating a book, a series of short stories, you will do the feat). Cooperation with him will be painstaking, very saturated, sometimes difficult, as it is difficult to get along with them or you may not agree on some nuances but the result of the work done will definitely please you two and your efforts will pay off, bear fruit.

Pile 3: A somewhat mysterious, cold, detached and introverted person will soon appear in your life. They do not really like to talk about themselves, show their intentions and attitudes to a person not through words but through actions and deeds, through their behavior. This person likes to spend time with himself, they generally may not consciously make many friends, acquaintances, like to be alone, they value their personal space very much. They are also anxious individuals, constantly immersed in their thoughts, they may have low self-esteem which they hide very much behind their behavior. It is difficult for them to make a choice, they are very indecisive and very easily give in to pressure from the outside. They probably have as many complexes and fears. But at the same time, they are very smart, hardworking and diligent, erudite, they like to act according to a plan, they have everything clearly thought out and calculated. They are also passionate about a lot of things and have a lot of knowledge, know a lot of facts, can support almost any topic with this knowledge. They are curious, inquisitive, like to learn new things, explore something.  Speaking of why such a person will appear in your life... To be honest, I don't see any positive aspects here. They play the role of a person here, a third person who spoils relationships with people and they can negatively affect your relationships with friends, family or acquaintances in the company which will cause a strong quarrel between you. So for the most part, this is a warning, be careful! Perhaps these people will want to "take revenge" on you in this way or frame you because they dislike or have a personal dislike for you. They could also be offended by you because of some trifle but for them this trifle looks like a whole tragedy.

Thank you for reading! I will be glad of any feedback 🖤

[qwimblenorrisstan]

Treason | Azriel x Reader

Day 4: Blood w/ Azriel

Summary: You come home early from a trip, only to discover a particular Vanserra warming the bed in your place.

Word Count: ~1.6k

Warnings: Smut, gay sex, naked men, HEAVY angst, cheating, blood, violence (punching), mentions of illness, does not have a happy ending. this is literally just heartbreaking.

A/N: well, azris is now something I’ve written for. this is literally so sad, but gotta have something for angstober, even if I don’t think angst is my strongsuit. hope you enjoy<3

Requests are open!

It was late when you got home.

You were supposed to stay on your visit to Dawn Court a bit longer, but after falling mildly ill for a few days, you’d decided to cut it off a day or two early and return home. It wasn’t like you were too upset to go see your partner a few days earlier, even if the two of you weren’t mates, you were happy with what you had found.

Or at least you thought you were.

The House was dark when you arrived, the sentient home opening the door for you, quicker than normal, almost. As if urgent, trying to pull you along.

You didn’t want to wake Azriel, assuming he was asleep by now. He rarely got good sleep these days, getting up in the middle of the night to take flights, saying he needed to sort his thoughts. You didn’t blame him. His work wasn’t exactly the best for his mental state.

Sitting down at the table, you waited for the House to give you a meal, per usual, but it didn’t happen.

You waited a few seconds, pausing, and glancing around as if to see the reason for the delay around the room.

“House? Can I…have food?”

You whispered to the thin air, knowing you probably sounded stupid. Hesitantly, you knocked on the wood, raising a brow in confusion, waiting a few more seconds before getting up from your chair with a sigh, deciding that you could just get your own food.

You walked quietly over to the cabinets, hand closing around the cold metal that felt a bit warmer tonight. The House itself felt warmer, almost uncomfortably so. Maybe the House was just having an off day, you couldn’t think of any other reason for its strange behavior.

As if to prove your point, when you pulled on the cabinet, instead of opening, it remained stubbornly shut, as if glued by someone.

Maybe another one of Cassian’s “jokes”.

So you tried another cabinet, the one that held the bread, and it also stubbornly refused to open.

After trying cabinet after cabinet, drawers, and more, you discovered that everything refused to open. It was as if the Mother herself had just decided to make you go to bed hungry.

Sighing, you gave up, deciding to just eat in the morning, quietly starting to pad down the hallway, rolling on the balls of your feet to keep your steps silent, not wanting to wake anyone.

Cauldron knows Nesta would crucify you if you interrupted her beauty sleep.

It was then that you heard it.

The unmistakable sound of sex. Moans and grunting.

You could recognize Azriel’s voice, but not the other one in the room that you and he shared.

You froze in place, almost stopping breathing as a sick feeling twisted in your gut, different from the nasty illness you’d gotten in Dawn. No, this wasn’t a physical sickness, it was a mental one. You tried to convince yourself that your assumptions were wrong, that you were overthinking and this was all just a big misunderstanding.

That you’d be able to fold into Azriel’s warm, strong arms like nothing had happened after this, that he would still be your safe place.

An invisible hand, familiar but alien at the same time, urged you forward, whispering into your ear.

Keep going, it said.

You must see, it murmured into your ear.

It felt like the wind raking through your hair, a gentle caress that was there and gone, a sad melancholy that seemed to already know there was no happy ending to this story. You’d been doomed from the moment you stepped into the House.

And so you continued walking.

You weren’t sure if it was just your imagination or not, but the air seemed to grow thicker, suffocating, wrapping hands around your throat and squeezing until you were almost hyperventilating when you walked. It was warmer here.

Much warmer than the House usually kept it at.

The hallway seemed to stretch on indefinitely, and you walked and walked and walked until the door was standing in front of you, handle staring at you.

Laughing at you.

Your shaky palm enveloped the handle, turning, pushing, unveiling the scene in the bedroom.

In your bedroom.

Your bed.

The other male was below him. Red locks that had a silver gleam in the dim light were strewn above him like a crown on the pillow that his face was shoved into. His ass was in the air, back arched, knees pushing into the bed.

Azriel was bare just like the other male. Kneeling behind him. Hovering over him.

Inside of him.

His hips pushed forwards and backward, a rhythm that seemed to taunt you, a rhythm you’d experienced before, but never quite so frenzied, never so excited or eager like it was his first time all over.

His wings were flared out, casting a deep shadow over the Vanserra beneath him. The Heir beneath him.

The enemy beneath him.

The door had swung open, the knob finally hitting the wall, and immediately Azriel snapped over to look at you, eyes widening.

You didn’t even know if you were crying. Everything felt numb, like a dream you could reach but not quite hold. Your limbs tingled, some sort of anger, or maybe sadness building, an outburst.

You could feel it coming as you watched, eyes dead, face blank.

Eris groaned at Azriel stopping, turning his head to look at him, but catching your eye as he saw you. He inhaled sharply.

The room went cold.

The candle went out.

It went further than just discovering an affair, you knew.

Eris was from another Court.

A Court that currently wasn’t allied with Night Court.

Azriel was essentially committing treason, an act punishable by imprisonment or even death in severe cases. And with Mor’s past with Eris, and how close Rhys was with Mor? There was no doubt in your mind Rhys would be pissed. Mor would be crushed.

Not just treason of the Court, but treason of the family as well.

Azriel seemed to realize this, rearing back away from Eris, the redhead hissing as Azriel yanked out of him. The shadowsinger tried to approach you, pulling a towel around his waist to cover himself.

Another towel was laid on the floor.

They’d both taken a shower in your bathroom.

The bathroom you and Azriel had shared once.

That sick feeling in your stomach traveled up and up, metastasizing through your blood, reaching your head and a blind anger overcame you.

Your head felt white hot, molten, almost.

Magma filled your veins, but not in the usual way it had in the past with Azriel.

His lips were moving. He was talking, saying something. You couldn’t hear over the ringing in your ears.

You didn’t bother trying to listen as that magma slid into your hands, your knuckles and fingers as your fist landed right on his jaw. Just like Cassian had taught you.

Just like Nesta had taught you.

He visibly recoiled, head spinning, Eris was on his feet now, baring his teeth.

You were yelling, words that tasted like iron and spoiled milk and rotten food that had been left out for too long leaving your lips, hands balled into fists again.

Something warm and wet was sliding down your cheeks.

Azriel kept saying something over and over, the same words leaving him, and it was only when a smarter part of your brain managed to finally listen, did you hear it.

“He’s my mate.”

You heard the choked sobs coming from him now and saw Eris rushing to him, trying to comfort him. The instincts in full control.

Then your senses picked up on it, your body kicking into overdrive and processing faster and faster now that your fight or flight had snapped.

They were mated. Freshly.

They had used your away time to seal the mating bond.

You knew you should feel bad for the crimson liquid dripping down Azriel’s nose from another punch you must’ve thrown, not even remembering properly anymore.

You should be happy for them.

But instead, you turned on your heel, walking out of the room into the hallway, only to see Cassian with bleary eyes walking over, visibly confused, and Nesta close behind.

But she knew. You could tell.

By that anger in her eyes that matched what you felt. The silver lurching in her icy blue eyes. She saw you, and murmured something to Cassian, him nodding, and she walked over to your side.

No words were said.

None needed to be.

She knew where you were going already. A place that was always safe, no matter what. The library door wasn’t locked like the cabinets had been. It never was.

You walked in, and that strange presence wrapped around you like a blanket, comforting. You walked and walked and kept walking, the labyrinth of bookshelves giving their condolences as you passed.

You only stopped walking when you reached a small nook, an area with windows of stained glass, moonlight gleaming through them and color splaying out on the floor, onto you and Nesta as you stopped and sat on the floor, back to the wall.

She sat next to you.

You leaned forward, curling inwards, only then breaking open and letting every shard of broken glass spill out of your eyes as sobs wracked your body, shaking you, cracking the stone foundation you’d built yourself on.

The sand that had felt like stone until the storm came.

Until you had to mourn someone who was still alive.

Tags:

@hawke1917

@angstober

[milliesfishes]

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡Star Girl⋆౨ৎ˚⟡

⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖masterlist⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ [fem reader] contains: attempted kidnapping pairing: billy the kid x fem reader summary: billy meets a star girl author’s note: thank you my darling @phantomamor for talking ab this with me and helping me flesh out this world and the characters! MWAH I'm so excited for you all to read this <3 Pinterest Board Spotify Playlist

The city was buzzing, breathing life into what had formerly been a word on a map to Billy. Beings of every species imaginable were conversing, haggling over prices and gossiping amongst themselves. It was impossible to stand still without touching anyone.

Billy's pockets were newly lined with the reward of his latest bounty, not as much as he would have liked for his efforts, but something, nonetheless. When he was newer to this line of work, maybe it would have put a spring in his step. Maybe he'd have even whistled, allowing himself a look at the shiny blasters arranged at the nearby table, maybe even considering buying one.

But today his spirits were lowered, melancholy even. His boots trudged along the dusty footprints of those who'd walked before him, hands shoved in his pockets. He ignored the call of surrounding merchants, letting their voices blend into the hum.

It was the same thing over and over again. He'd find some treasure long prized by a pawn dealer, risk his neck to locate it, and accept a measly price in return. Later today he'd fork over a portion to Jesse, the price for using the gang's name to secure better offers. And then the cycle would repeat.

It was a baseless existence. Flying all over the galaxy, getting his hands on things others deemed precious. It was funny- it all looked so important on the pages of a book, but not once when he held it in person did it feel that way. As far as he was concerned, it was terribly unimportant, faint relics destined for a life on the shelf. He almost felt bad removing them from their natural states. Every gem, every weapon...it felt like robbing a grave.

Clumping down the road until he emerged from the mouth of the crowd, Billy stopped for a moment, leaning against the brick of a building close at hand. On a normal night he'd go to the bar, but right now it seemed unappealing. The last thing he needed was a drink. He supposed he could return to his ship and retire early for the night. Goodness knew he didn't get enough sleep as it was.

Standing up straight, Billy was about to make his way back in the direction of his ship when a peculiar sound caught his ear.

"Excuse me sir...I need to get past..."

"Pretty little thing. C'mon sweetheart..."

Immediately Billy turned sharply, searching for the source. He took a step forward, ducking his head around the corner into an alleyway. The sight before him nearly made his blood boil.

A man, clearly heavily intoxicated, grasping the arm of a young woman. Billy couldn't tell what species she was from first glace, but she looked remarkably human from here. In the soft glow of the sunset, he could see the shine of her hair. There was a glow that seemed to brighten her from the inside out, as if her heart was made of light. Her eyes were wide, fear pooling in the centers.

You stared up at your captor, struggling slightly. "Please. Just let me go."

"Ain't lettin' one of your kind slip past," the man spat. Billy winced- he could practically feel his hot, liquor tainted breath from here. "Damn star people."

It hit Billy like a shot to the stomach, his body stiffening as he realized it. Your glow. You weren't human at all.

Star people were rare to see, especially in a place as godless as this. Said to have been born from the heavens themselves, star people were a legend lilted from the lips of bounty hunters far and wide across the galaxy. The blood coursing through their veins wasn't crimson, but golden, and it ran for a price that was enough to set a man up for life. The species made themselves scarce due to this fact.

When Billy was learning the art of the hunt, he'd accompanied a man seasoned on the market, seeking a rare plant with silver berries going for a decent price. It had confused him when they hunted down a man with a golden luster and tied him down instead of scouring the nearby forest. He assumed they were going to question him about the location of the plant, let him go when he'd given up such trusted information.

But instead, his companion drew a knife, turning to Billy with a hungry look in his eyes. "Watch 'n learn Kid. Always seize the opportunity for a better bounty."

Much to Billy's horror, the knife came down on the golden man's skin, drawing forth a spurt of shining liquid. He was paralyzed watching him bleed out, his inside life force collected by someone so overtaken by greed that he failed to realize the awful thing he was doing.

The memory of the star person's face as he died had haunted Billy ever since he witnessed it. It was the reason he'd never collected a living bounty since. And it was the reason his feet were moving forward now, straight into the alleyway. His hands tore the man away from you, shoving him aside. His body hit the ground with a heavy thump, buying you some time. Billy extended a hand to you. "Come with me. Before he gets up."

You shrank back a bit, the sight of another man so close likely terrifying. Billy winced at the swiftness of his actions, but he emphasized his hand. "It's okay. I'm not gonna hurt you."

In the dim light, Billy could see the golden sheen filling your body with light, the freckles dotting your arms like a sun had kissed them. There were strands of gold woven into your hair, making you appear nearly unreal. And suddenly the notion of you being descended from the stars didn't seem so impossible.

Slowly, you set your fingers in the palm of his hand, your soft touch igniting something in him, a conflagration that reached from his toes to his hairline. When he looked into your eyes, he could have sworn they were glowing.

Carefully, he led you out of the alleyway, back into the streets, which were emptying with each strain of darkness that settled in. Your breathing was slowing down as you followed him, shoes barely making a sound on the cobblestone ground.

There was a loud clatter behind you that sounded suspiciously like a blaster falling from a holster, and Billy squeezed your hand without thinking. "Quick-run!"

Almost akin to a doe, you started sprinting with him, surroundings becoming a blur. Your skirt trailed behind you, the pale color of it making it look like you were being followed by mist. It and your top were of light iridescence, shimmering as you hurried along beside him. It was mesmerizing how gracefully you ran, and it made him feel a hundred pounds heavier as his boots clomped alongside your slippers.

There were string lights swooping over the gap in the streets, twinkling like your eyes. You both came to an abrupt stop once you turned a corner, panting for breath. Your hand was still engulfed in his, and he didn't complain when you kept hold.

Turning his face to you, Billy was expecting distress, tears even. But your expression was elated. Shoulders rising up and down, your eyes caught on his, the sight of your smile making him feel as though he was watching the sunrise. "Do you think he was even chasing us?" A breathy giggle trailed after your words like fairy dust.

Billy couldn't help his own chuckle bubbling from his lips. "Better safe than sorry."

Putting your free hand to your heart, you took in a deep breath, watching him warmly. "Thank you for rescuing me. He's been following me all night and I made a mistake in where I went to try and lose him."

"My pleasure." Billy tipped his hat. It was a product of his upbringing more than anything, but he imagined even the worst of scoundrels would find themselves gentlemen in your presence.

He was endeared when you lifted the sides of your skirt, sweeping a foot delicately behind your ankle and bowing your head. "Twas good of you anyways, sir."

"Billy." He was grinning.

"Billy." You said it so lightly, so curiously, and he wanted to exile his name from everyone else's mouth. In sweet tones, you told him your name too. Your identifying word could have been anything and he would have found it beautiful simply because it was attached to you.

Taking in a breath as fine as spun silk, you said, "I truly do appreciate what you did. Not everyone would have." The luscious curtain of your hair fell over your shoulder as you leaned in, and the ambrosial scent of you filled his nose. Every detail of you was coming to light, enhancing you when he thought he'd already viewed perfection. Billy was no purveyor of the arts, but you were a masterpiece.

You were close enough that he could see every freckle that dotted the smooth plane of your face, and their gold color. The beads of your top kissed your arms like droplets of water. Even as the night settled upon the world, your skin glimmered, every shining strand of hair winking at him like a call to reach out and touch. He was sure that you would melt under his roughened fingers if he did.

Remembering himself, he cleared his throat, nodding once. "Maybe not everyone knows what's right."

Something changed in your eyes, and he saw a flicker, a flame in your irises. Suddenly he couldn't seem to tear his eyes away, like both your hearts were magnets yearning to connect. Pushing your hair over a shoulder, your eyelashes fluttered as you peered up at him. He was unsure if it was your heavenly origins that were drawing him in, or if it was you. "Can I walk you back home?" The sentence slipped from his mouth before he could regulate it, his body's natural instinct to be near you for longer.

Even the littlest hint of your smile was dazzling. Your head bobbed up and down, and you squeezed his hand lightly. "I'd like that."

Oh how he would thank the heavens later.

The cosmos were brimming with eternal wonders that burned at their edges, gathering in the dark side of every moon and hiding in the shadow of the rings of silvery planets. Billy had been far and wide across the space of the galaxy, seen things man could never dream up. But never had he been so captivated by anything as you.

Your coppery aura enveloped him like an aphrodisiac, crashing over him and rebounding like the waters of some lost ocean. He was tethered to even the mere idea of you.

You chattered as he walked with you to your residence, and he felt like he was listening to a song. Your being seemed to not only decorate space, but time, and he'd lose a thousand hours in your presence if he could.

"I haven't lived here for long," you explained when he asked, eager to hear you talk about yourself. "I travel between planets, seek passage wherever I can find it. Travelling is my favorite thing." You smiled, seeming to lift off your feet at the thought. "What brings you around here?"

"For work," he said, tearing his eyes away from you to look ahead. Feathered creatures were flying low between string lights, the buzz from earlier dulled to a quiet hum. "I find things for folks who want 'em. 'n they pay me to do it. The last buyer was here."

"You're a treasure hunter?" you asked, delighted by the idea. He exhaled softly, smile growing. Treasure hunter sounded much better than bounty hunter.

He nodded, looking back at you. "Yeah. 'xactly. I find pretty things that folks wanna have."

"So you get to go all over the place," you mused, swaying slightly as you walked like a willow in the breeze. "It must be so wonderful."

"It's exciting, sure," he commented, scratching the back of his head. It was beguiling how much interest you were taking in him, in what he did. Nobody had ever done that before.

You chewed on your bottom lip, pace slowing as you seemed to think of something. Lifting your eyes to his, you let go of his hand and asked, "Does anyone ever want to have something like me?" The question was delivered quietly, with a sense of dismay Billy wanted to scrub from the air. You didn't deserve to ever have to feel such harrowing emotions.

He held your gaze, the reality of the situation seeming to gamble with his feelings. Would you want to talk to him after learning what he was, what people in his occupation did? "Yeah," he found himself saying. "But I ain't in that kinda business."

"You're not?" Conduct lightening again, you held a spark of hope in the vision of you.

"I don't go after anythin' livin'. It's cruel," he assured you, searching your eyes. "Others do. But not me."

There it was again, that divine smile that Billy wanted burnt into his eyes. You took his hand again, resuming walking, and he felt something warm him on the inside. "I'm glad. I'm glad that you don't."

"Me too," he agreed, enjoying the weight of your hand in his. It was almost like you didn't realize the significance of the gesture, like you were doing it simply because it felt nice. There was nothing but innocence attached.

It was blissful just walking with you, watching you point out different things around. You were enthralled by every facet of your surroundings, enchanted by the littlest things. It was adorable- the way you'd gasp and lift a gold-tinted fingernail, the object of your fascination ranging from bugs to buildings. It only made you more wholly beautiful, and he wished the walk was longer.

When the sky was completely black, you stopped in your tracks, another little gasp of the variety he'd grown to love passing your lips. "There they are!"

He followed your gaze up, to where the stars were blinking in patterns stretching far and wide, limbs that glittered in the same wondrous way you did. You lifted a hand in a wave that melted his heart, beaming up at the glinting little spheres. "They're my family. I wave at them every night to let them know I'm okay."

Your words were anointed with a reverence artfully arranged. Billy watched you for a moment. "Hope they're okay with me takin' you home."

"They're very grateful that you've kept me safe," you insisted, squeezing his hand gently. He was stabilized by you, held to the ground. If you left the planet, his gravity would be gone and he would float out into the sky with nary a worry except that he wouldn't pass you on his way through space.

The effect of you had to be alchemistic, a mercurial drug crafted specifically to wrench him in like prey to predator. But you were in front of him, soft and sweet with no possible hint of danger. And Billy felt as though he'd been knocked over the head, seeing an illusion borne of his own loneliness. Though anything of that manner would have faded by now. You remained in his line of sight, roseate and sparkling as only a descendant of the heavens could.

The two of you had reached the edge of the forest, the cobblestone street fading into rich brown earth. You were glowing ever so slightly, enough to distinguish you as extraordinary, and he felt as though he was in a dream, trailing behind you as a shadow.

Stopping there, you turned to him, a darling smile seeming to brighten your light. "Thank you again. For walking me home. And for helping me out."

"'s no problem, sweet." The term of endearment slipped out, and he cursed himself for the half a second before you smiled.

"It was nice," you started, and he found himself hanging onto every word, every breath you exhaled. "To talk to someone who wasn't wanting something else from me." Your doe eyes were boring a hole into him, and he would have disintegrated into dust.

"I liked talkin' to you too," he said, hearing the awe he'd felt all night with you creep into his words. "D'ya...d'ya think I'll see you 'round here again?"

"If it's written in the stars," you smiled, letting go of his hand. With one last look at him, you disappeared through the trees in the blink of an eye, soft glow visible through the mess of branches, then fading into the distance like a candle burning out.

For a moment, all Billy could do was stand there, grinning like a fool. He hadn't even known he was capable of feeling as strongly as he had when you were around. He'd held the hand of a fallen star. A daughter of celestial magnitude.

Chuckling in disbelief, he only turned around when your glow was swallowed by the forest, never dimming, just hidden like a light under a bushel. His steps were meandering, and he retraced his footsteps, drunk on the memory of you. Oh, wouldn't it be nice if he saw you again?

It wasn't every day a star girl smiled at him.

Next Part

[luvvvivii]

can we get a changbin taking care of really sick reader? i am suffering rn 😪

11.58pm — s.cb

pairing - changbin x gn!reader

genre - fluff, timestamp

wc - 398

warnings - reader is sick, like one usage of 'babe'

a/n - I'm soso sorry for getting this out so late ml 💔 hope this was up to your standards tho

synopsis - one stuffy night your stuck home sick. lucky for you, your wonderful boyfriend is here to look after you

[11:58pm] — "achoo!" your whole body jerked as your nose sniffled away under the blankets. you were trying so hard to be quiet, to not disturb changbin whilst he was working, but couldn't help the loud sneeze that erupted. you sighed and turned onto your back, looking up at the ceiling in melancholy. that was when you heard the door to your shared room creak open slowly. uncovering the blankets from your face, you see your boyfriend staring at you with sympathy in his eyes.

"babe, you sure you don't want me to stay here with you?" you nodded your head, but it seemed as if there was no point. changbin was already there by your side on the bed with tissues, medicine, and heated soup he had made prior to your current situation. you chuckled a little, so happy at the fact he cared so much.

"you don't have to do this binnie, I told you I'm fine." as if life was against you once again, you released a chesty cough upon saying those words, making changbin wince slightly whilst passing you tissues.

"even if you were alright, I would still want to be here by your side. so it's final! I'm staying right here in bed with you until you get better!" he laughed and handed you the soup to have and slowly took out the medicine for you to have.

you were always pretty weak, and getting sick wasn't a rare occurrence for you. that was why changbin was almost forced into learning how to look after you and cater to your needs (not as if he wouldn't have learnt it anyway). you felt bad for making him do such nice things for you, especially when he would usually have sharp deadlines and lots of melodies to submit as a producer. but no, changbin always had time for you. he would always make time for you.

"yn? are you okay?" changbin's voice snapped you back to reality, showing slight concern for your current state.

"hm? oh, yeah, I'm okay. just spaced out a bit."

"alright that's good. now, how about we get some rest?" he slowly tucked himself into bed under the sheets, giggling and getting all comfortable beside you.

"what about your project? didn't chan say he wanted you to send it in by tomorrow morning?"

"that can wait. what's more important right now is you."

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[erzherzog-von-edelstein]

Kiss prompt 16 for ruspru please!!!

The cold wind whipped through the bare trees, and Prussia put the collar of his coat up to protect his neck.

He glanced down at the mud that was caking his boots before he said, “Strictly speaking, I should not be talking to you at all. We don’t have an armistice.”

Russia sighed and glanced over his shoulders, “I told my commanders it would be a short conversation. I don’t know what you told yours.”

Prussia had been avoiding looking up at him, since he was not sure what he was going to see. He had heard so much about the state of his enemy and he didn't know what to believe. But it was cowardice, and he knew better.

He looked up at Russia and had to suppress a gasp. He had guessed it would be bad from the reports that he had heard about the state of the Russian provisions. But he had not expected the man to look so tired and thin. Under the imperial officer's cap, there were hollows in his cheeks and circles under his eyes.

Prussia had to clear his throat to avoid the emotions that welled up in his chest before he said, “I told them that the war was not going to be won or lost in the next ten minutes. I doubt this will get back to Berlin.”

Russia was fidgeting with his gloves, though it was far too cold to take them off. He glanced down as he said, “Of course, your brother in Berlin. You have to listen to him.”

Prussia could hear the bitterness in his voice and felt almost guilty about it. He had not ever intended to make a choice between his lover and his brother. But he knew that a good soldier would never admit that. Nor could he say that his brother was in France, not in Berlin.

Russia’s melancholy couldn’t move him to undermine Germany, even if it made his chest feel heavy. He said, “You’ve known that for years. You know me well enough to know that I will not mutiny, even for you. What did you want to talk to me about?”

Russia looked around like he was searching for the words. Then he turned his face to the sky and took a deep breath. Prussia had never seen him look so outwardly nervous before; he usually quietly simmered.

Finally, he met Prussia’s eyes and said, “I wanted to see you one last time.”

He stepped closer, but nothing about his manner made Prussia want to reach for his knife. The look in Russia’s eyes was unsettling, the kind of sadness and exhaustion that mortal men were rarely capable of. The closer he got, the more clearly Prussia could see it.

Prussia said, confused, “What do you mean the last time?”

The other man answered, “Do you know that the first time we met was somewhere around here. On a lake in the winter.” His lips twitched like he was about to smile, “Do you remember?”

Prussia was distinctly aware that he had dodged the question. He said, “Of course I remember,” before repeating emphatically, “What do you mean the last time?”

Russia sighed and ran his hand over his arm like he was trying to warm himself up, “I have this feeling that something terrible is about to happen. I am aware that I cannot win this war, but it feels like there is worse in store.”

Prussia shook his head, “Then surrender and go home and rest. It is not that dire.”

He meant it to be comforting, but he realized how hollow it sounded the moment he said it. He tried to add, “Losing a war isn’t the worst thing. We have both done it before.”

Russia shook his head, “No, Gilbert, no. It doesn’t feel that way.” He continued to rub his arm like he was chilled.

Cold? He never felt the cold.

He continued, “That damn mystic said something to me about seeing a shadow hanging over me. I thought it was a lie. But he’s dead now and every day I feel it getting closer. There's an ache.”

Prussia shook his head. He sincerely did not understand what was happening. He’d never known Russia to be spooked by anything. He let some of his old tenderness break through his discipline, “Vanya, you’re not well. Tell the tsar to make peace. You need it.”

Russia shook his head again, “No one can tell Nicholas anything. I think that I will see Hell before I see peace.”

Prussia saw the movement as he swallowed heavily, like it was something terribly painful. Then, like he was gathering courage, Russia said, “I asked to talk to you alone because I want to touch you one more time.”

Prussia could not believe what he was hearing, “What?” Russia’s gaze was completely sincere and pained as he said, “Just one kiss, that's all I'm asking for. Give me one more moment before…”

He trained off, not making clear what exactly it was that he was so afraid of.

Prussia’s discipline told him to say no to an enemy. His heart knew this man beyond that, and he could tell it was no ploy. He looked over his shoulder to see if anyone was close enough to see.

Once he was sure that not a soul was near, he said, “Only one.” Russia needed no further permission. He closed the space between them and put his hand to Prussia’s cheek gently. He leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn’t deep or lusty, but Prussia felt his heart skip a beat at the feeling of those chapped lips against his.

Something else was troubling him though. As they parted, he said it, “Your fingers are cold.”

He had felt it even through the gloves. He had spent much colder winter nights with the man and never felt the chill on his skin like that. It was strangely mortal and so unlike him.

Prussia felt a chill pass over his own skin. Something was actually wrong.

Russia pressed his lips together like he was trying to hold onto the sensation before responding, “I told you. There is something coming.” He pulled away, “Thank you for indulging me, Gilbert.”

With that, he turned and walked away.

[penultimate-step]

One thing that interests me about Koyomi and Tsubasa's relationship, especially early on, is the contrast between how much they care about each other and how little they really understand each other. From their first meeting, their relationship begins with a complete lack of understanding.

All through Bake, Hanekawa is talked up extremely highly by Koyomi. In his eyes, she's the one who knows everything, the one who is always right. Her own catchphrase might be "I just know what I know," but this is in response to Araragi complimenting her about knowing everything. He rarely thinks that she can possibly be wrong - which makes it almost funny in retrospect to realize that he holds this opinion of her despite the fact that one of the first inferences he every sees her make is massively misreading his own issues.

In Kizu, spurred by the day's sense of melancholy and the sudden absurdity of Hanekawa's skirt situation, Koyomi briefly opens up and is emotionally honest with Hanekawa. (Given that we as readers learn most about him from internal narration, this is bigger than it seems: this is one of the moments when he shares the most about himself out loud to others in the whole series.) It's not his whole deal, not by a long shot, but he gets across the basics: his strained concept of the value of friendship and human connections, his sense of nihilism, and his desire not to have to live as a human: "I want to become a plant," he tells her, "so that I wouldn't have to talk or walk." Honestly I'm not sure what a good response is to someone you are only now having a first conversation with telling you all about his depression, but Hanekawa chooses to reject it. She tells him that normally people would dream of becoming something like a rock, but in his case, since plants are a form of life, "You still want to be a living thing." Subtextually: "You don't really want to kill yourself. You aren't suicidal." To this, Koyomi basically thinks, Huh, never thought about it like that. Maybe you're right. and moves on.

….20 pages later, Koyomi chooses to kill himself for Kiss-Shot's sake, stating, "There isn't a single reason for me to bother staying alive." Kizumonogatari is in large part about Araragi's suicidal depression. Hanekawa, I love you, but you misjudged this one.

Even at this early stage of their relationship, Hanekawa thinks highly of Koyomi, much more than he deserves. As such, when confronted with something she considers a weakness, like his supremely low self-worth, she tries to justify why this isn't actually a trait he has.

Much later, by the time of Neko White, she's gotten a better chance to get to know him and become familiar with his him as a person, including his flaws, enough that she and Senjougahara can list them for hours. But that doesn't necessarily mean she understands him or his motivations - because she cares for him so much, she ends up idealizing his bad traits and his personal weaknesses into charm points and strengths. She says at the book's start that she admires him because of his confidence in his own identity, describing him as a person who doesn't hesitate over questions of who he is as a person or what he should be and do moving forward and comparing herself unfavorably to her own lack of sense of identity.

Readers, having read his narration in Kizu and Neko Black know this is far from true; that he spends a huge amount of page count trying to reflect on where he stands in life. The climaxes of both those books are great examples. In Kizu, Koyomi has a huge internal crisis after seeing the death of Guillotine Cutter. He tells Hanekawa that he is unsure if he is human or monster, worrying even that he'll eat her. He is unsure if he is going to oppose Kiss-Shot or not. And on top of that, his own guilt is eating him alive, causing him to question the worth of all his actions in the book so far. There's no way that this can be called a man sure of who he is, and it is Tsubasa herself who snaps him out of it. He relies on her presence as a guide to move forward. She has first hand experience seeing him experience deep uncertainty as to what kind of person he wants to be, but her narration in Neko White claims the opposite - that his consistency and surety is a trait she admires. A similar kind of struggle happens in Neko Black's ending, though given her own stresses and struggles at the time its very understandable that she didn't catch this one. Time after time Tsubasa is the one to see Koyomi's doubts and greatest moments of weakness, but rather than harm her view of Araragi, if anything it seems to have raised her opinion of him. In her Neko White letter, she admires what she calls "confronting his own weaknesses." She talks about falling in love with him when she saw that he was crying as he saved Kiss-Shot, comparing it negatively to how she showed no emotion and smiles through both suffering and aid. She basically says this outright in the letter: to her, all of Araragi's flaws becomes positive. Moments of self-doubt become moments of self honesty, to cry while acting is to remain true to oneself, and so forth.

Not that Koyomi is a genius at understanding her, either. While he admires her, for most of Kizu a lot of whats going on between them is going on in his head - he's projecting his own issues onto her and he deals with her more as what she represents to him than an equal friend, as he will come to treat her later in Bake and beyond. Neko Black, taking place between these two points, shows him in the middle of this transition.

I feel like there's less to say on his side though, just because Neko Black is much more explicit about Koyomi's failure to understand Tsubasa than Kizu is for the reverse. When she feels obligated by friendship to tell Araragi about her struggles with her family, in a reversal of their first conversation from the start of Kizu, he has this to say about it:

Despite having been friends for a month by then he realizes he has still been seeing her more as an ideal than a person. However, his reaction here, in contrast to when the situation was flipped, also illustrates that his way of misunderstanding is subtly different from the way Hanekawa misunderstands him. Rather than a direct dismissal, Koyomi, while originally ignorant, does come around to understanding What Tsubasa will do. However, he does this while blocking out any understanding of Why she would act like this. He can grasp the actions and emotions, but not the underlying causes.

As an example, near the end of Neko Black, after Koyomi has had some time to internalize his new understanding of Hanekawa, he is able to predict her words to her father before Meme tells him, then later develops a plan to deal with the Cat based around predicting her actions well in advance, first luring her out and then baiting her into attacking him. However, despite all this, he seems to have no knowledge, or perhaps is intentionally blocking out, the motivations behind her actions. Theres a reason she calls him "the worst" when he offers to give his time and energy to deal with her stress. (And much like when he healed her injury earlier, this is him dealing with symptoms rather than the true problem.) Because he's totally misjudging what she actually wants.

A similar pattern can be seen in the Cat chapter of Bake, when he first sees the cat. He realizes this means she's stressed, and can guess at how this will make her act and that things might get dangerous, but has no idea what set her off this time, not until the Cat tells him outright why things got to this point.

Koyomi views Hanekawa so highly, almost like she is incapable of making mistakes, despite having personal experience from the get go that she is very capable of making mistakes and that sometimes her inferences are wrong, and that she is often wrong about him, specifically. Hanekawa is wrong about Koyomi because she does the same thing, and views him so highly that she dismisses and glosses over his faults that she has seen personally. Together, they both consistently fail to understand each other because they place the other on a pedestal without meaning to. And yet, the book is clear that despite this gap in understanding, the friendship is no less for it. The care between the two is real, as is the effort they take in each other's lives.

[positivelybeastly]

X-Men #6

Getting caught up!

Let's go.

Mmm, this is a good page. It's interesting to see Quentin in a kind of melancholy - it's not a state of mind you see him in very often, honestly, and I have to wonder if it's because of what he saw in Ben Liu's head, the fact that Cassandra Nova is on the board now, or just a general ennui about the state of things as an X-Man. Being a teenage firebrand only lasts as long as you're willing to burn, and Quentin's been burning for a while now with very little to show for it.

Also, wow, Idie, you have the eyes of an eagle that you were able to see that girl pulling a Spider-Man tribute - uh, I mean, the Midnight M, or whatever it's called.

Fun fact - this is the first time in this series that someone's directly mentioned Hank's psychotic villain turn from X-Force. Makes sense it would come from Quentin, since he's the only other member of X-Force on the team and he has the most face time with evil Hank, though I have to call bullshit - psycho Beast was a fucking bore.

Cain and Illyana continue to be hilarious bash brothers. I also like Hank being like 'ix-nay on the beheading-ay while the newbies are around to hear you-ay!' while Ben and Jennifer have little shock lines around their heads.

You will not get me to read Marauders volume 2, Jed. You will not.

So, this is a bit early in the run to have a 'this is what you missed in the series so far' scene, though I suppose having new context means they want to put the pieces together in a straightforward way so that no-one's confused going forward. And it's at least being done with character interactions, and not just a rote recitation of facts.

So, you, uh, ever gonna go and be a dad to those Savage Land mutates you fucked around with and made, Max? No? Mmkay.

Really dancing around the hashtag, huh, Scott?

"Maybe if you'd taken better care of your last resident genius instead of treating him like shit and neglecting him, so that he didn't go insane and blow himself up in a homoerotic stupor, you'd be having an easier time of this, but you're stuck with me."

Don't you fucking dare talk shit about quiche, Quentin.

I genuinely love the amount of play Glob is getting in this series. There's such an obvious affection for him that you can't help but be charmed. Also, a rare acknowledgement of Glob's past as a member of the Omega Gang and the fact that he was one of Quentin's very few friends during New X-Men! Love to see it!

There's that patented Scott Summers paranoia.

Also, I have to say, I love what this issue is doing with Illyana and Idie. As far as I know, these characters have barely, or never, interacted before, and there's just such an easy interplay between them that I already want more of - they tease and poke and prod at one another, in a way that feels younger and more vital than the older members of the team, even as Illyana demonstrates what being on a mainline X-Men team for the last 10-15 years does for your knowledge base.

It also really, really makes me happy that Idie is getting as much play as she is. The people who were worried about her being background fodder for this series really couldn't have been more wrong, she's getting a lot of good development and agency here.

It's something that only really shows up when you're reading continuously, but it's visible here - I like the panel composition in this issue, and this series in general, a fair bit. I like the separation of panels to show progression and create distinct scenes while still creating a larger tableau. Good composition makes you notice it, but doesn't pull you out of the experience, it merely serves it.

Also, oh boy, Hank's getting nostalgic again . . . that only ever means he's about to get depressing.

Yeah, that tracks.

Now, I do like this sequence and this conversation, but I have to pick at something that bugs me here, even though I have to wonder if it's intentional or not.

. . . Max, you and Scott were both on Krakoa. You remember that, right? You were dead for a fair bit of it, sure, but you were around long enough to see the start of X-Force. You were a member of the Quiet Council and Scott was the General or whatever of Krakoa.

You had the power to stop him. You don't get to say that you won't allow it when you both already did allow it. It would have been outrageously easy for the both of you to just waltz right up to the Pointe, grab evil Hank by his hair, and kick the shit out of him for being a genocidal maniac, but neither of you did that. None of you did. You allowed him to continue. Worse, you enabled him, you and your little twink 'I Can't Believe It's Not The Maker' Xavier.

And even before that, you hold responsibility for encouraging Hank to loosen his morals and kill people! You were there during the Inhumans vs. X-Men conflict, encouraging him to double cross the Inhumans for mutant gain! And Scott outright told Hank, MULTIPLE TIMES, that the ends justify the means during the Utopia era! Are you going to acknowledge that fact? Are you going to confront the fact that he internalised YOUR methods? Fucking evil Hank's penultimate words before he was atomised were MAGNETO WAS RIGHT, for fuck's sake!

That's why I like that Hank says, 'Of course, of course.' There's a ring of, yeah, sure, whatever to that, that I like. He doesn't say I know, because he doesn't. He's well aware that everyone saw what was happening to him and didn't stop it, that they didn't care enough to intercede, that Scott was too busy fucking Jean and Logan on the regs to care that one of his oldest friends was turning into the lovechild of Josef Mengle and Henry Kissinger.

I need that to become text. I need it. I know that it fucking sucks, Jed MacKay, to have to answer for Ben Percy's sins, but you cannot have dialogue like this and expect it to fly through uncommented on. No-one becomes a monster on their own.

I really do hope that dialogue choice was intentional and that MacKay is willing to interrogate this. Thus far, he hasn't let me down, but I need this to be the first part of a conversation, not the end of it.

Yeah, valid, I wouldn't want to deal with Cortez either.

Hank is very cute here. Like, he's always cute, but he's especially kawaii here. Hims have the teefs.

Yeah, you gotta get on choosing a mutant name quick, or else you'll get stuck with something like Negasonic Teenage Warhead.

Hoo boy. Yeah, this is . . . that would be a problem. I can see why Scott's pissed. Then again, valid for Idie going for forgiveness over permission, as far as she knew, Piper might have been being abused, and the info she has here is pretty important . . .

All right, roll on issue #7!

This was a good issue! I don't know that it needed the whole 'here's what you missed on Glee' segment in the middle, but it was at least done with enough character and verve that it wasn't boring, and the rest of the issue giving everyone some shine and interactions made it more than worth it - plus, it feels as though the plot is finally starting to move, which was a little bit of a concern with the previous issues.

Be there or be square . . .

[nukacourier]

So here's what I wrote last night. The summary is James and Pierre ended up meeting up again after James had left the Mojave, hooked up, and they both end up learning some things about each other. However it's mainly focused on delving into some of Pierre's backstory.

The story will be added under the cut! I'm gonna go ahead and add warnings for child abuse and mentions of transmasc pregnancy (for those that might get dysphoria from it.)

. . .

James stared at Pierre.

Their few hours of love making should've left them both worn down, but Pierre perched on the other side of the room, only in his pants with her knees pulled to his chest as he stared blankly forward and slowly smoked a cigarette.

James, despite feeling wiped out and sore, didn't feel the need to sleep yet. The way his partner sat in such a melancholy way really tickled the deep empathy that made him unable to leave Pierre alone while clearly in a vulnerable state he'd not often seen him in, let alone attempted to speak to her about it on the rare occasion he had.

"You, um...you okay?" He spoke up from where he stood, idly scratching his chest as he tried to play nonchalant with his inquiry.

Pierre seemed to be slowly dragged to the surface of reality from the depths of their mind, and his blue eyes shifted in James' direction, now peering at him out of the corner of her eye. He remained silent for a moment, maybe contemplative, and took another hit off his cigarette before speaking.

"...I'm merely remembering things and trying not to remember them." He answered vaguely, her voice unusually soft and quiet compared to the usual cocky, boisterous tone held.

James wanted to sit close beside him, but knew better than to get so close while she was smoking, especially since he was still trying to stave off the cravings of his old habit as well.

So he simply decided to only close the gap a little by taking a few steps forward and leaning against the concrete beam in the center of the cellar room with his arms crossed, given that was as close as he estimated he could safely be. Thankfully the airflow kept the secondhand smoke from reaching so far.

Pierre's gaze had transfixed back into nothing, slightly off balance as they more than likely stared off into a memory. By the blank look on his face, James could see it wasn't a good one.

"Do you think maybe talking about it might help?" He prodded cautiously, hoping to pull her back out of whatever dark storm had started brewing in his mind.

Again, silence.

Rather than answer the question, he simply responded with another by pulling a cigarette from the pack beside her and extending his hand towards James with it gently held between two of their bony fingers.

"Care to join me for one?"

James shook his head and politely held up a hand to decline.

"No, I'm trying to quit."

Pierre gave a small, yellowed smile and flipped it around a little between his fingers.

"You know me, I'm not one to judge a man for his vices."

As he teased, this irritated James with the displayed pushiness that had been presented so playfully despite his rejection.

"I said no, don't you listen?" He snapped and accidentally let his annoyance fly into a small spike of anger, but almost immediately felt it crash down to guilt as the playfulness drained from Pierre's face and they once again simply looked tired and hollow.

James rubbed his forehead and sighed.

"Sorry. But I really can't smoke anymore." He reiterated with a more gentle approach.

Pierre nodded slowly and pushed the cigarette back down into the package and flipped it shut. She took one more hit off his own cigarette before plucking it from his lips and putting it out by grinding the glowing tip against the concrete floor while a cloud of smoke funneled out of their nostrils and half-parted lips.

"You've seemed a little different lately, besides the heartbreak." Pierre rambled in observation, smoke still lightly billowing from his mouth.

James thought he heard her mumble something under their breath, but couldn't understand due to the very hushed tone and the fact he was likely speaking in his first language of French instead of English. But he could still hear the bitterness in it, and could assume he was only saying unsavory things about Arcade at the mention of James' emotions over his most recent failed relationship.

"...what do you mean, different?" James murmured in question after a slight pause.

Pierre lightly shrugged and wrapped his arms loosely around his knees.

"Cautious. Anxious. I can tell you don't wish to eat anymore but you force yourself to. I know it is not for me to not worry over you. I've seen you put yourself through worse."

When their steel blue eyes turned back towards James' direction, they weren't focused on his face, but rather his abdomen instead.

"...would my guess be correct that he left you with a child?" He asked gently.

James uncrossed his arms and softly passed a hand over his lower stomach.

"Yeah." James swallowed back the anxiety as he had to acknowledge it.

"Yeah, that guess would be right."

Pierre fanned away the very last remaining traces of smoke in the air and softly patted the bed mat beside her once the surrounding air was clear.

James pulled himself from his resting spot and slowly strutted over, giving a tired grunt as he lowered himself down to sit beside him.

He was surprised as she tilted her head and rested it on James' shoulder, his blonde hair spilling over it while he snuggled close.

"I'm sorry." He heard him mumble.

"For-?" James asked, genuinely confused on what Pierre could be apologizing for. He at least couldn't think of anything that would call for such a sincere tone of voice.

"You don't deserve so much trouble in your life. Not a man like you."

He saw her lift a hand to gently cling to James' arm, giving a soft squeeze of comfort.

He remained quiet, letting the gentle, caring words sink in.

"It's...it's just a life thing. You can't predict what always happens. Can't change the past, either." He finally mumbled out a reply, dodging his own feelings on it.

But he didn't get any response.

Instead Pierre slowly pulled away and sat upright, getting that same distant look on his face. But this time, instead of her face being cold and reserved, it looked softened. He looked deeply tired, like a tiredness in your soul you couldn't possibly ever sleep away.

"I...I have been...distant. The way you've opened up to me, shown me so many good things about you...and everything else." Pierre abruptly stopped mid speech with a very, very deep sigh.

Despite being a good amount taller than James, in the moment she looked so small and frail. His face was reminiscent of a small child trying to brave their fears as she turned his head to look James in the eye.

"It's not fair I've strung you along. That I've let you be so...kind...but I know you truly don't know me. Maybe I liked that, thinking you could love me despite not knowing a single thing about me..."

He turned away, and exhibited a nervous habit Pierre had never shown around James until now; softly stroking small strands of his hair through her fingers as she slowly started to rock back and forth. James could easily recognize these as self-soothing habits usually seen in children or the deeply distressed.

He patiently waited for Pierre to open up at their own pace, curious as to where this was leading, but not wanting to force anything too painful out by prying.

So he simply watched, eyes soft and full of understanding as he waited.

Pierre glanced at him and the rocking slowed to a near halt, although he still gently continued to pass his fingers down small segments of her hair.

"I feel...it'd only be right. Eye for an eye...let you know what I can't forget."

Her voice had become quiet, and croaked a little with strong emotion.

James cautiously reached out and gently grasped at their shoulder, giving it a reassuring rub in attempt to comfort him.

"It's okay. If it's too much to say, I don't mind. Don't hurt yourself over me." His voice wavered a little, but he still spoke calmly as he reassured Pierre that opening up was entirely optional.

But Pierre shook his head, closing her eyes and letting his head hang slightly.

"I need to. I know I do. Where to begin..."

With another weighted sigh, Pierre leaned back and opened their eyes again, staring straight at the ceiling as he started his story.

"I...when I came here, when...we came here, my family—apparently originally we expected to head to the west side of America and...do something. I don't remember. I was very young. I think...three? But life was apparently going to be better there. Easier."

James cocked his head, surprised to hear mention of a family. He never considered that at one point, this lone wolf of a person might've indeed had one at some point in life.

He continued to listen as Pierre continued rambling.

"But...my mother. I remember. She got very sick somehow, I was never told how or why. But my father had been dedicated to take care of her...I became a bit of an afterthought. I was fed, bathed, put to bed...but during this time he never spoke."

Pierre lowered his head again and gazed at the ground, leaning over and poking around at the pebbles and random fragments of debris on the floor.

"...it's funny. I...didn't like it at the time. But looking back on it now, I wish he'd stayed like that."

She gave a gentle sigh, but still carried on, eyes flickering a bit with indescribable pain while the memories had been recalled.

"Another thing I've remembered and wish I never did. The day she died. He pulled me into the room, she was fading...already looked like a corpse. It scared me, she scared me...and I cried. I tried to turn away but he kept me there. I don't know why. Never knew why he did much of what he did. But...I think he might have seen it that he needed to punish me for even taking a moment of his time from her.

So he had me watch as he buried her...he started speaking to me again, after she was gone, but he...he changed. I remember the first thing he said after such months of silent treatment. Ah...'Why are you crying? Shut up. Would you rather be in that hole instead of her? I wish it was that way instead.' But you know, it wasn't English. So my repeat may be rough."

James felt his throat tighten.

He was already feeling sorry about the state of the story beforehand but this new turn in it hit him like a truck, and he could feel his heart breaking for Pierre as she pushed through his story.

"That's an awful thing to say to a child." He managed to choke out a whisper.

Pierre bobbed his head slowly in a nod of agreement. She took a moment to be silent again, still pushing around small pebbles and tiny chips of glass and just absent-mindedly sorting them into various piles.

It took a long moment of quiet, only the noise of the occasional rock scraping over concrete as Pierre continued the habitual sorting, before another word was spoken.

"Like I said, he changed. To him I was nothing more than some sort of pest. He could not stand to see me. He left me to my room...I'd spend days, I think, alone. Pissing myself and having to leave waste on the floor like an unwanted animal. But I think...I even preferred that over being let out when he would remember I was still alive and would need food or water. I think he only did that to save himself the trouble of smelling a dead body.

Every time that door creaked open...I was met with insults. Um...physical hurt, too. Smacked, punched, kicked. Pure hatred. Being told I am a waste of resources and I would've been traded for my mother if it were possible. I learned to stay quiet in there...he'd forget me if I was. I could...live off some things. Rusty condensation off broken pipes...peeling thin strips of wood off the wall just to get anything in my stomach.

Because I was no longer his child. I was his mistake. His target to scream all his dark, twisted thoughts at. To be used at his hand so he could see pain on another creature that wasn't himself. I..."

His tone was unnervingly nonchalant at first, but that curtain had fallen and Pierre's voice wavered with pain.

James saw his hands visibly shaking, and the chip of concrete she held in his fingers fell on to the ground with a quiet clatter.

He couldn't bear to let them continue without any form of reassurance, but was at a total loss for words.

So many things swam through his head that it was probably just as useful now as it would've been empty.

So instead of saying anything, he simply leaned in and gently wrapped his arm around Pierre's shoulders and gave a small, comforting squeeze.

Pierre trembled in his grasp, and her voice became more frantic and shaky as more words tumbled from his mouth.

"It was hell. I didn't even know why I was kept around when I was hated so much. Some days I wished he'd have taken me out back and shot me like the dog he treated me like—that he'd just end the suffering for me. Why did he do it? Why? Why?!"

Pierre did something James had never seen him do.

He crumpled over, pulling her knees tighter to his chest as he covered his face with his hands and let out a loud, painful sob.

James pulled them even closer, wrapping him in a full hug as his pitiful, muffled wails still drifted out from behind their hands.

Feeling like words would be useless at the moment, he resorted to stroking his hair rhythmically as he rested his cheek on top of Pierre's head.

"Shh, shh...you're not there anymore...you have me now."

He managed to coo out after he'd forced the words past the hard lump of emotion that had embedded in his throat.

Pierre still whimpered and sobbed miserably in his arms, and he could feel tears stinging his own eyes. He was unable to stop them from leaving his eyes and rolling down his face, but continued to hold and stroke Pierre's hair in comfort.

They sat together like this long enough that James' legs had fallen asleep, and his arms were threatening to as well by the time Pierre's intense sobbing had dialed down to stifled hiccups and whimpers.

"Hey, listen...that was a lot of heavy stuff to get off your chest. It's okay if you want to leave it there for now. I won't be going anywhere." He mumbled caringly, gazing down at Pierre even though all he could see was their vaguely hunched over figure and the top of his head.

She shuffled in his arms a bit, pressing closer to James before lifting his head to stare at him.

He looked awful, with their face red and puffy and visible, glistening streaks lining his face from both her eyes and nose. His eyes were bloodshot and looked as though it stung to even keep them open as they blinked groggily at James.

"J-James...stay with me forever?"

Pierre's sore voice carried a genuine innocence nestled in the pain of it that had made James' chest tighten with pity.

He reached a hand down and gently swept some messy strands of hair out of their face and tucked it behind his ears.

"I will. Forever and ever." He murmured lovingly as he lifted his t-shirt to wipe away the still damp tear stains off her face.

Pierre dutifully turned his head into each wipe, then sniffled loudly and lowered their head to press it back against James' chest.

He let out a shuddering sigh as James went back to softly stroking her messy hair.

As James silently held her, he could feel the unsteady, pained breaths even out, becoming slower and deeper until eventually he was certain he had fallen asleep in his arms.

Finally feeling deeply tired, James decided to gently lower both of them down on to the bed mat.

Pierre remained asleep, and as James caught a glimpse of his resting, peaceful face, he could see that poor, broken child still held within her.

It made him look so gentle. Like he had waited all this time to be able to receive the comfort he should've gotten all those years ago.

"Can't change the past." James tiredly and quietly repeated his statement from earlier.

"But I wish I could for you."

He softly kissed Pierre on the top of the head and rested his own on the mat, his eyes feeling heavy as they closed and immediately getting pulled down into a deep, warm slumber.

[inventors-fair]

Exquisite Choice: Modal Flavor Winners ~

Our long-delayed winners from last week are @bread-into-toast, @izzet-always-r-versus-u, and @partytimesdeluxe!

@bread-into-toast — Oba's Overreach

[Art desc: the dryads comprising Trostani purify glistening oil, destroy Phyrexian metal, and rescue oil-covered plants respectively. One of them, however, scowls pensively as well: "I'm not doing enough." It's Oba. Knife-like flowers appear around her. Sneak the MKM symbol in somewhere.

Setting: Ravnica shortly after Phyrexian invasion, just before MKM kicks off.

Mood: something's coming.]

I just deleted a couple sentences about how this card isn't exactly what I was looking for for this contest because I'm realizing now that you may have struck a meta vein that's aggravatingly exquisite. Maybe. Rereading the story, there are a number of things that make sense. Correct me if I'm wrong: is this card in part depicting the healing process of Mat'Selesnya following the Phyrexian invasion? It would make sense—dismantling the artifacts, cleansing the enchantments, recurring the landscape, preparing defenses. If so, the name feels more like the portent rather than what the card itself wants to do, and I'm on the fence about that? But looking at your art description that seems to be the case with the action.

If that is true, then my interpretation of this card is that there's only so much that the dryads are willing/able to do. Two options means that one dryad is being left in the lurch—that being Oba, hence the expression that you're describing. Each option doesn't have a specific flavor, but by casting this card, you the player are inherently cutting off the full options from the power of the dryads and exacerbating Oba's feelings of frustration. Again, if that is the case, then you've both subverted and exceeded expectations for sure. And if I'm just overreaching in my interpretation, then too bad. I don't even know what to say, honestly—I was thinking so much about modes equalling choices that I didn't think about what it would look like with this kind of storytelling.

@izzet-always-r-versus-u — Time Uncertain

There's a certain melancholy to this card that I appreciate. It's an abstract card for certain, and I think it was a fairly bold choice to have that abstraction applied to the emotional and esoteric nature of time as it applies on the battlefield. Talking from a mechanical standpoint before I get into the poetry, obviously it's a pretty great rare. Tasigur is the first card that comes to mind with the first mode, but the fact that it would be next to impossible to see that last card (barring a hella long game) puts added pressure there. And of course, having an ostensible extra draw that can be recycled is great as well.

In terms of poetics, though, you've introduced a long-term concept of tension to these bullet points' relationship. If you don't have two differently named cards in the graveyard, you'll have to take the advantage. That's still really great, but then what if the card you get into your hand isn't the one you wanted? Is it worth throwing away later? Maybe there's a graveyard strategy, but we all know, the best laid plans and etc. One choice will always affect the other and be at the mercy of an opponent's choice even if your own choices are trying to affect that. As a card, Time Uncertain is a commander-y draft-y above-decent enchantment. As a little piece of art, I enjoy it immensely.

@partytimesdeluxe — Dream Snare

Sometimes the simplest thing hit in the best ways. The dream state is a strange place to be, and if your opponents are trapped in a dream, the best thing to do is use dream logic. There's no massive story being told here but there doesn't have to be, because the situation and the flavor hit in just the right ways. I appreciated the explanation in part because there doesn't have to be a lot of lead-in. That's just how dream logic works—you get frozen in place, your physical abilities are suddenly weakened, and/or phantasms come and go. You're the controller of the dream and the master of the illusory realm. It's neat!

What's also great about this card is how it works in various parts of the turn. Precombat tapping prevents the attacker (or taps a potential blocker for your next turn), in-combat attacking numbs a creature's impact, and then bouncing a spell can happen at any time. This isn't a first-turn pick for sure, that's reserved for bombs, but in terms of interactive spells it's pretty phenomenal. It's not playing into any space that a rare would play; it's still far on the high end of uncommon assistance. Powerful, flavorful, simple. Love the blending of modes—it's just what the doctor ordered.

We're comin', promise. @abelzumi

[letyukisayfuck]

hey!! i really like your blog and all of your thoughts about haruhi the franchise are so interesting but what I'm curious about is how do you feel about koizumi in general? you speak about him very rarely but he's my fav character and you're my fav tumblr account so far so i wanna hear it if you have something to say about him ahah

aaaaaa thank you! i'm glad people like my particular brand of nonsense and screaming loudly into what i initially thought was a void. gotta say, being called someone's favorite tumblr is an honor i never thought i would receive from anyone

so yeah, i mostly talk about koizumi on here to give him shit, but honestly that's partially because i find it funny that after mikuru gets promoted from being nothing more than the universe's punching bag he basically takes her place in terms of 'character that suffers for comedy' (see: random numbers and seven wonders in particular), and partially because the text gives us very little of him seemingly being genuine without some level of bullshit attached to it.

like i said yesterday, i don't dislike any of the brigade; koizumi would probably be classed as my least favorite, but it's not so much because i dislike him and more because he never gets the narrative focus that would bring him up to the same level as mikuru

we never really get something that eqates to love at first sight or the melancholy of mikuru asahina for koizumi, and certainly nothing on the level of disappearance or intrigues (which i would argue are the yuki and mikuru spotlight novels, respectively)

(melancholy and surprise i would class as haruhi spotlights, one before and one after her character development; and sigh i would class as 'establishing material that is necessary but not exactly fun to sift through for the most part')

i like to think if we ever get another long-form book it'll be koizumi-centric, mostly because i'd like to see him actually get to be a major player! it's getting a little sad to watch kyon hear him go "maybe i wanted to time travel" and just go "i mean what could koizumi possibly want from me"

but really, the only koizumi spotlight we have is the tempo loss bishop exchange--which, notably, while i take it as canon (as it was authorized) was not by tanigawa; if i remember right, it was instead written by sou sagara

i read a fan translation, as there's never been an official release and my relationship with the official haruhi translations is reasonably antagonistic on a good day, and i think it's worth noting that for the first page and a half i didn't think there would be a plot. i thought it was just koizumi's philosophical bullshit, novelized.

that said, it was really fun to read something from his perspective (kind of like how editor in chief gives us insight into yuki and mikuru via their writing styles; but more direct)

so, before i get into my own thoughts (which i believe i've touched on before), it's worth noting that while the entire cast of haruhi can be easily read a variety of ways, koizumi is arguably the easiest to do this with because we get so little to work with in terms of "things we know to be true"

things we know for sure are true about koizumi: north high student (presumably a teenager), esper, works for a mysterious organization, considered attractive/popular (unless i'm misremembering something), has explicitly stated that he's always putting on an act but has never clarified how much and in exactly what way, earnestly offers advice but often contradicts himself, claims to be able to read haruhi's mood/emotions/something along those lines, and (in the later books) has made a hobby out of trying to convince kyon to deal with his very obvious romantic feelings for haruhi

my own reading of koizumi is biased by my readings of other characters and their relationships/dynamics; and it's also specifically the one i think is the funniest option: koizumi has a thing for both kyon and haruhi, is aware that neither of them views him the same way (with haruhi viewing him solely as a subordinate and only really paying attention when he's saying things she wants to hear, and kyon seemingly regarding him as a friend as well as a source of useful information, but hardly even willing to acknowledge that fact most of the time)

and, since he has accepted that neither of them like him that way but they do very obviously like each other, he's decided that they should get over themselves and get together. unfortunately, kyon's strategy when he hears things he doesn't want to is pretend no one's said anything at all, and so koizumi's words go ignored

[cptslibrary]

Day 2: Sickness

Whumpcember Prompt 2 - Sickness Fandom - Peter Pan CW - None

The captain groaned softly as Smee put a cool rag on his head. His body ached and his mind was foggy. He very rarely got seasick, but he couldn’t tell if the rocking of the ship was helping or hurting him. “Perhaps I should go ashore.” he moaned softly.

Smee tutted and placed a hand on the captain’s forehead. It was burning up. The mate frowned and handed the captain a bowl of soup. “You’ll be fine here,” he said hopefully, but even in his current state Hook could tell he was worried. “Let’s get some medicine in you and then you can have some hot soup.” The captain winced. The medicine was foul. 

“I don’t need it,” he said peevishly. Smee sighed and got the bottle. Hook watched him through bleary eyes and finally, using all the strength he could muster, turned his head to the side to pretend not to see it. 

“The sooner you take it, the sooner you’ll feel better. And we can get back to killing the boy.” Smee soothed him. “Come now, it isn’t much,” Smee poured a little into a spoon. The captain sneered at the medicine but allowed Smee to pop it in his mouth. Smee had a glass of water ready to wash it down which Hook eagerly drank. 

“You should just let me die,” Hook said, enveloped by melancholy. “What good is a sick old man.”

Smee tutted. “Why, Cap’n, don’t say that.” He drew up Hook’s blankets and checked his forehead. “The whole world would cry. And what would the crew do? They can’t go on without you.” The captain agreed silently but didn’t seem cheered. Smee frowned and put the bowl of soup on the table. He knew he wouldn’t be able to goad the captain into eating now. 

Smee put out some of the candles. “Why don’t you try to rest. Would you like me to read you a story?” 

The captain blinked. “You can hardly read.”

“I do my best.” Smee answered. He looked at the captain’s collection of books, some dustier than others. “What would you like?” 

The captain sighed and thought about how alone he was. A deep despair was welling up in him and he felt ready to cry. 

“Get out,” he said flatly. Smee frowned.

“Aye Cap’n. Try to sleep.” Smee shut the door behind him. The air was dusty and the sun had set long ago. In his fevered state, Hook thought about an old nanny he once had. He imagined her bustling along, airing out the cabin and fluffing his pillows. He’d been sick often as a child. She couldn’t read either. He imagined her petting his hair and kissing his forehead goodnight. He rolled to his side and began to weep. Sleep came in spurts and fits, and his cheeks never seemed to dry.

[iris-ren]

the priest of styria

chapter one

vampire/priest getou x reader

wc: 2k

tags: talks of death and female arousal // not beta read or edited

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you caught news that there was to be a priest in town to take over at the cathedral after father issac’s untimely death. you had yet to see the man, but if he was anything like father issac, you figured his sermons would probably be quite boring and drawn out. apparently the new priest that is taking over the reigns is from a faraway place. a place that no one had heard of.

your ladies maid discussed the matter with you while brushing your hair behind you in the mirror. ophelia smiled while admiring the intricate braid that she was weaving into your hair, listening to your incessant questions.

“oh please! ophelia it’s been ages since something interesting happened around here. you must tell me what you’ve heard! there’s no need to act coy with me. how long have we known each other again?”

ophelia let out a sigh for dramatic effect and met your eyes in the mirror, “since we were in diapers my lady, but you must hear me now, when i say that i know as much as you! the man is a mystery to us all.”

you couldn’t help but pester your old friend, it was true what you said. father issac’s death stirred up all of styria, and with the news of the replacement priest arriving soon after the fact, brought pandemonium to the town.

“it’s unheard of really, how is it possible for not a single soul to know what the man looks like, or where he hailed from?”

ophelia shrugged her shoulders.

you rolled your eyes at her in the mirror, “well let’s hope that his sermon’s are more lively than poor old father issac’s.” you said with a chuckle. ophelia pinched your shoulder and you shrieked in faux pain. “you mustn’t be so crass my lady.” she said, trying to conceal her own laughter.

“you are a nasty little spinster, ophelia!” you yelled while trying to pinch her back. she swiftly swatted your hand away and grabbed onto your shoulders to still your movements and continued to work on your hair. “you’re one to talk my lady, are you not almost a spinster yourself?”

you gasped sarcastically, “how cruel of you ophelia! how could i be blamed for the lack of options offered to me? it is not my fault that no one in this village is worth a damn. besides, they’re all just interested in the fortune mother and father left to me in the will; i’d rather be a wise old spinster than a young wedded idiot.”

“you have such a way with words.” ophelia jutted, while putting the finishing touches on your hair.

-

it was considered most improper for a lady of your stature to be out running errands with your ladies maid but the judgemental stares from the town’s folk stopped weighing on you not long after your mother and father’s passing. ophelia and yourself strolled comfortably through the cobblestone streets after spending a good portion of the day collecting various meats and breads from street vendors. the two of you needed to stock up on as much as possible to prepare for the cold weather that was surely on its way to styria.

styria experienced year-round melancholy weather, though you wouldn’t describe it as such. the grey sky’s and chilly winds were all you knew. you hadn’t experienced many sunny days, so the lack thereof did not take a toll on your emotional state. the same could not be said for the rare tourists that came to town, they would often experience large bouts of depressive episodes before finally deciding to leave and never come back.

you wondered how the new priest would take to the dismal climate. maybe he would be like the rare tourists and run away as fast as he could to get away from this sad little town. you shrugged the thought off, figuring that it didn’t matter much. you weren’t much on religion anyways, you only attended sunday service to keep a somewhat decent reputation.

“make haste!” ophelia yelled as she picked up her pace on the cobblestone street. your maid pointed to the dark clouds forming above the roofs, “a storm’s rolling in! we need to make it back before all this gets ruined!” she lifted the bags full of food in an upwards motion and began to run as the rain started to come down. you did your best to pull up your skirts to keep from ruining your hem, while also keeping the bags gripped tightly between your palms.

the two of you screamed when the rain began to pour, by the time you arrived back to the estate the two of you were sure to be a pitiful sight. ophelia helped you out of your wet shoes in the foyer, before removing her own and moved to the sitting room to start a fire. you let out a sigh when you saw the weather growing much more volatile outside the window.

the branches on all the trees lurched back and forth angerly in the wind, while lightning and thunder boomed across the sky. you felt wholly grateful to have made it safely indoors when you did. you moved into the sitting room when ophelia had successfully created a large crackling fire inside the hearth.

the two of you sat in silence, letting the warmth of the fire dry your damp clothes. it was important to dry yourselves in the sitting room, to not drag mud and water throughout the whole house.

you perched yourself on a chaise lounge near one of the large windows and removed your shoes. ophelia did the same, except she sat much closer to the fire, you gathered that she was on the verge of catching a chill which would explain her close proximity to the fire but you didn’t want to break the peaceful silence to ask her why she felt the need to practically dip her toes into the red hot flames. instead you turned your head back to the window to watch the erratic weather.

the calming warmth from the hearth, and the sound of rain hitting the window quickly lulled you to sleep. you weren’t sure how long you were out when you were awoken by an unpleasant noise out beyond your window. you heard what sounded like one hundred horses galloping on the road leading into town just past the trees lining your estate.

you would have thought the sound to be thunder, if the rain had not already ceased. your brows furrowed as you leaned closer to the window hoping to get a better look beyond the trees. the moon had risen during your slumber and you found it completely impossible to see beyond the greenery.

“who on earth would be traveling at this hour?” ophelia said from behind you. having not realized she was there, your shoulders jumped slightly in surprise at the sound of her voice. “and what is the hour?” you grumbled rubbing your puffy eyes.

“a quarter past midnight my lady, we best be getting you into bed now. for a proper rest.”

you nodded your head, allowing your friend to guide you by candlelight back to your bedchamber. sleep was hard to come by that night; you weren’t sure if it was due to your late evening nap or if it was the fact that your mind was plagued with wandering thoughts as to who was charging into town at such a late hour.

images of the large black horses stomping angrily through the mud carrying a gothic carriage filled your mind. you weren’t sure why the sight filled you with such terror, but also curiosity. It had to be someone wealthy, a common person could not afford to travel in such style.

could it be the new priest? you wondered. you blinked up at the canopy above your bed, no. you shook away the thought. what messenger of God would travel with such a lack of humility?

you decided it must’ve been a passerby, traveling to the capital perhaps. with your thoughts finally settled, you allowed for your mind to rest.

-

the stranger inside of the carriage found himself growing weary of the long ride. he sighed, pulling aside the velvet shades covering the window. his pupils dilated at the sight of the bright moon. it was full. many night creatures would be feeling the effects of the full moon. including himself.

he licked his lips, finally taking notice of just how insatiable his hunger truly was—-a hunger that even the finest of meals could not satisfy. the man idly rolled the black rosary through his fingers, remembering the role he would be playing in his new home. it would be much too suspicious if people began to drop dead the same night that the new practitioner of God arrives in town.

-

the days passed quickly leading up to sunday. you found yourself sitting in front of your vanity as you usually did on sundays, once again allowing ophelia to work her magic on readying you for the day. it was no easy feat on her part, you were sure. she chose to dress you in a simple white dress, conservative enough to attend the service. it covered the important things, while hugging your curves in the right places.

ophelia was busying herself with fixing the lining of your dress when the horseman arrived with the carriage your family passed down to you in tow. the ride to the church was pleasant enough. you found yourself enjoying the silence between you and your maid, and nodding when she commented on how dreary the weather was.

when entering the church the two of you exchanged pleasantries and smiles at the other townsfolk while moving to take your seats. the two of you sat in the front row of the old gothic church and waited for the service to begin.

“i’ll bet you four shillings that this priest, is an old goose just like father issac.” ophelia quipped into your ear. before you could chuckle at her heinous comment, the congregation began to rise at the entrance of the new leader of the church.

the energy in the room grew heavy with each step he took. a sea of darkness followed his tall lean frame. the man rounded the podium and swiftly cracked open his bible, not once looking up to face the crowd. it was as if he couldn’t be bothered with gazing upon the boring faces of the congregation.

you couldn’t blame him much, if you had features such as his you’d probably be just as uninterested as he. his sharp eyes eventually rose from the religious text that he was reading allowed to scan the crowd. your spine straightened anticipating his gaze.

your heart screamed for him to look your way, as a thin stand of raven hair fell across his face. your chest deflated when his eyes moved back down to the text, while pushing the strand away from his eyes. you pressed your thighs together, and determined yourself to pay close attention to the program pamphlet resting in your lap. anything to take your mind off of the man at the altar.

getou could sense your frustration, and was internally amused at how you hadn’t changed a bit—no matter how many lifetimes had passed since the last time he laid eyes on you. you were no immortal being like him. he could not blame you for not remembering him, and the love the two of you shared—but it didn’t stop the knot that formed in his cold dead chest.

the man had spent centuries searching for you, in your past life you promised him that you would meet again. getou spent the first hundred years following your untimely death by burning down and sucking the blood out of a handful of kingdoms. the next few hundred years his anger became a dull blade prodding his chest, and it allowed him to exist in society in whatever way he could to bide his time.

many years had passed. empires rose and fell, all while getou seeked to avenge your death and hoped for your reincarnation. oceans of time had passed and finally, you were all his.

________________________________