#{The flow of time is kind to me. — Threading}

[inkskinned]

i have chronic pain. i am neurodivergent. i understand - deeply - the allure of a "quick fix" like AI. i also just grew up in a different time. we have been warned about this.

15 entire years ago i heard about this. in my forensics class in high school, we watched a documentary about how AI-based "crime solving" software was inevitably biased against people of color.

my teacher stressed that AI is like a book: when someone writes it, some part of the author will remain within the result. the internet existed but not as loudly at that point - we didn't know that AI would be able to teach itself off already-biased Reddit threads. i googled it: yes, this bias is still happening. yes, it's just as bad if not worse.

i can't actually stop you. if you wanna use ChatGPT to slide through your classes, that's on you. it's your money and it's your time. you will spend none of it thinking, you will learn nothing, and, in college, you will piss away hundreds of thousands of dollars. you will stand at the podium having done nothing, accomplished nothing. a cold and bitter pyrrhic victory.

i'm not even sure students actually read the essays or summaries or emails they have ChatGPT pump out. i think it just flows over them and they use the first answer they get. my brother teaches engineering - he recently got fifty-three copies of almost-the-exact-same lab reports. no one had even changed the wording.

and yes: AI itself (as a concept and practice) isn't always evil. there's AI that can help detect cancer, for example. and yet: when i ask my students if they'd be okay with a doctor that learned from AI, many of them balk. it is one thing if they don't read their engineering textbook or if they don't write the critical-thinking essay. it's another when it starts to affect them. they know it's wrong for AI to broad-spectrum deny insurance claims, but they swear their use of AI is different.

there's a strange desire to sort of divorce real-world AI malpractice over "personal use". for example, is it moral to use AI to write your cover letters? cover letters are essentially only templates, and besides: AI is going to be reading your job app, so isn't it kind of fair?

i recently found out that people use AI as a romantic or sexual partner. it seems like teenagers particularly enjoy this connection, and this is one of those "sticky" moments as a teacher. honestly - you can roast me for this - but if it was an actually-safe AI, i think teenagers exploring their sexuality with a fake partner is amazing. it prevents them from making permanent mistakes, it can teach them about their bodies and their desires, and it can help their confidence. but the problem is that it's not safe. there isn't a well-educated, sensitive AI specifically to help teens explore their hormones. it's just internet-fed cycle. who knows what they're learning. who knows what misinformation they're getting.

the most common pushback i get involves therapy. none of us have access to the therapist of our dreams - it's expensive, elusive, and involves an annoying amount of insurance claims. someone once asked me: are you going to be mad when AI saves someone's life?

therapists are not just trained on the book, they're trained on patient management and helping you see things you don't see yourself. part of it will involve discomfort. i don't know that AI is ever going to be able to analyze the words you feed it and answer with a mind towards the "whole person" writing those words. but also - if it keeps/kept you alive, i'm not a purist. i've done terrible things to myself when i was at rock bottom. in an emergency, we kind of forgive the seatbelt for leaving bruises. it's just that chat shouldn't be your only form of self-care and recovery.

and i worry that the influence chat has is expanding. more and more i see people use chat for the smallest, most easily-navigated situations. and i can't like, make you worry about that in your own life. i often think about how easy it was for social media to take over all my time - how i can't have a tiktok because i spend hours on it. i don't want that to happen with chat. i want to enjoy thinking. i want to enjoy writing. i want to be here. i've already really been struggling to put the phone down. this feels like another way to get you to pick the phone up.

the other day, i was frustrated by a book i was reading. it's far in the series and is about a character i resent. i googled if i had to read it, or if it was one of those "in between" books that don't actually affect the plot (you know, one of those ".5" books). someone said something that really stuck with me - theoretically you're reading this series for enjoyment, so while you don't actually have to read it, one would assume you want to read it.

i am watching a generation of people learn they don't have to read the thing in their hand. and it is kind of a strange sort of doom that comes over me: i read because it's genuinely fun. i learn because even though it's hard, it feels good. i try because it makes me happy to try. and i'm watching a generation of people all lay down and say: but i don't want to try.

[frogeyedape]

I ran out of tags XD Good Omens Spoilers Beware! (time for dinner now)

The Magic Trick You Didn’t See: Being An Analysis of Good Omens Season 2

(or: Neil Gaiman, Your Brain is Gorgeous But I Have Cracked Your Sneaky Little Code And Have You Dead To Rights*) (*Maybe)

***

Soooooo I just spent the last 48 hours having a BREATHTAKING GALAXY BRAIN EPIPHANY about Good Omens Season 2 and feverishly writing a fuckin16,000 word essay about the incredible magic trick that @neil-gaiman pulled off. 

Yes, it’s long, but I PROMISE your brains will explode. Do you want to know how magic works? Do you want to know what Metatron’s deal is (I’m like 99% sure of this and it’s EXTREMELY FUCKING GOOD)? Do you want to know about the Mystery of the Vanishing Eccles Cakes and the big fat beautiful clue I found in the opening credits? Do you go through the whole inventory of Chekov’s Firearm & Heavy Artillery Discount Warehouse? 

Here is the essay, go read it: https://docs.google.com/document/d/193IXS11XN46lziHRb6eUpM17yK0BQkRqke1Wh64A_e0/ When ur done u can tell me I’m an insane crackpot, and u know what, i won’t even be offended

In case you don’t know whether you want to bother reading the whole enormous thing on google docs, I’ve put the first couple sections of it under the cut. JUST TRUST ME OKAY, HEAR ME OUT, THIS IS VERY EXTREMELY COOL, NEIL IS GOOD AT HIS JOB–

Keep reading

[moremaybank]

EDIBLE , jj maybank

── KINKTOBER: OVERSTIM. + DACRYPHILIA

"touchin' on my body, i can't help but feel impeccable." ─ flo milli, edible.

jj maybank x bratty!reader

(18+) unprotected sex, overstimulation, dacryphilia, mean!jj, mentions of breeding (barely)

you mouth off, and your favourite pogue puts you in your place. with ease.

KINKTOBER , OBX MASTERLIST

your legs quivered terribly at the work jj had been doing on you. he impaled you with his thick cock, over and over like he was desperate to steal the air from your lungs. you tried to crawl away, just a little bit to escape the overstimulation. but you should've known not to.

"where d'you think you're goin', huh? you're gonna take this fuckin' cock." his hand surges his hand through your hair, gripping it harshly and jerking your head up. "actin' like this ain't what you got on your knees 'n begged me for."

the hand he had clinging to your hip held you tighter, thick fingertips and blunt nails biting into your skin. his hips seemed to work harder, like a well-oiled machine as he speared his cock deeper inside of you. he made you take every single inch, each thrust landing him balls deep inside the cunt that never failed to fit nice and snug around him like a glove. he grunted at you as he fucked you, muttering how this kind of hard fucking was what you deserved for pissing him off.

just like you always did.

no matter how much you two got on each other's nerves, you'd always fucked it out like champions. you crawled back to each other every time, despite the difference in status. that's just how things were.

you mouthed off, and your favourite pogue put you in your place. with ease.

a single hand of yours flew backward, pressing against the upper part of his pelvis. your nails scratched at his skin pleadingly in an effort to get him to take it easy on you. it was so damn good, but it was so damn much. you weren't sure how much longer you'd be lucid or even able to breathe with how deep he was pressing into you.

"nah, nah, nah. don’t run from this," he chided, smacking your hand away. in a flash, he was pulling you up by the hair and curling his arm around your throat. he used his chokehold on you to bring your back flush to his chest, all while maintaining the unforgiving drilling he was giving you. "always talkin’ shit, runnin’ that pretty mouth." his other arm snaked around your hips, calloused fingertips finding your clit and prodding at it harshly. "tellin' me i don’t fuck you hard enough. like you haven't had dick in days. now, look at you. can't even handle me."

"please, daddy! c-can't take it!" you gasped your words out, like you could barely pull yourself together to beg for mercy. jj fucking loved it.

but he keeps his act up, scoffing like you'd just insulted him. "you think a please, daddy'll work on me?" his lips brushed against the shell of your ear, and his arm tightened around your neck. "'m sorry. y'got me all wrong, princess."

he slammed you back down against your mattress, your cheek smushed into the high thread-count sheets. you could feel his hand pressing down on the back of your head, asserting dominance while his other hand pulled you back to meet his thrusts. he was primal and downright mean with the way he was fucking you, and though your skin was buzzing, you wouldn't have it, or him, any other way.

you started to cry, tears breaking free from the border of your waterlines and flowing down your cheeks. they sank into the cotton bedding, and your sobs dide against it as well. you were bawling out a weak and tortured daddy as best as you could, but to jj, it just sounded like babbling.

good, he thought. just how he liked you.

"look at those tears. cryin' like it'll make me stop 'n be nice." the laugh he let out next was almost psychopathic. but it was so fucking hot, you were losing your mind. "you're jus' makin' me wanna nut in you."

you looked at him from your peripheral vision. his sharktooth necklace bounced against his sternum with each movement. his teeth were nearly engraved into his bottom lip. those signature blue eyes were trained solely on you. on how fucked out you were beneath him.

"yeah. that's it. cry for it, baby. cry for it," he gritted out with a clenched jaw. "'member earlier? you were sayin' i was scared to lose you? think you're scared of losin' me, sweetheart. scared of losin' this good dick, right?"

you hiccuped almost miserably, fingers roaming the mattress until they found chunks of your comforter to hold onto. "gonna cum! 'm gonna cum!"

"yeah...know you are. this pussy always cums for me, like that's its job. such a good fuckin' pussy."

you clenched around him, sucking him in tighter. your walls trembled, and he knew he had you right where he wanted you.

"the only reason i keep comin’ back is 'cause she loves me so damn much."

[soufcakmistress]

Distance

Pairing: Elijah "Smoke" Moore x Annie Moore

A/N: It's been a long ass time. Of course these beautiful Black people brought me out of retirement. Let's fucking gooooo

The sun shined bright in Clarksdale as Annie waited in line for the 8:30 train to Chicago. Her protections for her home had been set in her absence, as well as on her person with a powerful mojo bag she fed the night before. The Illinois Central Railroad had a straight route to the Windy City from Mississippi. Colored folk filled the train depot almost to capacity in their finest threads, packed to the gills with their prized possessions & family heirlooms, combined with enough food to last them the trip.

It had been four years since Smoke and Stack left everything they knew behind. Including her, and their child’s memory. Pain is not sufficient for what Annie felt. She really had no idea what she was doing there at the train station. Or what she’d hope to find when she arrived to Chicago. Or what she would do when she got there. Something had to be done. Energy had to be moved. She had to see Smoke for herself.

A handsome porter helped her with her bags and helped her to get settled in the colored section of the train. She couldn’t help but be mesmerized at all the different kinds of folks that were traveling for greener pastures. The Klan terrorized northern Mississippi in hopes of keeping Black people docile. The Black communities banded together for protection, and yet could not be moved by fear or intimidation. There were grandmothers with their adult children, young families with infants and toddlers running about the cabin full of energy, single people who didn’t have much more than the clothes in their backs. All looking to a new life away from Jim Crow.

Clarksdale to Memphis. Memphis to East St. Louis. East St. Louis to Springfield. Springfield to Chicago. She made sure to get some dirt from every stop of the route — sweeping her floors with railroad dirt from various places ensured constant flow of energy and resources to find her. She stepped off the train at the last stop and she couldn’t believe her eyes.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” Annie tried to not look so much a slack jawed yokel but she had never been no further than Louisiana in her life. The skyscrapers towered over the sprawling city, the winding streets that were two lanes wide were bumper to bumper with fancy cars, and there was just so many people! How could Elijah find comfort in a place like this and not with her?

She needed him. She needed him in her bones. In her blood. They were each other’s safe haven. As children, they would meet each other at the crossroads of Route 16 and Candler Road for a respite from their hectic home lives. Smoke’s father was a drunk and abused him and the rest of the family incessantly. Annie’s mother was always away — working roots for folks, doing house cleanings and driving out haints, performing exorcisms. They were both 15 the first time they kissed and 17 the first time they were intimate. They were so young then, and blissfully ignorant at how life can be.

As they aged, they were still inseparable. Both didn’t have much formal schooling. Annie grew into her power — learning herbs and recipes and how to protect, provide and punish if need be. Elijah eventually grew tired of working in the fields. Him and his brother Elias, who was the epitome of hell on wheels, made a living robbing trains. Those boys began to make a name for themselves — especially when their abusive father mysteriously ended up dead. Stabbed in the chest with an ice pick. Annie knew the truth of the matter. Smoke and Stack were growing into young men — they couldn’t tolerate the abuse any longer.

Shortly thereafter, America got involved in the Great War. The draft came to Mississippi and Annie’s worst nightmare came to fruition. Smoke and Stack were conscripted and were set to ship out to Camp Jackson for basic training.

“Put this on your neck.”

Smoke rolled his eyes and begrudgingly took the brown mojo bag. He tied it around his neck and let it fall to his chest. “You know I don’t believe in all that mess.”

“And you don’t need to. This “mess” has been around longer than we could imagine and will be around long after we return to this earth. Just keep it on. For me.”

~

The boarding house Annie lodged in was Black owned in a neighborhood called Bronzeville. All kinds of fancy colored folks lived there in their pressed suits and pristine dresses hustling to their next destination, with little time to converse. She asked a few people about Smoke and Stack andwhere they hung out at. “Elijah and Elias? About six feet, pretty teeth, dimples. They hard to miss.” But no one could point her in the right direction.

Her trip was only supposed to be for a week. Yet four days had passed and not a peep from either one of the twins. Riding the bus along Cottage Grove, she couldn’t help but to overhear two young chaps’ conversation. “Billy done fucked up for the last time. He was slow with Luzzato’s money and Smoke and Stack left him for dead on the pier. I ain’t fuckin with them twins.”

Annie knew that the twins were okay with violence and confrontation— this was not new information to her. But working for the Italians? How did they get wrangled with them? And how did they manage to stay out of jail?

Apparently Paul Luzzato was one of Al Capone’s lieutenants who was a bit more open minded when it came to race than the rest of Capone’s family. The teens made mention of a club right in the neighborhood of the boardinghouse where she was staying. This was the opportunity Annie needed to get a step closer to closure.

The Lighthouse was a cool joint for colored folks on the southside playing nothing but Chicago and Mississippi blues. Lowlit with the fog of cigarette smoke hovering at the ceiling, Annie moved gracefully to the bar scoping out the scene. Beautiful Black men and women in their finest zoot suits and bias cut gowns drinking and carrying on — she felt a bit country and backwoods around all these fancy folks. Annie wondered if these colored folks all traveled from down south as well in hopes of seeking a promised land.

The house band played a good ol southern tune that made Annie rock and sway in her seat. A young stocky man tending bar wiped off a glass, looking in her direction. “Would you like a drink ma’am?”

“I reckon so. What’s a girl gotta do to get some moonshine around here?”

The barkeep fixed her up a glass of moonshine neat. That familiar burn went down so nicely.

~

“Nigga, if you don’t count this money so I can go. Couple bitches in there dying to get broke off by daddy Stack.” Smoke and Stack sat in a dimly lit storage room counting up their money from their protection runs for the day. Capone had sway over the whole city — any business that wasn’t a patron of the mob had to pay up for their own sakes.

“Pussy hound. Can we finish this business please?” Smoke sucked his teeth at his twin’s one track mind. To be fair, they had a long day and he wouldn’t mind a nice nightcap as he hears that guitar wail and moan.

Every dollar and cent is accounted for. Stashed safely in their massive safe built into the wall, they put their suit jackets back on and spread out into the fray. Stack went immediately to coat check to seek out this young filly who had no idea how mischievous he was. Smoke however, sat alone at his usual seat on the second floor overlooking the band. He nursed his whiskey and scoped out the room. The club was full to capacity, there were no fights at the moment, alcohol flowed — he would have a good report for Luzzato.

Smoke peered toward the bar and saw Rallo, the barkeep chatting up with a dark skinned woman who filled out her dress like no one he had ever seen before. Not in a long time anyway. Imagine his surprise when he stood up gazing over the balcony to get a good look….

“It can’t— it can’t be. She said she would never leave Mississippi.” Annie had had a lot more to drink by the time Smoke recognized her and her lips and limbs were a lot looser. Smoke watched Rallo fill her glass up to the top and sat watching her gulp it down like a sucker for love. He would serve other folks and park his ass right back in front of Annie, charming her with everything he had.

“Oh fuck this.”

Smoke skipped every two steps to race towards the bar. Pulling out a cigarette Stack rolled for him, he stood behind Annie staring directly into the back of her head. Her hand rested on Rallo’s forearm, waxing poetically about the south and how beautiful Chicago was.

“Annie.”

Her heart dropped into her ass. Annie’s pulse skyrocketed head ring his southern rasp that hadn’t changed in four years. She forced herself to play it off however— he didn’t get to leave her and their home and their baby and demand immediate attention.

Annie turned to gaze him in the eye and smiled. Rallo however stood up straight as a board, having prior knowledge of Smoke’s reputation especially on the southside. He has never been on his bad side before and didn’t want to start today. Smoke was burning with rage seeing his estranged wife giggle and flirt with a measly bartender.

“I’m busy.”

She cut her eyes and returned to her moonshine on the bar. “Rallo, get the fuck outta here.”

“Sure thing, Smoke.” Rallo left Annie alone and assisted other patrons where it was safe. She huffed at his audacity and threw the rest of the liquor back.

“Still jealous, huh? You never did like my attention to be split.” She hasn’t looked him in the eye yet, staring at the mirror that spanned the backlit bar in front of her. He was still devastatingly handsome..

“What you sayin to him, huh? Had a good time socializin? Why are you here?”

“So Smoke the only one ‘llowed to leave the country? I’m looking towards a future, not the past where everything hurts too bad. Sound familiar?” Annie hissed at Smoke for daring to regulate her. He left HER. He needed to hurt now.

It sliced right through him to have his own words thrown back in his face. His jaw was locked so tight it could break an anvil. “Annie, can we talk in the back? Please?”

“Mmmm, no I’m fine just right here ,thank you so much.” Internally, she loved that she could rouse him still. He still cared. She could tell he still wanted her carnally— his eyes wouldn’t stop wandering the length of her body.

Smoke curled his lips in, gritting his teeth at her insolence. He did deserve the treatment. But he didn’t care— all he wanted was to cuss her ass out and give her all the love that had been pent up for the last four years. “Annie. Please.”

“Elijah. Please.” Her ire began to rise now. His eyes pleaded with her to cooperate and not have his business out for Chicago to see — he had a reputation to uphold. Annie acquiesced begrudgingly, jumping from the barstool and allowed him to guide her to the back. He grabbed her hand and laced their fingers like they used to. Electricity had no choice to spread through her body.

Smoke had a key to Luzzato’s office which had a bed and closet for whenever he was too tired to drive home from the club. Annie scrutinized the tall windows cased in luxurious drapes, all of the expensive hardwood furniture and floors, and fancy Art deco decor. Nothing like back down home.

“You like Rallo?”

“Tuh, you ain’t got not one lick of sense. He was friendly enough.”

“Why are you here, Annie? You said you could never leave Mississippi. You said you could never leave—“ Smoke stopped short of speaking their dead child’s name. Her name crumbled in his mouth, a raw memory that still threatened to take him down if he let it.

That made Annie’s chin tremble yet galvanized her to force the issue. “You can’t even say her name. The child we made out of love. And you can’t even do that.” She sounded so weary and exhausted.

His eyes were glassy already, and he grabbed both of her hands. “Annie…..I couldn’t stay and you know this. I fuckin couldn’t wake up every mornin seein that tiny grave every day. I couldn’t…”

Annie felt the tremors in Smoke’s hands. She couldn’t hold tears back any longer. “And how do you think I felt?! I pulled her from my womb myself. I nursed her. I prayed for her. And she wasted away anyway. What about my pain, Elijah?!”

The dam broke for Smoke, and he cried as he embraced her. She wriggled and struggled but Smoke held her in place, both shedding tears that had no end. “Annie, please forgive me. Please forgive me. I love you. I love you to the ends of the Earth. Please forgive me.” His lips sweetly grazed her chin, cheek and down to her supple neck.

She shuddered audibly, his touch still had the ability to make her knees weak like jelly. Annie hated that her body leaned into his affections without her permission. After all this time. After what he did. “You hurt me. You hurt me bad. How can I..”

Their mouths met in a whirlwind. Tongues lashing against one another, inciting soft moans from the pair. “I’ll make it up to you. I’ll do whatever. Spend the rest of my life doin it if I have to.” Smoke’s lips kissed down her collarbone to her chest and he tenderly pecked the top of her breasts.

Kisses turn to bites, and revert back to kisses along her cleavage, and a big bicep wraps around Annie’s waist for him to grind his hips on hers. Her moans rise in volume when he reaches under her gown, and pulls her panties to the side. Smoke folds his tongue back into her mouth while two of his agile digits swipe back and forth so tenderly across her pussy lips.

“Oh…shit Smoke…”

So much of her slick is already expelled, making a mess on his fingers just how he remembers. “I’ll just have to remind you how it feels to be loved by me..”

Smoke loves how buxom his wife is, and can’t wait another second without one of her titties in his mouth. Annie helps him pull down the straps of the dress along with her bra, showing her bare breasts in all their glory. Smoke walks Annie back to Luzzato’s massive dark oak desk and leans her up against it. She held the skirt of her dress while he played with her pussy and sucked her nipples so sweetly. He kneeled so he could look at her mound even closer, making her gasp at his anticipation. He ran his hand through her soft coils and spread her lips and put his face in between them.

Bliss can’t come to close to how sensational she’s feeling. Annie holds her husband’s head right on her clit, letting his tongue lap gently in tight circles. Two thick fingers penetrate her hole and if Smoke wasn’t holding her up, she would have slipped right off the desk.

“You…you motherfucker…don’t you stop baby…”

He has her to tilt her hips up so he can lick even more thoroughly, his handsome face covered in her essence. Smoke is proud as ever, and considers it an honor to make his wife come after the way everything went down. The telltale signs came one after the other — Annie grabbing her breast, plucking her nipple, her gritted teeth, her bewildered expression at the sheer amount of pleasure she’s receiving. Those juicy lips of his wrap around Annie’s clit and sucked to tumble her into sweet oblivion. The way his moans reverberated through her body as he took from her….she couldn’t ache for him more than she did in this very moment.

Smoke kisses her sensitive pussy for the last time and finagles with his belt and slacks. When he takes his button down off, Annie sees the mojo bag she made for him when he went to the war. Her belly fluttered, that he still kept it after all this time. Even with how he felt about her beliefs. “Turn yo ass around.”

He wipes his mouth off and sheds his underwear. Annie can feel how hard he is on the small of her back, urging a coy gasp out of her. A couple strokes of his shaft is all he needs to enter his wife. Her skirts are bunched up over her ass, and his hands can’t resist slapping both cheeks in tandem. Annie hikes her waist up, positively buzzing waiting for him to split her open. Smoke holds her open and lets the head of his dick penetrate her. They both shout in ecstasy at their coupling. It had been so long….

“I know you don’t believe me….but you the only one. You the only one, Annie…” One of his hands held her by the shoulder, forcing Annie to sit on every devastating inch of that thick dick. Her whines and cries spurred him to get in deep — make her remember that he was her husband, and she was his wife. Forever.

Her umber skin meshed so well with his, Smoke enjoying the view of him sliding in and out of her soaking wet pussy. “Good ass pussy, that good ass shit, fuck!” Smoke licked and bit at Annie’s delicate shoulders and neck, grunting like a man determined to fuck his beautiful well.

Fingers played and twisted at her nipples, until he pushes Annie’s chest to the desk so she gets everything she deserves out of him. Her pussy feels every vein and pulse of his dick caressing her walls, his heavy sack making contact with her clit on every thrust. She can’t stop smiling. Her man. Her Elijah. Their love was bone deep — inescapable, insurmountable, and unbreakable. They were a committing a sacred act that she didn’t realize how much she missed until that moment.

Smoke is beginning to twitch inside of her, and Annie starts clapping her fat ass on his pelvis. His bottom lip is tucked between his teeth, feeling himself about to walk into Eden. He has to get her to come with her — he needs to make her ascend this way.

“Yeah baby, yeah baby, it’s coming — fuck fuck I—“ Smoke gives Annie three powerful thrusts and he erupts inside of her. So much cum from her and him, the floor is a mess. He stands back and spreads her open to see the amalgamation of their love inside her pussy, and she blushes. Smoke is tender and sweet, but so filthy and nasty for her, and she swears she’s the luckiest girl in the world.

He holds her from behind just taking in her scent mingled with his — Luzzato’s office smelled like old cigars and pussy. “I forgive you, Elijah.”

Smoke was startled when she spoke — there had been a comfortable silence as they held each other. He turned her to face him and held her close, looking in her eyes with hope for reconciliation. “I couldn’t quit you if I wanted to. Blood of my blood, bone of my bone.”

He graced Annie with a rare smile, one that reached his eyes. One peck on her lips turned into twenty and he thanked her incessantly for her mercy. Ever the gentleman, he assisted his wife in redressing and rearranging Luzzato’s office. The sneaky pair rejoined the festivities — still lively like they never left. Smoke got Annie a seat at his personal table on the second floor, walking tall and proud with his wife on his arm. Heads turned and gossip flowed at this mysterious woman. Smoke had never been sighted with any woman before in Chicago, not unless it was about business.

Humming in the vibrant after sex glow, Annie could do nothing but look at her husband’s face. By no means, was this going to be easy for them to grow from. But they were both ready and willing. Their love was unstoppable. Ancestral. Celestial. Smoke sensed her gaze on him and he turned back to her. Reaching over the table to kiss her, he held her hand tightly to his chest, with urgency.

“I’m comin back wit ya. I can’t let you walk away from me. I’d surely die, Annie. Will you have me?”

She squealed with utter joy at his heartfelt request. Annie sprang up and ran to him, sitting on his lap and kissing him with everything she had. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

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[connorsui]

In Your Arms

Zayne x reader

Genre/warnings: pure fluff, boyfriend zayne wanting peace and you give it, manz wanna make u a wife, no warnings we don't die around here...

Synopsis: Zayne finds solace in the warmth of your presence amidst the chaos of his demanding career, and silently, he cherishes every moment, hoping one day to make your bond official

Note: I wanted doctor zayne to cure my heart ....so I made doctor zayne want to make me a wife ...

w.c: 1,070

Zayne’s footsteps echoed softly in the sterile, dimly lit hospital corridor, his mind still entangled in the complexities of the latest surgery he’d performed. His shoulders were tense, a slight frown creasing his usually composed expression as he made his way out of the building. It had been another long day, filled with the kind of high-stakes decisions that most people couldn’t fathom. But as soon as he saw you waiting for him by the entrance, your face lighting up at the sight of him, something in him softened.

The sight of you there, with your soft smile and eyes that sparkled just for him, made the world tilt back into place. The weight of the day fell away, and for a moment, he allowed himself to simply bask in the warmth of your presence. He didn’t need to say anything; the way his eyes lingered on you, tracing the curve of your lips and the gentle slope of your shoulders, spoke volumes.

“Hi, Love! ” you greeted him, your voice a gentle balm to his frayed nerves.

“Hello, Sweetheart” he replied, his tone low and warm, the single word carrying a weight of unspoken affection. His hands itched to reach out, to pull you into his arms right there in front of everyone, but Zayne had always been careful with his emotions, especially in public. Instead, he settled for a small, almost imperceptible smile that you had come to recognize as his version of a bear hug.

The two of you walked in comfortable silence, the soft rustle of your clothing the only sound in the quiet night air. It wasn’t until you were inside his car, the doors closed, and the world shut out, that he allowed himself the luxury of touch. His hand reached out, fingers lightly grazing yours before he intertwined them, the simple gesture grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“I would like to first apologize to you …” he murmured after a few minutes, his voice laced with the kind of guilt that came from too many late nights and missed dinners.

Surprised; you questioned. “What for exactly?”

“I just know I haven’t been around much.”

You gave his hand a gentle squeeze, offering him a soft, understanding smile. “Zayne, It's alright… I know you’re doing everything you can…But…let's focus on the now.. is there anything I can do to make your night better?”

He turned his head to look at you, his gaze searching your face for any sign of fatigue or frustration. Instead, he found only warmth and concern, your eyes silently urging him to let you take care of him for once. The tension in his chest eased a fraction, and he released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Just being with you makes everything better,” he admitted, his voice rough with the weight of the day. “I don’t need anything else… just you.”

The ride to his apartment was filled with quiet conversation, the kind that flowed easily between two people who were entirely comfortable with each other. When you arrived, Zayne wasted no time pulling you close as soon as the door clicked shut behind you. His arms wrapped around you, his head resting on your chest as he exhaled deeply, finally allowing himself to relax.

“You’re so tense,” you murmured, your fingers instinctively threading through his hair, the familiar motion soothing both of you. “Why don’t you let me run you a bath? Or make you some tea?”

He tightened his hold on you, shaking his head slightly as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. “No, just… this is what I need. You’re what I need.”

The way he clung to you, as if letting go would mean losing the one thing keeping him grounded, made your heart ache with a mix of love and concern. He was always so strong, so capable, but even Zayne had his limits, and you could see that he’d reached them tonight.

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” you suggested softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of his head. “You deserve to rest.”

He nodded against you, and you led him to his bedroom, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm light over the room. Zayne moved with a quiet grace, his every action deliberate as he turned to face you, his hands settling on your waist.

“I’m sorry I’m not more… put together tonight,” he murmured, his eyes heavy with exhaustion as he leaned in to rest his forehead against yours.

“You don’t have to be anything other than yourself with me,” you whispered back, your hands coming up to cup his face. “I love you just as you are, Zayne.”

His breath hitched slightly at your words, and he pressed his lips to yours in a slow, lingering kiss that made your heart swell with emotion. There was no rush, no urgency—just the deep, abiding love that had grown between you over time, steady and unshakable.

When he pulled back, his hands moved to the hem of your shirt, his eyes meeting yours in silent question. You nodded, and he carefully lifted your shirt over your head, his hands warm against your skin as he undressed you with the same precision he used in surgery.

Once you were both stripped down; Zayne pulled you into bed, his arms wrapping around you as he settled you against his chest. His heartbeat was steady, a comforting rhythm beneath your ear as you laid together in the quiet.

“Is this okay?” he asked softly, his lips brushing the top of your head.

“It’s perfect,” you whispered back, your fingers tracing lazy patterns on his skin.

Zayne smiled against your hair, his hold on you tightening slightly as he pressed a kiss to your forehead. In that moment, with you wrapped up in his arms, he felt complete, as if all the pieces of his life had finally fallen into place.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day,” he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. “ — to be here with you… it’s all I need.”

You nestled closer, your heart swelling with love for the man who had given so much of himself to others, yet asked for so little in return. “I’m here, Zayne. I’m always here.”

As you drifted off to sleep, Zayne couldn’t help but think about how much he wanted this—wanted you—every day for the rest of his life. And one day, he would make that dream a reality. But for now, he was content to hold you close, savoring the warmth of your body against his as he followed you into sleep.

Doctor zayne with a need for you is the only man I will ever need

[mashtatosworld]

can't pretend

summary: its strictly professional between you and seunghyun, a heated performance for your fans. until its not.

To the fans, you and Choi Seunghyun were the definition of on-stage chemistry.

The lingering touches, the teasing glances, the kind of flirtation that made cameras zoom in and edits go viral.

The way his fingers traced down your arm during duet stages.

The way his lips brushed your ear whenever you performed collaborations.

The way he watched you like he wanted to devour you whole.

It was intense. It was hot.

It was the kind of thing that made headlines, sent fandoms spiralling, and had entire Twitter threads analysing every glance.

And you played along.

Because, well, why not?

You were both idols. You understood the game.

At least, you thought you did.

Until the lights went down and the music faded.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

He ignored you.

Not coldly. Not rudely. Not dismissively.

He just… never spoke to you.

You weren’t sure what it was.

You had tried in the beginning. The first few times it happened, you figured maybe he was just quiet. Maybe he just took time to warm up to people.

But then you saw him talking to your bandmates.

Laughing, even.

Chatting with ease, his voice deep and smooth, the occasional teasing smirk thrown their way.

Yet the second you approached the conversation, ready to join in on the laughter, he would stop talking.

His gaze would settle on you - silent, unreadable.

Like he was waiting for you to start speaking.

Like he had nothing to say to you.

And over time, it got to you.

You took it personally.

He could touch you on stage.

He could act like he wanted to kiss you in front of thousands.

But he couldn't even say hello?

Fine.

You played along because you had to.

But you knew, deep down, that whatever Seunghyun did on stage -

It wasn’t real.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The night is one of celebration.

Your group and BigBang had just wrapped up the first night of your dual tour, and the high of the performance still buzzes through your veins as you all pack into an exclusive VIP section of a club. The music is bass-heavy and intoxicating, and the bottles flow freely.

You’re laughing with your members, riding the adrenaline of the performance.

But then Seunghyun appears at the table, carrying a tray stacked with shot glasses, distributing them one by one to the entire table.

But when he gets to you -

He skips over you.

Your laughter falters.

You blink down at the shot tray, waiting. Nothing.

He moves to set the empty tray down.

"Oh...” you murmur, just loud enough for your members to hear.

They see it too, eyes flicking between the tall rapper and your pursed lips.

You glance up at Seunghyun, confusion flickering behind your eyes. “What, am I not included?”

Seunghyun blinks.

His lips press together before he mutters, “I didn’t know what you’d want.”

Silence.

Your group mates exchange knowing looks.

You exhale sharply, shrugging. “I mean, the same as everyone else would have been fine.”

Seunghyun nods - stiff and formal, before pivoting and walking straight back toward the bar.

You scoff loudly.

“That’s what I’m talking about,” you say, turning back to your girls. “See? He actually hates me.”

Your members roll their eyes.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“No, seriously,” you insist. “He avoids me. He never speaks to me. The only time he even looks at me is on stage because it’s all for the fans, the performance. He’s just playing it up for the cameras.”

The BigBang boys laugh.

“You’ve got it so wrong!” Daesung says before clamping his mouth shut.

Too late.

Your eyes narrow. “What do you mean?”

Jiyong smirks, sipping his drink. “Seunghyun definitely doesn’t hate you.”

You arch a brow. “Could’ve fooled me.”

Daesung sighs. “No, no, you don’t get it. He - ” He hesitates, but then the liquor loosens his tongue. “He’s just so worried about disappointing you.”

Your frown at the confession, taken aback.

Youngbae nods, a wince on his face as he polishes off the shot. “I mean, I hate tequila, but our hyung never cares enough to get me something else.”

The rest of BigBang bursts out laughing.

Your group stares.

"You boys are so strange," Your lead vocalist tuts, throwing back her own tequila with a grimace. "Here's to six more months together!"

Everyone else cheers' whilst you watch, eyes glancing to the bar where Seunghyun stood, tapping his card against the countertop, waiting to be served.

"I don't know if I'll survive it," You mutter to the group, looking away when his eyes travelled back towards your table.

"Ignore him," Jiyong assures you, as the others began to talk about the next show. "He'll come around once he gains the courage. The last one ruined his confidence." He scoffed, like he was incensed at the thought.

"The last one?"

"Yeah, what was her name?" He nudged Youngbae who shot daggers at his friend.

"I don't think we should talk about it."

Jiyong rolled his eyes. "Whatever, it was a complicated shit-show. Our hyung just needs to forget her already."

Your best friend nudges you. “You know, you could help with that.”

Your gaze flickers up, and she smirks knowingly.

Your members catch on instantly, all of them grinning, giggling, whispering mischievously.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say, feigning innocence.

Of course you found Seunghyun attractive, anyone with eyes would.

But getting involved with someone who supposedly was fresh out of a complicated relationship was rarely ever a good idea. Especially when you'd be working so closely with them for the next half a year.

Yet your fingers trace the rim of your empty glass, contemplating the thought.

Seunghyun returns shortly after.

His eyebrows crease slightly as he takes in the scene - everyone already polished off their shots, whispering, laughing.

He steps up to you, moving carefully, sitting beside you with a measured gap between you.

Wordlessly, he sets a single shot of tequila in front of you - a little wedge of lime perched on top.

"Hey! Why didn't we get one of those," Youngbae points with a frown.

Seunghyun shrugs, pulling out his pack of cigarettes as you pluck the lime from your drink.

Only for you.

Your chest tightens, but you let none of it show.

Instead, you take the little glass and tilt your head up at him, eyes gleaming.

“Thanks.”

And then, lowering your voice so only he can hear -

“By the way, I’ll drink whatever you get me.”

The cigarette dangles from his lips as his pupils dilate.

And just like that - it begins.

The shot goes down, but his eyes are only on you.

For the rest of the night, you’re somehow so much closer, thighs touching, shoulders brushing.

He leans in to speak to you, uncaring to include anyone else in the conversations, and if you so much as turn your head away to answer someone else, he'll call your name - a hand on your thigh to regain your attention.

The rest of the group shifts towards the dance floor but you two stay in your secluded bubble. You’re sharing drinks, sharing touches.

And when you finally convince him to join the others in the crowd, he stays pressed to your back, following your lead.

It starts with subtle grazes.

Then longer, lingering touches.

Until finally -

His hands grip your waist, pulling you flush against him.

The first kiss is slow. Testing.

But the moment you bite his lip, everything changes.

His hands tighten, his breath catches, and he kisses you again.

The groups wild reactions, the heavy music, the heat of the club all fizzles out and you're completely consumed by him.

When you finally pull back, he’s staring.

Eyes dark.

Chest heaving.

You look up at him, fingers curling into fabric of his shirt.

“Don't ignore me anymore,” you murmur.

"I never have," he assures you, grasping your wrist and without another word - he stole you away.

Ready to ruin you.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

The following weeks on tour with Seunghyun were perfect.

Hotel rooms shared between rehearsals and performances.

Late-night dinners that turned into mornings tangled together in white sheets.

Inside jokes whispered between stolen kisses backstage.

You were happy. He was happy. Your bands were happy.

It was effortless. Natural. Like you had both fallen into place.

Until her.

Until the reminder of his past.

Seunghyun was in the shower, steam curling from the open bathroom door, singing loudly under the rush of water.

His phone started ringing against the nightstand.

"Can you get that?" His voice was muffled over the water.

You reached for it, expecting one of the guys.

But then you saw the name.

A girl's name.

One you didn’t recognise.

You froze, pulse jumping.

The call went to missed.

Then a message appeared.

Your thumb, curled around the screen tightly slipped - accidentally opening it.

You wished you hadn’t.

[mina] I miss you, and I know you miss me too

[mina] I hate you

[mina] Are you with her now? It’s all over social media

[mina] You know making me jealous doesn't work

[mina] Does she know about us

Message after message.

For weeks.

Your stomach dropped.

This was the girl. The one that Jiyong had mentioned before Youngbae told him off.

You scrolled further, heart pounding, only to find that Seunghyun hadn’t replied in months.

But he hadn’t told her to stop, either.

Hadn’t blocked her.

Hadn’t shut it down.

If anything, he'd left the door open. And you were merely the distraction.

And that? That hurt.

Then -

"Who was it? Princess?"

The water shut off.

Panic seized your chest.

You dropped the phone back onto the nightstand and scrambled from the bed.

By the time Seunghyun stepped out of the bathroom, towelling his hair, you were gone.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You didn’t see him for the rest of the day.

He tried.

The guys tried.

Your bandmates checked in.

But you skipped dinner, locked up in their room, making excuses, claiming exhaustion.

Your phone buzzed with messages you ignored.

[seunghyun] Where are you?

[seunghyun] Are you okay?

[seunghyun] y/n

You weren’t ready.

It wasn’t until later that night - when the rest of the group had gone out for dinner, leaving you alone in your bandmates’ hotel room - that you finally ran out of places to hide.

Someone had given him the room key.

You didn’t hear him enter.

Didn’t notice he wasn't one of your girl friends until he was standing in front of you at the foot of the bed, tall and intimidating.

Tension thickened the air.

"What’s going on?" His voice was careful.

You clenched your jaw, avoiding his gaze, even when he carefully perched himself beside you - like he was afraid you were going to run away.

He sighed. "You weren’t at dinner. You’ve been avoiding me."

Silence.

His brows furrowed. "y/n - "

"I saw the messages."

His face barely changed.

"Messages?"

"Your ex." Your voice was flat.

Realisation flickered in his dark eyes.

"y/n, they mean nothing."

"Then why haven’t you told her to stop?"

His lips parted. No response.

Your throat tightened. "If it was nothing, then you would’ve shut it down."

"It’s not that simple."

"Isn’t it?" You laughed coldly.

A muscle ticked in his jaw.

"y/n, we were together on and off for two years. It’s not like - "

He hesitated.

Like he knew he shouldn’t finish the sentence.

Like he realised too late.

But you had already heard it.

Already felt the sting.

"Not like what? Not like a couple months?" You scoffed, standing up, shaking your head. "You’re right. A few months is meaningless."

His face hardened. "Don’t. That’s not what I said."

"It’s what you were going to say."

"But that’s not what I meant."

Your chest burned.

He exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. “y/n, you’re overreacting.”

Maybe you were. Maybe you were running more on anger than rational thought.

But in that moment, when your thoughts were clouded by hurt, it was the wrong thing to say.

“Overreacting?” You let out a hollow laugh, crossing your arms.

Seunghyun’s jaw clenched. “I never respond to her, you don't understand - ”

You swallowed, voice dropping. “Am I just keeping you distracted until you change your mind?”

His eyes snapped to yours. “Of course not.”

“Really?” Your voice wavered. “She was a secret, wasn’t she? Now I’m just - what? Another mistake you don’t want to acknowledge?”

His eyes darkened. “You think I don’t want to acknowledge you?”

You shrugged. “You barely even talked to me before this tour.”

His head tilted back, jaw working like he was biting back words.

Your lips parted. “Wow. That’s it, isn’t it?” You let out a shaky breath. “You don’t think I was supposed to happen.”

“That’s not - ”

“But I did.”

Silence.

A thick, suffocating silence.

Your chest felt hollow.

This was the first real fight you'd ever had.

And it was feeling more and more like the last.

Seunghyun took a step forward, softer now. “You did happen. And I - ”

But you took a step back.

You shook your head, biting your lip to keep it from trembling. “You should’ve blocked her.”

He exhaled, running a hand down his face. “I should’ve. I'm sorry.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and turned towards the door.

“I need to think.”

“y/n - ”

You didn’t stop.

Didn’t look back.

Because if you did -

You might falter.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You went straight to reception after that, requesting a room for yourself. One he couldn't reach you from.

Yet you couldn’t sleep.

Lying in your too-cold hotel bed, you stared at the ceiling, the fight replaying in your head over and over. The worst part? You missed him. Even now. Even after everything.

And he wouldn’t stop trying.

The first call came shortly after you closed the door to your new room.

You stared at the ringing hotel phone.

You slowly picked it up, bringing it to your ear. "Hello?"

“y/n.” His voice was soft.

He'd found out what room you were staying in. Great.

You slammed the phone down.

Another call.

Then another.

By the fourth, you yanked the cord from the wall and collapsed back into bed.

But Seunghyun wasn’t done.

The next day, he planned a group outing. Something to break the tension.

But when you got the invite, it wasn’t long before you found out the truth.

No one else had been invited.

Just you.

You didn't show up.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

You had been avoiding him for days.

Every conversation dodged. Every touch evaded. Every moment spent in separate spaces.

Until now.

Because on stage, in front of thousands of screaming fans, you had nowhere to run.

You performed as usual.

The same smiles.

The same touches.

Everything between you had been fake before - so faking it again should have been easy.

But then, he kissed you.

Right there.

On stage.

In front of everyone.

The fans lost it.

Cameras flashed. Screams erupted. The internet was going to explode.

You were stunned.

The moment you stepped off stage, you grabbed his wrist, dragging him to a quiet corner.

“What the hell was that?” you hissed.

Seunghyun stared down at you. “A kiss.”

You scoffed. “We’re not even together anymore! Why would you give them the wrong impression?”

His jaw clenched. “Because we’re not ending things over a stupid fight.”

Your stomach twisted.

His voice dropped, softer now. “I lost someone before because I let miscommunication and fighting break us apart. I let her convince me I wasn’t worth a real relationship.” His eyes searched yours. “I’m not letting that happen again.”

You exhaled slowly.

For the first time in days, you actually looked at him.

At his tired eyes. The tension in his shoulders. The way he was still reaching for you, even now.

You swallowed.

This wasn’t how adults solved things.

You had run. He had chased.

But that wasn’t how you two were supposed to work.

You took a deep breath. “Fine. Let’s talk.”

Relief flooded his features.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

Later, in your new hotel room, you sat on the bed as Seunghyun stood by the window, chain-smoking.

He finally took a breath.

"I never blocked her because I felt responsible... When I finally left, she said things that made me scared for her life. We were toxic. And unstable. But that didn't mean I wanted anything bad to happen to her."

Your lips parted at the confession. You had no idea he had gone through such a traumatic relationship.

“After, once we were done, I felt… guilty,” he continued. “When I first met you, you were like this... light that I desperately wanted. But I thought if I indulged in you, then I was being selfish. Unworthy."

Your heart ached.

He exhaled. “That’s why I never made a move before the tour. But when you did…” He finally met your eyes. “I was so happy. So addicted. I couldn't go back to pretending.”

You smiled softly.

He reached for his phone, showing you his screen.

Her number was blocked.

“I should’ve done it sooner,” he said. “I’m really sorry.”

You swallowed. “I’m sorry, too. For not listening to you. For running.”

He nodded. “Let’s not do that again.”

You laced your fingers through his.

“Never.”

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

When you woke up, the bed beside you was empty.

You sat up, blinking, only to see Seunghyun packing.

Your bags.

You furrowed your brows. “What are you doing?”

He didn’t even glance up. “As nice as this room is,” he zipped up your suitcase, “it’s not as nice as ours.”

Your heart stuttered.

Ours.

You liked the sound of that.

𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪 𓆩♡𓆪

based on events i been through myself... anywaysss enjoy xx

taglist: @petersasteria, @mirahyun , @allthoughtsmindfull , @gdinthehouseee , @infinetlyforgotten , @redhoodedtoad , @kathaelipwse , @lxvemaze , @loveesiren , @sherrayyyyy , @getyoassoutthetrunk , @shieraseastarrs , @ctrldivinev , @xxxicddbr88 , @onyxmango , @tryingtolivelifeblog , @tulentiy , @bettelaboure , @maskedcrawford , @lariem-blog2 , @emmiesoverthemoon , @rafesbunniebby , @ricecake9999

[monstera-modd]

Mother

DPxDC #5

____________

There were stories and legends shared from one kid to another, saying that if you were ever lost, abandoned, or unloved there was someone out there. A being that would find you and take you in. A presence to pour endless amounts of love into your care and upbringing, claiming you as their own.

Everyone only knew them as Mother. With his bright, calming green eyes and cool hands that also felt warm when he cradled your face, you just knew that you were loved, that you were safe, and had someone to call your parent- call a Mother.

Tim had heard the rumors and read about them online during those lonely nights when his parents would be who knows where, but he never let himself believe in it, in them. Why get all worked up about some deity that only has whispers and stories? 

There were no pictures or concrete descriptions- just green eyes and cold-warm hands. 

And even if he did let himself believe, if he let himself hope… what then? What happens when they never come?

His parents sang promises all the time, but every time, he would be dismissed- treated as if he were merely part of the groundskeeping staff, not their only kid, their son.

And yet here he was.

Alone on his seventh birthday.

A card on his table, telling him his parents were in Guatemala for an exhibit. Or something.

Tears blurred his vision as he flicked the lighter on and off, the small flame dancing in the dark. With a shaky breath, he closed his eyes and wished—God, he wished—that the being from the stories would come. Would save him and hear a gentle voice say, It’s all right now. I’m here.

That they would cradle his face like those stories, press a kiss on his forehead with other words of affection, hold him tight, and take him away.

Anywhere but here.

Away from a cold, empty manor.

Away from distant, unloving staff.

Away from parents who were never here.

_________

When Tim dreams, it’s of dazzling stars streaking across the sky. Walking on belts of moons and planets, and a being with bright green eyes and flowing white hair.

They pulled him close, cupping his cheek with a kind, loving look.

“My poor boy,” they murmured, voice laced with sorrow. “I’m so sorry I didn’t come sooner, baby. But I’m here now—Mother’s here.”

A gentle thumb wipes away tears, and Tim dives into that loving embrace, loud sobs seem to echo and not in the strange, star-lit space. 

He doesn't know how long they stay there. But the warmth around him never faded, and those loving hands cooled his heated cheeks and puffy eyes. Arms wound closer around him as he's hoisted into the air and cradled close.

Mother rocks him gently back and forth, fingers carding through his hair.

“I can’t take you with me, baby,” they whispered. “It’s not safe right now. But I’ll always come visit—to tuck you in every night, to hold you close when nightmares cloud your starry sky.”

They pressed a kiss to his hair. 

“I have someone that I trust to look after my sweet boy. Sleep, baby. You'll be safe when you wake up.”

_____

That night, Alfred got a call.

He made promises to look after his new baby brother. Mother was fighting so hard to keep them all safe, and he could see the exhaustion in his eyes as he left that night.

But just as he promised, every night, Tim’s Mother appeared through glowing green portals.

With kisses and soft words, he tucked him in and told him stories of ancient pharaohs and great green witches. And every time nightmares gripped him, he felt gentle fingers threading through his hair and heard the soothing hum of a familiar voice.

Because Mother was there.

Mother never left.

And Mother never broke a promise.

_______

I love my baby Tim ❤️🥹🫶🏼

ALSO!! Go check out this fabulous Fic @moonmeetsthestars wrote!!

An Answered Cry by: Moonmeetsthestars

[oofmybad]

A sunday kind of love

synopsis: billie makes love to you on a slow sunday morning. wholesome fluffy smut

warnings: billie x female!reader, sub!reader, strap on, lots of fluff, gentle smut, lowercase intended

a/n: it’s bugging me that no one has brushed their teeth :/ but just ignore that. or maybe tell urself that they got up to brush their teeth. idk.

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

rays of sun are slicing throuhg the cracks in the blinds, the light bleeding through your closed eyelids. there is a warm, feather-light breeze flowing through the room - the smell of california spring welcoming you from your slumber. having just come to, you go to turn your body away from the window, but you’re resticted from billie’s arm snugly holding onto your waist. eyes beginning to pry open, you chuckle at the sight of your girlfriend’s bedhead. her face is completely covered, aside from her pillowy pink pouting lips, by her raven hair - her blonde baby hairs next to her ear are peeking out in the sunlight, though. you smile, enamoured by your girl’s innocent form, tuck her long bangs back, and press a gentle kiss to the helix of her ear.

at your gentle actions, billie begins to stir awake. her eyes remain unopened so she pads the hand that is sitting on your waist up your body and feels around until she finds your face. billie smiles in triumph and coaxes your face towards her own for a soft kiss.

“morning, pretty girl” billie says against your lips. you chuckle, “you haven’t even opened your eyes yet, baby. i can promise you i do not look pretty right now”.

“you always look beautiful. shut up” billie says smililing, her eyes still firmly shut. you melt at her words, flattered that she feels no need to search for evidence of your beauty, she knows exactly what you look like - having already spent countless mornings waking up together. “you’re sweet” you simply say.

“kiss me, baby” billie mumbles, her hands begging your face to be closer to hers. you follow her lead and lean in, catching her lips in a loving kiss. your make out begins to err on the side of needy as the minutes pass, billie pushing her tongue into your mouth.

both of your legs are now intertwined under the covers, so your hips begin to lightly thrust against billie’s thigh that’s between yours. billie retreats from the kiss for a moment, her eyes searching for yours. “i need you” billie says under her breath, pushing her thigh into your core some more.

“yeah, baby?” you question her, “…have me, then” you say, returning her deep gaze. at that, billie turns her body around on the bed and searches through the bedside table’s cabinet and reaches for the strap. she pulls it out but leaves it lying next to her body on the bed. billie is taking her time with you, making sure not to rush through a single second of your sweet attention.

you blink slowly, a doey gaze in your eyes, as you wait for billie to consume you. she threads her fingers through your hair and dips her head to kiss your neck. “you smell so good, honey” billie says as she breathes in your warm, woody scent barely there from the day before. she uses her soft, flat tongue to lick from your collarbone up to your earlobe, sending chills across the top of your body.

“billie” you whimper in her ear thats next to your mouth. she questioningly hums in return, searching for something more from you. “please” you say, your fingers lightly digging into billie’s shoulder.

“i know baby, i know.” she coos at you, lightly teasing your need with her left hand. billie slowly pets your core from top to bottom over and over again, only making the ache worse. on the last stroke, she pushes down at the top of your slit, finally relieveing some of the built up pressure.

billie’s body clambers away from yours as she steps off the bed and pulls her underwear down to her ankles. you go to copy her actions, hooking your thumbs under the waistband of your panties, but billie protests with her hand resting on your hip, “let me love on you, baby. let me do it.” you dont respond, but retract your hands from your clothing. you send her a begging look, doe eyes bigger than ever. this causes billie to slightly hurry her actions - she pulls the harness up onto herself and adjusts the straps to suit her body.

she crawls over to you, her body now on top of yours, saying, “you’ve been such a good girl, so patient for me”, as she tucks your hair behind your ears. billie’s eyes trace the length of your torso, her own patience beginning to wear thin. she reaches down to your hips and uses her thumbs to pull your underwear away from your core. billie lowly whimpers at the sight of you, followed by her lightly blowing onto your pussy. your body squirms at her actions and you giggle from the cold sensation slightly tickling you. billie cups her warm hand over your center then glides her hand up your tummy, pulling your (her) baggy shirt up with it.

billie bunches the material in her hands and pushes it over your tits - your nipples harden at the new cool air hitting them. billie longingly stares at your chest and plays with your nipples, fiddling with your golden piercings, saying, “my pretty baby”. she lowers herself to press the front of her body against yours, ducking her head to leave an open-mouthed wet kiss on each of your nipples.

her right hand grabs the fat on your chest, and then inches lower and lower, landing inbetween both of your hips. billie grabs onto the strap connected to her and teases your slit with it. even from the slightest bit of contact you begin to moan, your whole body is incredibly sensetive from her gentle touches. billie reaches the strap to your entrance and begins to push inside of you.

you silently gasp, your back arching off the mattress. billie moans from the pressure as she slides her left arm through the gap between your back and the bed. she slowly thrusts the whole length of the strap into you, just ghosting over your cervix. you let out a quiet cry at the feeling, it *almost* hurting, but realy just overwhelming you with pleasure.

billie inches the strap out of you and checks in with you, “you okay, baby?”

“yes, my love. you feel so good, please keep going.”

at that, billie thrusts into you again and again, maintaining a passionate but slow pace. after a few minutes of you two whimpering and grasping onto each other’s bodies, she begins to increase the vigor at which she thrusts. billlie’s hips remain slow, but now she is pushing into you harder and deeper.

“unhhh, unh!” you moan out when billie grabs one of your legs and places it over her own shoulder, the new angle causing the strap to hit your cervix even more. “baby” billie grunts into you. with each thrust, she gets more vocal - you can feel her begin to pant against your shoulder, a low growl escaping her mouth with each breath. “i can feel you clenching, fuck” billie practically moans into you.

“please don’t stop, don’t stop” you cry out. at this, billie very slightly picks up speed and moves her arm from your back down to your core, her other hand fisting the pillow next to your head and holding her body up. billlie’s middle and ring finger carefully circle your clit, “i’m gonna cum, baby. fuck, you feel so good.”

“me too, billie. cum with me” you pant out, trying to wait for your girlfriend’s cue. billie says nothing in return but her hips start to stutter and her hand is moving in faster, more jagged circles than before as she repeatedly grunts over you. just from the sight of your girlfriend unravelling, your own coil begins to come undone. you bite down onto her shoulder and billie moans from the contact. both of you are coming into each other, billie whispering sweet nothings to you, “there you go, baby”, “good girl”, “fuck i love you”.

as billie pushes a final thrust into you, your eyes begin to well up and a few tears stream from the corner of your eyes. your mouth lets go of billie’s shoulder as your hands go to cover your face.

“hey, hey. baby? are you ok?” billie asks you, prying your hands away from your face, her eyes feverishly searching yours. you laugh at yourself and half smile half pout at your girlfriend’s concern. “i’m ok, my love. you just feel so good… i love you so much” you explain, your pout dissapearing.

“awww, sweet girl” billie cradles your head in her arms. “i love you more. what can i do?” she asks. “nothing” you shake your head, “just don’t move for a minute, bil”.

“of course” billie nods and squeezes you in her hold. you both lie there, your heart rates coming back down to normal, your breathing slowing, too. billie just strokes your hair, and draws small doodles on your shoulder. gingerly pulling her body away from you billie tells you “i’m gonna pull out, ok? i wanna look after you properly.” you nod your head and billie puts all of her weight on her hands either side of you, moving her hips away from yours. you whimper at the loss, but quickly laugh at your own noises.

billie rushes the harness off of her body and lays her body down parallel to you, she grabs your far knee and uses it to pull your body on top of hers, you straddling her. “there you go, my love” billie says as her hands crawl up your back, all of your body now fully submerged in her embrace. “i love you, billie”, “i love you, y/n” you both whisper in unison. you lift your head to meet billie’s eyes and you both cackle, yelling “jinx!”

“i love spending sundays with you” billie grins out as she kisses the tip of your nose and coaxes your head back onto her chest.

[d-emeter]

Breakfast, lunch and dinner (or: cod characters and how they eat you out) — plus-size!fem!reader x cod characters

Includes: Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, König, Graves, Alejandro, Rudy, Valeria

Note: take this as my formal apology for being inactive for so long :') exam week had me hanging on by a thread and i'm also suddenly moving so. yay. expect some more action after like... this week i hope

John Price

Listen. Getting eaten out by Captain Price is not, in any way, meant for your pleasure. No, this is him disciplining you. It hardly even matters what for. Maybe you have been teasing him, sliding your hand up his thigh under the table, rubbing your ass against him while passing by him. Maybe you've been a brat all day, complaining and huffing and puffing about everything, barely listening to any of John's requests and/or demands. Either way, sit on his desk and spread your fucking legs, doll. He'll be edging you for what feels like hours, tongue moving so torturously slow that all coherent thought has seeped from your brain aside from how badly you want to cum. Too bad, bad girls don't deserve to finish this easily.

Simon 'Ghost' Riley

With Simon, it's always a surprise what position you'll end up in. The only certainty you have is that it's definitely not what you'd expect, and sometimes you wish that for once he'd just lay you down and get busy. But alas, he'll have you kneeling with your face in the pillows, or bent over the back of the couch. Maybe he'll have you hanging off the edge of the bed so all the blood flows to your already overheating brain. You're clinging onto whatever you can get a hold on, mostly in pleasure, and sometimes in fear of falling when he has you up on his shoulders and leaned against the wall. Well, he doesn't exactly hear your complaining over your moans and whimpers, he argues, and he wouldn't dream of dropping you.

Johnny 'Soap' Mactavish

As with Price, this has little to do with your pleasure: it's all for his own benefit. Please, lass, he loves your cunt, and she loves him, doesn't she? Come on, let him have a taste. He could give two shits about where you are or how convenient it is— if he wants to lick your pussy, he's going to. He's down on his knees while you're desperately clinging onto the kitchen counter, or the shower wall, or the shelves of your pantry. Hell, you'd have to hope and pray a sales associate won't come by your changing room in fear of them hearing all of his moans. Oh, and you quickly find out you cannot wear a skirt around him, because it won't come down from your hips if he has any say in it.

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick

He's devastatingly methodical. He knows your body better than you do at this point, and he's not afraid to use this to his advantage. He can work you just right, but the worst part is that he will refuse to. Unless you kindly ask him for it, that is. Tsk, pretty girl, use your words. Let him know where you need him, what you need him to do. He's hovering close enough that you can feel his breath on your neglected clit, your cunt clenching around nothing in desperate search for friction of any kind, but he won't do anything until you tell him in excruciating detail what you want. And be aware, any time you stop talking, he's pulling away in a second.

König

Oh, König... Sweet, wet-rag-of-a-man loser that he is, will completely lose his mind any time you allow him near your pussy. He can practically feel his brain melting while he's drowning himself in your slick, and he looks like it too. His eyes have rolled back, face flushed and his eyebrows scrunched in pure, unadulterated pleasure. His body has turned to complete mush, his cock leaking against the sheets and hands clawing onto any part of your body he can reach (which, with his arms, is basically everywhere). Unintelligible mumbles made into your cunt, teetering the edge between praise and begging. He is a little inexperienced, Schatz, so you'll have to show him how you like it. Shove his face between your folds and ride his nose, and you'll have him moaning like a bitch in heat. When he finally comes back up for air you can tell you're not the only one that reached heaven just now.

Philip Graves

I'm going to speak my truth here, he does not strike me as the kind of man to give you oral all that much. I am SORRY, but it's true. He usually prefers to get you nice and ready for him with his fingers, or by having you ride his thigh, or simply from the absolute filth he spews into your ear while dry-humping. However, on the odd occasion that Phil does get down and dirty, he aims to make it special. It's strangely sentimental, actually. It'd be outside on a picnic blanket after his homecoming, or in your shared bed after your anniversary dinner. Anything that reminds him how much he loves you, and how much you mean to him, and he's going to show you with his tongue. There's reverence in every suck, praise in every lick and prayer in every word he murmers into your core. You're his goddess and he's just here to worship you, baby.

Alejandro Vargas

For Ale, it'd be a form of gratuity much in the same way it is for Graves, though the difference is that he'll use that as an excuse even for the most menial things. His belly nice and full after your homecooked dinner, grin on his face and asking when his dessert is being served. You've been so good to him, amor, welcoming him home with a smile and a kiss and a plate waiting for him, now let him thank you properly. You fixed the button on his shirt that had fallen off? Well, put it on and lay yourself down, time to lap at your cunt in thanks. It's gotten to a point where you're convinced he just decided his goal in life is to pull as many orgasms from you as possible. Not that you're complaining, of course.

Rodolfo 'Rudy' Parras

Eating you out is, in many ways, a means to an end for Rudy. He wants to make sure you're properly prepped and ready to take his cock, so it's almost instinctual for him to bury his face between your soft thighs for a while before inching himself into you. It's part of the routine, the way he thought sex was supposed to go. It's not until you explain to him that it can actually be the main event, and that you'd thoroughly enjoy it if he maybe put in a little more effort, that it dawns on him just how much he can actually do down there and how much time he's wasted not doing it. Now, tesoro, you may have shot yourself in the foot with that one, because he now can keep you pinned down for hours, just suckling away at your clit and fucking you on his tongue, dumb grin on his face after your fifth orgasm renders you basically comatose.

Valeria Garza

The only way Valeria will actually relax for once is with your pussy in her face. Seriously, you've tried everything else: lavender baths, deep tissue massages, even trying to get her to meditate. But no, the only time you actually see her shoulders lose all their tension is when she's between your folds. She's had such a long day, vida, come sit on her face. She's not even groping you the way she usually does during sex, hands instead playing idly with the fat of your thighs and ass while all her worries melt away. There are no thoughts running through her mind aside from how good you taste, how pretty you sound and how nice you feel under her hands.

[pellucid-constellations]

To Feel At Home

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: Winnowing out from Under the Mountain, you know you need to find him—it doesn't seem real, to feel so at home.

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: Angst

a/n: A little angsty piece because I can't stop writing for some reason. I hope you enjoy :)

Main Masterlist ♡

~~

On shaking legs, you pressed forward. Rhysand was still at the Moonstone Palace—still in Mor’s arms and coping with the impossible. You had made to stay, but Mor had given you a shake of her head that conveyed more than any words could have.

Mustering up the morsel of power that had returned to you after Amarantha’s death, you winnowed to Velaris. 

Not in a good spot. You hadn’t had access to your power in over five decades and much of Rhysand’s wards were still in place. Given the circumstances, getting yourself to some random alley at the edge of Velaris was a feat. 

The sun was blinding, invading your senses that had gotten so used to the darkness Under the Mountain. You brought a hand up to cover your eyes and trekked on.

No more winnowing. 

You had tried—it hadn’t worked. 

As you walked, stumbling through families taking strolls and having normal days, you searched within you for that golden thread. It had been absent for longer than it had been alive, your time as mates barely reaching a decade before your disappearance. 

You sifted through the pain and grief and loneliness, desperate for the relief you would find once you felt the weight of him. 

Nothing yet. 

He had to know things had changed Under the Mountain. Even amidst the secrecy and the hiding, you knew he would check.  His shadows would cross continents to find you. 

But—you stressed, as you made it to a main road lined with cobblestones—that could mean he went there. Azriel could be under that mountain at this very moment, searching through the fae still sorting out their lives before they went home. 

And you were here. 

You had no reason to panic. 

You were home, safe, alive; you had more reason to feel at peace than you had in the last 50 years. But if Azriel wasn’t here… 

Your breath came out in short pants as your fingers found purchase on a wall. But you kept going, kept watching your feet as they stumbled past each other, just to have the chance of seeing him. 

There were no shadows yet. 

They always found you first. 

You weren't sure how much time had passed—seconds, minutes, hours all lost their meaning under Amarantha—but the shadow of the mountain that held your home was soon cast over your body. You gasped out uneven breaths and pressed a hand to the towering figure, to the entrance that held the ten thousand steps you had every intention of climbing. 

Your body would surely fail. 

The last five decades had not been kind. 

With a determination fueled solely by desperation and hope, you began the tunneled pathway to the harrowing climb, but then you stopped at the entryway. 

A broken rendition of your name met your ears, so cracked and ruined you could have passed it off for something else. 

But you knew that voice, the way the vowels flowed and connected. 

Another broken sound permeated the air, this time from your own lips. 

You couldn’t look. You wanted to, ached to, but you couldn’t. So much anticipation led up to this moment. And you were different now, a fraction of the person you had been all those years ago. 

“Y/n, my love, look at me,” Azriel begged, the lowest you’d ever heard him speak. But you hadn’t heard him speak in so long, so perhaps you were misremembering. “Please.” 

You couldn’t. 

Moving was impossible. 

Your legs began to shake at the sound of footsteps, and then your knees gave out. 

A loud sound vibrated against the tunnel walls as your hands slapped against the floor. On the ground, steps away from the only person who could fix this, your waterline filled with tears. 

But you didn’t have time to second-guess or run or wonder if this was all too much. You were gathered into a strong pair of arms, pressed into a firm chest that smelled like home, and tears made paths down your cheeks. They flowed in damp trails in silence, Azriel holding you closer and closer until you weren’t sure space existed between you. 

His nose pressed into your hair. 

His chest rose and fell in uneven patterns. 

More silence. You felt your body begin to rock gently back and forth. 

This wasn’t real—it couldn’t be. 

You had resigned yourself to never seeing him again many years ago. Even as you ran through the streets of Velaris without your breath or your reasonable mind, you hadn’t expected to find him. This was a dream, Azriel wasn’t here, it was only a cruel play on your mind. 

Someone was trying to hurt you, and it was working. 

Maybe Amarantha had finally gotten Rhys to crack. 

Maybe this was his doing, his manipulation of your deepest hopes. 

Something was moving against your ear, soft and rushed and incoherent. A hand smoothed back your hair. You kept rocking. 

“You’re okay.” Words filtered through ringing. “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’m here.” 

Over and over. On a loop. 

Something encased you. Darkness followed—you were used to darkness. 

The pattern of the words lulled your heart back to a normal rate. Tears continued to fall. Your breath was shaky. 

“I love you so much,” Azriel broke the repetition, shocking your system. “I love you. I love you—” 

A sob wracked your body, the first real sound to leave your mouth. Azriel shushed you in response, but when he buried his face in your neck you felt the wetness of his own cheeks. 

This had to be real, it had to. There was no other alternative. You wouldn't survive feeling this way just to be thrust back into that nightmare. 

It had to be real, it had to—

“It is,” Azriel choked out. He pulled back, your face in his hands, his expression conveying a picture of pain and love and disbelief. “It’s real, angel. Gods, you’re so beautiful. I never thought I’d—” Words cut off and restarted. “I tried so hard to get to you.” 

His forehead met yours. 

This was real. 

You felt the shadows wisp along your skin. 

You could never feel them in dreams. 

“I missed you,” you croaked, voice so unused to the words. “So much.” 

Azriel squeezed his eyes shut only to open them after not even a breath. Desperate not to lose sight of you. Anguished at the thought of missing the picture of you in his arms. 

“I’ve missed you more.”

[sublimeflowoftime]

With all the pillaging and destruction around the continent the past month, many cities that had been haunted by doom need some help returning to normalcy. In particular, as the adults help rebuild their homes and cities, the children could use some company and perhaps even some education from those attending or working at such a fancy institute as the Officers Academy. Requests for babysitters and temporary teachers alike are put out, and in the aim for a better future, isn't it important to put care into the next generation to ensure they'll be able to grow up prepared for anything the world throws at them?

How the whole world managed to throw itself into such disarray the moment she had only just taken the tiniest nap? Beyond her. Even after hearing the whole story from Byleth and seeing snippets of that time through the professor’s eyes, she still does not understand it. 

Complete and utter incompetency on all fronts. This whole world is plagued with it. They’re all lucky she’s so gracious as to offer her aid. How did anyone ever get anything done without her?

“I assume you are the caretaker of the little ones for the day?” She should hope so, at least — the individual she directs her question to is the only one who looks anything close to something that can be considered an ’adult’ here. Not to mention their demeanor matches nothing of the other screeching toddlers surrounding them. ‘Don’t judge a book by its cover’ and all that, yes, but she has never seen a child carry herself quite the way this one does.

“Hm… Yes, I suppose you will do. You may call me Sothis. I am here as an ‘assistant’, of sorts,” Not a church-sanctioned assistant, but no one really needs to know that, do they? These are the same people that think it a good idea to send children into battle, even outside of war! There’s absolutely no way she’s allowing anyone affiliated with the Academy to be alone with children of an even younger age unsupervised, whether they like it or not.

 “You may call upon me whenever you require aid. Now tell me, you have a plan, do you not? A schedule of sorts?”

Open Starter! :)

how do you do fellow moms

[miifu666]

I finally drew LMK wukong... while also making him yandere because uh.. i like yanderes, we need more yan!Wukong content pls 🙏🥹 anyway Heres my rendition of what yandere lmk sun wukong would be like.. maybe ooc, ive only watched season 1...

Also not proofread— At ALL

⋆˙⟡ — Cw : Yandere, Dub-con, ooc lmk Wukong?, art is wukong x oc but writing is Wukong x reader, not proofread.

I imagine Yan!Wukong to be the type who taunts you about his past actions, how feral and rebellious he was, able to defeat the entire heavenly army and scared the Jade emperor out of his wits just for existing in flower fruit mountain. This only happens when you disobey him ofc, you left the cabin? Denied his wants to feed you himself? Maybe its time to remind you who he is

" See how i was back then? I was a Savage, untamed even if i had that stupid crown around my head. You wouldn't want me to be like that now do you, Peaches? "

He's a sweetheart, Patience and Virtue is a thing he learned the most during his years of living. Yet, unpredictability is also his nature. Especially as a monkey king. There are times when he would tolerate you acting bratty, a bit Defiant is all fun, but when the day comes where he's fought too many Yaoguais, Demons, and Alike. All he wants is your comforting touch soothing him of his worries. The last thing he needs is your uncooperative attitude.

" Peaches... im not in the mood for this. Eat the food. Now. Ive been kind to you. It's either you eat the food or ill get rough."

Wukong is canonically someone who hasnt experienced any romantic nor sexual attraction, the moment he does. He doesn't have a clue on what to do. All he can think of is being in his monkey nature, which includes being possessive, territorial, dominating, and providing you with nutrients. He doesn't trust others enough to help him with his feelings, barely have the guts to ask Bajie if you're in a bad mood. He prefers to wait for others to give him advice (not that he'll take to account).

"MK doesn't know anything, he's a kid! He doesn't understand love like i do... like us adults do. Im doing this to PROTECT you, peaches!"

There might be times where he'll be more touchy than usual, conditioning you to feel comfort and used to his physical affection. Wukong is nothing but patient, he knows how to pavlov you into feeling relaxed once you feel his hands. You'll notice his punishments ranged from letting him groom you, mark you and finally letting him eat you out.

The euphoric bliss whenever he touches you or caught a whiff of your scent is tantalizing, Due to this, he prefers to be the one to serve you rather than you serving him. A king needs his Queen to bleed his heart into, not a concubine who perfoms.

" ah, ah ah~ Remember what i said? You either let me groom your pretty head or i might change things up a little..."

Wukong who gloats about the ring around your finger, making sure everyone. Even the heavens. Know, who you belong to. Theres no such thing as divine intervention, HE willed this fate, HE knit the red threads of fate till it spells your name. Theres an endless amount of love flowing through his heart for you, it seeps through timelines and past reincarnations. Even if your current life is done in this world, he'll continue on finding you. Binding you with him, gripping your heart so close till it beats in harmony with his. He'll make sure to leave an imprint of himself in your soul, even your future consorts needs to know him in order to understand you.

While you came from another world, your own destiny is temporary in his. Wukong will fight tooth and nails to defy the stars just to have you as his permanently. He'll create his own thread. His own happy ending with you.

And if theres anyone who dares to leak the rough details about your hostage love life... hes not known as the god of trickster for nothing

" if the moon and stars are reflection of the past, would they know how many lifetimes have i been loving you before our souls reconciled in this one?

Because i couldn't possibly have just learned to love you this much, all in this single lifetime"

Artwork ©️ Miifu666

Writings ©️ Miifu666

[emmiesoverthemoon]

does your mother know?

Pairing: g-dragon / kwon jiyong x reader

Word Count: 3.3k

Summary: you're so cute, i like your style, and i know what you mean when i give you a flash of that smile. but girl, you're only a child!

Tags: age gap (younger reader/older jiyong), flirting, internal conflict if you squint, tension, implied sexual content as the title suggests, inspired by 'does your mother know?' by abba

ao3

The night was a living energy. It coiled and breathed around you—hard bass kicks pounding through your body like a second heartbeat, shadows slick as sweat and smoke, neon arteries throbbing through the body of the club. Bodies writhe, unthinking, lost in the rhythm, flowing as one as an ocean of umbra and alchohol. 

But not you. You were stillness set aflame.

Draped in liquid silk that captured every flicker of light like a secret, you were the eye of the storm—untouched, unbothered, and unmistakably dangerous. Inexplicably enticing in your own right to anyone who had a set of eyes. A glass hovered between your fingers, forgotten and half-full, your lips brushing its rim with the kind of patience that unnerves. You did not dance with the current, you had no need to.

You were the reason people dance. You were the current.

And Jiyong saw you, your energy—long before you noticed him.

Glancing across the sea of people from the bar stool of which you were perched upon, you spotted a man, possibly in his late thirties, you presumed. He was the embodiment of a slow-burning sin wrapped in expensive tailoring and silence sharp enough to cut. He moved like smoke—casual, elusive, with that deliberate ease men acquired only when they had stopped chasing validation and begun commanding it. Time didn't age him. It defined him.

His eyes locked on yours, and they lingered.

He should not have been looking. You were far too young—mid-twenties, perhaps? The kind of young that still shimmered with possibility. The kind that had not yet been dulled by regret, only sharpened by experience. You carried your allure not like an accident, but like a weapon—sheened in confidence, honed by intention, and worn like the most dangerous kind of armor. Aware. Amused. Utterly indifferent to the chaos it left in your wake.

You were, by every sensible measure of self-preservation, off-limits.

But then—you looked at him.

Not with the expected tilt of innocence or coy invitation, but with something older. Slower. Something that simmered beneath the surface like embers refusing to die. A single tilt of your head, the barest pull of your lips—not a smile, but a provocation. A whisper of sin dressed as curiosity.

Your gaze held his with a weight that felt intentional. Unyielding. Like the first touch of silk over bare skin—cool, electric, impossible to ignore. And when your smirk dared to form—subtle, smug, knowing—it undid something in him.

That was all it took.

Jiyong crossed the floor like a man already seduced, the air parting around him, thick with the scent of something about to become a mistake. His presence was deliberate, threaded with a confidence born not from youth, but from time. And still—still—you had managed to unravel it.

He ordered a drink with the ease of ritual, knowing full well he would not touch it. Not when you were watching him. Not when the real intoxication was already humming in the space between you.

He stopped just short of your side, and when he spoke, his voice was low, a little raspy but still so buttery, and tinged with something that sounded almost like disbelief. “You look like you’re scheming.”

You barely moved. Your chin balanced delicately on the back of your hand, legs crossed in that languid, unbothered way that suggested royalty or ruin—depending on the lighting. Your gaze did not waver. “Maybe I am.”

“Should I be concerned?”

You tilted your head, slow and thoughtful, as though you were still weighing his worth. Still undecided on whether he merited your attention—or your time. “Only if you bore me easily.”

Jiyong's laugh was low, surprised. Soft in a way that suggested he had not meant to let it out—you had caught him off-guard. That was no small feat. He was accustomed to being the one who disrupted, who disarmed, who flustered. But you? You had yet to even shift in your seat, and already, you had knocked him askew. Impressive didn't even begin to cover it.

“I don’t usually approach women like this anymore,” he admitted almost bashfully, watching you as if you were something delicate he might have dreamt into existence and feared waking from.

You hummed, velvet and amused. “Gone humble with age?”

“Gone wise.”

“I doubt that.” You leaned forward—only a breath, but it was enough. Enough for the scent of your skin to find him. Dangerous. Expensive. Not sweet. Not safe. The kind of fragrance that lingers in bedsheets and sins alike. “You strike me as the kind of man who says that while undressing someone in his mind.”

He faltered. The mask slipped. Just for a breath—but you saw it. Of course you did.

“You’re not wrong,” he says, and it sounds more like a confession than a flirtation.

“I never am.”

He watched the condensation collect on your glass, followed the lazy trail of a droplet as it slid down the curve of it—and then onto your finger, to which you brought it to your mouth. Then, slowly, your tongue claimed it from your fingertip with the kind of care that could undo a man entirely. The motion was not obscene—it was worse. His control wavered.

“You’re trouble.”

“You’re older,” you purred. “Shouldn’t you know better?”

That landed. You saw the twitch at the corner of his mouth—the guilt, or maybe the hunger trying to masquerade as restraint. Neither disguise suited him. Poor thing.

“You can walk away,” you murmured, your tone softening like silk drawn tight before the snap. “If this makes you uncomfortable.”

He swallowed hard. His voice dropped, rasped—gravel laced with want. “I should.”

You smiled. Not cruelly. Seductively. Like a warning unfolding itself one petal at a time. “But you won't, will you?”

And that—that—was the crack. The splinter. The first beautiful, irrevocable fracture in something that had been whole until he saw you.

He ran a hand through his hair, fingers tense, as though trying to shake loose whatever spell had tangled itself around him. You stood then, slow and serpentine, rising like smoke, like temptation. His eyes—traitorous and hungry—dropped before he could stop them.

Your hips. Your thighs. The promise in the sway of your walk.

You passed beside him, close enough for your perfume to curl around him again—closer still, until your breath ghosted across the shell of his ear.

“Come on,” you whispered, voice dipped in velvet and venom. “You've already decided.”

And of course—of course—he followed.

You chose not kiss him right away.

No, you let him ache. Let him stir.

The corridor was dim—walls pulsing faintly with the spill of bass from the club, shadows trembling with the breath of your nearness. You closed the space between you and Jiyong with feline ease, your body a whisper away from his, but never quite touching. The lack of contact was deliberate. Exquisite. Agonizing.

His back met the wall with a dull thud, and still—he dared not to move. He stood there, as if bracing for a storm, as if one wrong word might snap the last thread of composure he clung to.

Your voice was soft when it came. Intimate. Dangerous. “What’s got you nervous, Jiyong?”

You let his name roll slow off your tongue, just shy of a purr, your lips brushing the space beside his jaw. You felt the way his breath hitched, sharp and shallow, like he had been holding it.

He exhaled, eyes darting to your mouth, then away. “You’re younger than I’m used to.”

You smiled, just a little. Enough for mischief to gleam behind your lashes. “I’m not asking for your pension.”

He laughed—tight, reluctant, aroused. A sound that came from the chest, caught on restraint.

“What are you asking for?” he rasped.

You leaned in closer, until your breath fanned against the side of his neck, warm and steady. “A mistake.”

That was it. That was all it took.

He broke.

His hand came to your thigh, slow at first, then firmer—fingertips dragging over silk and skin as though needing to memorize the sensation. His other hand found your hip and pulled you closer, until there was no space left between your bodies—only heat. When his mouth found yours, it was not gentle. It was rough, consuming. Like a man punishing himself for every time he had said no to this kind of need and every second he had spent resisting you.

He kissed you like he needed it to breathe. Like he had already regretted it but would want to do it for the rest of his life.

And you kissed him back like you had been waiting—waiting—for this exact unraveling. You kissed like fire licking at wax, deliberate and destructive, your hands curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pressed into him.

Then—you pulled away.

Just enough.

Just enough to make him suffer.

Your lips hovered over his, your breath still mingling. Close, but not touching.

“You said you don’t do this anymore,” you murmured, the edges of your voice frayed with heat.

His chest rose against yours. Labored. Tense. “I don’t.”

“But here you are,” you said, the words dragging like silk along skin. “Looking like you’re one whisper away from falling to your knees.”

His jaw clenched. His fingers flexed on your hip, like he was fighting himself—like every instinct told him to surrender, but some distant voice still told him he shouldn’t.

A strangled sound escaped him. Half laugh, half growl.

His gaze dragged down your body, slow and searing. The way the dress clung to your curves. The bare inch of thigh peeking through the slit. The sharp rise and fall of your breath against his chest.

“You’re driving me mad,” he said, and it sounded like a confession ripped from the rawest part of him.

You tilted your head, coy and cruel in the prettiest way. “That’s what I'm here for,” you whispered. “I'll remind you how good it feels to lose control. Or perhaps I need to be reminded, it's up to you.”

Something in his expression shifted—desire darkening into something almost reverent. As if the line between wanting you and needing you had already vanished.

And then—low, strained, vulnerable—he said, “You’re not a child.”

The words stopped you. They hung between you like a blade.

You blinked, almost confused. “Excuse me?”

His throat moved as he swallowed hard. “You’re young. But not innocent. That’s what makes this…” He paused, as if trying to find the right word. “…worse.”

Not wrong. Not shameful.

Just unbearable.

Just impossible to resist.

You stepped in, chest to chest, lips ghosting over his jaw, and his hands—shaking with something like hesitance—settled at your waist. Not possessive. Not dominant. Just grounded. Like he needed to touch something real before he lost himself.

“Do I scare you?” you whispered, letting the question slip like warm honey into his ear.

His reply was a breath. A prayer. “You terrify me.”

You smiled.

Slow. Wicked.

“Good.”

You broke free from Jiyong's hold and laced your fingers through his as though the gesture belonged to you—unquestioned, inevitable. The corridor stretched before you like a promise, dim and hushed, each step echoing with the slow, deliberate rhythm of anticipation. He followed in silence, his presence simmering just behind you, the heat from his body coiling around your spine like smoke.

When you reached the elevator, you pressed the button without hesitation. A soft chime announced its arrival. The doors slid open with a whisper, and you stepped inside, the movement fluid, feline. He joined you, wordless still, though the tension radiating from him was palpable—thick, oppressive, intoxicating.

The lift began its ascent.

Enclosed. Dimly lit. Breathless.

He watched you, but not directly. His reflection in the mirror captured more than his eyes could confess—fixed on the slow drift of your fingers, now sliding with calculated ease along the inside of his thigh. Brazen. Unhurried. You stopped just shy of the ache he could no longer conceal, your nails grazing the expensive fabric of his trousers like a threat laced in silk.

"Tell me to stop," you whispered, voice low, velvet-wrapped and lethal.

His breath caught. His answer was ragged. "I don't want to."

"That was not what I asked."

The silence stretched between you, taut as a bowstring.

"I can't."

You leaned in, lips grazing the shell of his ear, your breath hot and deliberate. "Then stop pretending this wasn't also your idea."

Ding.

The doors opened.

The suite awaited—bathed in darkness and decadence. Soft gold spilled from the recessed lighting, illuminating gleaming marble, shadows stretched across plush furnishings. He stepped in behind you, quietly closing the door, the sound final.

You did not speak. You did not move.

You turned slowly.

Predatory.

"You don't do this often, do you?" you asked, voice measured, knowing. Your hands landed on Jiyong's chest, pushing him to sit on the sofa, and he obeyed wordlessly. How shocking.

He raised a brow, bemused. "Sleep with women who were still in school when my debut album dropped? No."

You stepped toward him, closing the distance until you stood between his knees. "That was not what I meant."

His gaze darkened. "Then what?"

"Lose control," you murmured, tracing the line of his collarbone with one finger, the touch delicate as a warning. "Let someone else take the lead."

He dared not answer, but his silence said enough.

So you climbed into his lap, both of your thighs placed on the outside of his, causing your skirt to hike impossibly high. Unfortunately for Jiyong's wondering eyes, it was not yet high enough to get a glimpse of what he really wanted.

He stilled.

As if your weight had stolen the breath from his lungs. His hands found your thighs, large and trembling with restraint, the tips of his fingers pressing into the soft skin as though afraid you might disappear.

You shifted against him—slowly, luxuriously—grinding just enough to remind him how hard he was beneath you, how helplessly human. He cursed beneath his breath, the sound low and reverent.

"You're making it difficult to be a gentleman," he growled.

You quipped, smirking slowly and devastatingly. "What makes you think I want one?"

That broke any remnant of hesitance he held.

He moved like a man unshackled, every thread of restraint burned to ash beneath your smirk.

His hands seized your hips with reverence and urgency, fingers digging into the silk of your dress like he could bruise need into you. Then his mouth found yours—not with hesitation, not with ceremony, but with a hunger so violent it bordered on desperate. His kiss was not practiced. It was not rehearsed. It was real, raw, ruinous. He kissed you like a man starved—like he had spent years on the brink and only now dared to fall.

You met him with equal force, mouth parting for his, lips moving with precision and intent. You kissed him like a woman with something to prove. Like a woman who had been watched, wanted, and worshipped, and had chosen—deliberately—to wreck him.

And oh God, were you doing just that.

His hands roamed without finesse, desperate to feel every inch of skin your dress dared to conceal. You guided him not with instruction, but with suggestion—a shift of your hips, a tilt of your mouth, a whimper against his tongue. You were not passive. You were not his passenger. You were the storm.

When you pulled away, just barely, lips slick and swollen, his eyes fluttered open—dazed and blown wide with disbelief.

“You taste like trouble,” he rasped, voice hoarse.

You tilted your head, letting your nails trail down the buttons of his shirt one by one. “You look like you want more.”

He did. Visibly. Painfully.

And yet—he hesitated.

“I shouldn't be—” he began, but your finger found his lips before he could complete his sentence.

“Thinking?” you asked, deceptively soft. “Is that what you're doing now, Jiyong?”

His Adam's apple bobbed. You could feel his pulse beneath your palm, racing.

“You don't want to think,” you whispered, shifting in his lap until the heat between your thighs pressed tighter against him. “You want to feel.”

He groaned, head tipping back against the cushions as though you had spoken some spell. Your lips brushed along the line of his jaw, open-mouthed kisses trailing heat and promise.

“You want to remember,” you continued, voice lower now, velvet and ruin, “what it is to be undone by someone who isn't afraid.”

He shuddered beneath you. Every word seemed to peel another layer of civility away.

“I'm—I'm not afraid,” he muttered, and the edge in his voice was more plea than protest.

You smiled, teeth grazing the shell of his ear.

“Prove it.”

And with that, he did.

He flipped you—effortlessly, breathlessly—so you lay beneath him on the plush velvet cushions, hair fanned out like a halo of temptation. His mouth found your throat, tongue tracing the delicate line where your pulse thundered, and he sucked marks and littered bites into your skin like he needed proof that this moment had happened. That you had been real. That—even if it were just for that night—you belonged to him, and he to you.

The heat between you sparked like dry kindling set to flame. Clothing became a battlefield of sliding silk and groaning seams. Your dress slid up inch by inch as his control crumbled piece by piece. Every kiss, every touch, every gasp you gifted him was another nail in the coffin of his composure.

And you reveled in it.

You arched beneath him, body pliant and burning, every sigh coaxed from your lips like a secret. He devoured each one with the same hunger he had kissed you—possessive, stunned, grateful. His hands roamed as though learning a language through touch. Your thighs fell open like a book, and yet he still had no rush to turn the pages. He looked at you as if worshipful, as if he had finally understood what it meant to covet something with your whole soul.

"You are..." he murmured against your breastbone, lips dragging slow and sinful over your skin. "Too much."

You tangled your fingers in his hair, tugging gently to meet his eyes. “That is what makes it worth it.”

And when he sank into you, slow and thick and unrelenting, the breath left his lungs in a broken sound—dripping in pure devotion.

He moved with purpose. With need. With that rare, trembling ache of a man who had spent too long convincing himself he would never feel like this again. And you—you gave it to him. Every roll of your hips, every cry against his mouth, every sin whispered into the dark.

Yeah, you definitely made him feel alright.

And he did not dare stop. Not even when the world fractured around you, not when the only sounds left were your name and his groan and the wet, obscene music of bodies colliding.

When it ended—when your bodies fell still and your breath returned in jagged, grateful bursts—he did not let you go.

He stayed inside you. Stayed pressed to your skin like it was the only place he ever wanted to exist. You threaded your fingers through his hair and pulled him to your chest, the intimacy of that moment heavier than anything that had come before it.

And for once, Jiyong did not speak.

He simply breathed you in like salvation.

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[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 13

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You exhaled a quiet laugh, glancing down at your hands before the weight of what you had asked returned to the forefront of your mind. Would he actually come? It had been a moment of impulse, that invitation. A flicker of something unfamiliar driving you to extend a bridge where there had previously been none. You weren’t sure what compelled you to do it, only that the idea of leaving this space, this feeling, behind as you stepped back into the rigid structure of your lessons felt…Lonely. You cleared your throat, shifting slightly. “It’s not exactly a scholarly gathering,” you admitted. “Just me and my friends being… well, normal. Nothing profound, no debates about philosophy or the nature of existence. Just food. Talking. Laughing.” You hesitated. “That might not be your kind of thing.” Shadow Milk Cookie was silent for a long moment, considering. “…It is true,” he said at last, “that I do not often engage in such gatherings.” You tried not to let disappointment creep into your chest. “That does not mean I would be unwilling to.” Your eyes snapped up to meet his. Something in his expression had shifted, subtle but undeniable. There was still that air of careful thought, of weighing decisions with meticulous precision, but there was also something softer. Something that felt a little like understanding. “You invited me,” he said simply, as if that alone was enough reason to consider it. You swallowed, nodding. “Yeah. I did.” He hummed, glancing toward the water once more. “I will let you know when the time comes.” It wasn’t quite a yes, but it wasn’t a no either. The willow’s branches swayed, the light shifted, and the world carried on. And beside you, the distance between you and the Sage of Truth…Shadow Milk Cookie felt just a little smaller than before. The hours had unraveled between you like thread slipping through careful fingers unnoticed at first, until the spools ran empty, leaving only the quiet realization that time had moved while you weren’t looking. The sky had softened into the golden hues of afternoon, the same sky that always signaled the slow shift toward evening, toward the time you and your friends would gather for dinner. And yet, here you still were.

The koi-like creatures drifted lazily beneath the water’s surface, the willow’s tendrils swayed, and the air had cooled just enough to carry the scent of damp earth and distant hearth smoke. Somewhere beyond the gardens, the academy’s halls stirred with the sound of students wrapping up their studies, footsteps and laughter echoing faintly in the wind. You hadn’t meant to stay this long. And neither, it seemed, had he. Shadow Milk Cookie still sat beside you, his posture as composed as ever, yet… different. More at ease. As if he had settled into the moment as fully as you had, letting conversation flow in a way that was neither structured nor scholarly just natural. You had talked about things that didn’t matter and things that did. You had asked nonsensical questions simply because you could, because it felt nice to exist outside of the rigid roles of teacher and struggling student. You had wondered aloud whether the koi-like creatures dreamed, whether the stars had favorites, whether his hair, flowing like a river of ink washing into sky, was a reflection of something deeper. “If truth is endless,” you had mused, “then I guess it makes sense that your hair looks like the night sky.” He had given you a look that suggested he was torn between amusement and exasperation. “I fail to see the correlation.”

“You would,” you had huffed, though there had been no real bite to it. And now, the time had come to part ways, to return to the rhythm of your routine. Almost reluctantly, you sat up a little straighter, stretching your arms. “It’s about that time,” you said, voice lighter than you felt. He hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze flicking toward the shifting sky. “…Have you decided?” you asked, hesitating for just a moment. “About dinner?” His eyes turned to you, unreadable in the soft afternoon glow. You had asked once before, when the idea had been nothing but a passing thought, an invitation given without expectation. But now the moment had arrived, and with it came the awareness that his answer mattered more than you had originally let yourself believe. Because in these hours spent speaking as something close to equals, something had shifted. The line in the sand was still there, but the tide had come and blurred its edges, leaving behind something unspoken, something new. Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you for a long moment, as if weighing not just the question, but the intent behind it. “…I will accompany you.” You blinked, caught off guard by how simply he said it. No long-winded deliberation, no careful sidestepping. Just an answer. A yes. A grin tugged at the corner of your lips. “You make it sound like a formal engagement.” He exhaled, something close to a sigh, though there was no real annoyance behind it. “Would you rather I rescind my acceptance?” “Absolutely not.” You stood, brushing off your clothes before tilting your head toward the winding path. “Come on, then. If we’re late, Chai Latte will start interrogating me, and I don’t think you want to be on the receiving end of that.”

For a brief moment, you thought he might hesitate. But then he stood, his movements as fluid and effortless as the ever-flowing strands of his hair. “…Very well,” he said, as if conceding to some great, unknown truth. And together, you left the willow behind, stepping toward something you hadn’t yet found the words to name. The dining hall was alive with the warmth of conversation and the clinking of silverware against porcelain. The high, arched windows let in the fading gold of the afternoon, casting soft shadows over the long tables where students gathered in clusters, some bent over open books, others laughing over shared meals, the weight of the day’s studies momentarily forgotten. The familiar scent of fresh bread, roasted vegetables, and fragrant tea drifted through the air, wrapping around you like something safe, something steady. You wove through the throng of students with practiced ease, Shadow Milk Cookie beside you, his presence still something you were adjusting to outside of structured learning. It was odd not unwelcome, just new to have him here, a figure who had always seemed just beyond reach now following in step with you toward something as ordinary as dinner. And yet, despite the unfamiliarity, there was a quiet sort of ease to it. When you reached the long buffet table lined with food, your hands moved almost on instinct, reaching for familiar choices the options you always went for. But something else guided your fingers, something quieter, something you weren’t entirely aware of until you set your tray down and realized  you had chosen differently.

Vegetables cooked with care, grains carefully balanced, tea brewed lightly rather than steeped too long things that wouldn’t have stood out to anyone else, yet now sat before you like a quiet confession. Shadow Milk Cookie’s plate mirrored your own in ways that should have been coincidence, but now… now you weren’t sure. Had you done this unconsciously? Assimilated his preferences, however subtly, as a means of feeling closer to him? You swallowed, brushing the thought aside before it could take root. “Finally,” Earl Grey Cookie’s voice cut through your thoughts as you reached your usual table, his expression one of exaggerated relief. “I was starting to think you had abandoned us in favor of scholarly pursuits.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled from his seat beside him, shaking his head. “It wouldn’t be the first time.” You rolled your eyes, setting your tray down before plopping into your usual seat. “I do have a life outside of studying, you know.” Earl Grey Cookie arched a brow, his sharp gaze flicking to the figure standing just behind you. “Clearly.” The unspoken weight of his words settled between you for only a moment before you waved him off, refusing to give him the satisfaction of making you flustered. “Oh, don’t start.” But Earl Grey Cookie merely smirked before his expression shifted into something more appraising. “Is this going to start becoming a daily occurrence, then?”

You scoffed, mirroring his raised brow. “Why? Jealous I’m spending time with someone smarter than you?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nearly choked on his drink, while Chai Latte Cookie let out a delighted giggle behind her teacup. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a low chuckle, setting his fork down. “I don’t know, (Y/N). You might be treading dangerous waters.” “Please,” You huffed. “Earl Grey Cookie wishes he could keep up with me.” Earl Grey Cookie smirked, unfazed. “Is that so?” Earl Grey Cookie, to his credit, didn’t miss a beat. “Smarter, perhaps. Better company? That remains to be seen.” “Mm,” You hummed, reaching for your tea. “I mean, you do rely on me for your daily entertainment. Must get boring when I’m not around to remind you that you’re not the most clever person in the room.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie stifled a laugh behind his hand. Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, merely tilted his head. “Ah, but you assume you are the cleverest, when in reality, I merely allow you to believe so.” You grinned, leaning forward slightly. “Oh? And here I thought I was the highlight of your day.” “I’ll admit, your suffering is entertaining.” Shadow Milk Cookie watched the exchange with an unreadable expression. It was strange Earl Grey Cookie and he were not so different. Both held themselves with quiet dignity, both carried intellect like a finely honed blade. And yet, the ease with which you spoke to Earl Grey Cookie, the way you teased and played with him without hesitation…He had never heard you speak to him like that. Had never been on the receiving end of that effortless, unguarded warmth. Something unfamiliar twisted in his chest. Something close to jealousy…no, envy. And across the table, Chai Latte Cookie saw it. Chai Latte Cookie giggled behind her teacup, the corners of her lips curving into something amused, something knowing. Shadow Milk Cookie watched the exchange with quiet intensity, his golden eyes flickering between them.

He and Earl Grey Cookie were not so different. They both carried themselves with quiet authority, both wielded intellect with precision, both understood the weight of knowledge. And yet you had never spoken to him like that. There was an ease between them and Earl Grey Cookie, a natural playfulness, a warmth that flowed without hesitation. Your sharp words with him were banter, light and teasing, filled with familiarity rather than apprehension. With him, they were still careful. Respectful, yes, but… restrained. Something settled uncomfortably in his chest. Jealousy? No. Something else. Something close. Chai Latte Cookie’s voice broke through his thoughts, light and playful, yet layered with something deeper. “(Y/N) is just so captivating, aren’t they?” she mused, stirring her tea slowly, her gaze flicking to him for just a moment. “A joy to be around.” Shadow Milk Cookie turned his head slightly, studying her. The words were simple, but the meaning was not. She was watching. She had seen. Her gaze flickered once more to you, who sat across from Earl Grey Cookie, taking a sip of tea despite the fact that it had clearly steeped too long, despite the way they winced slightly at the bitterness. Drinking it, even though it burned going down, just to be petty. Just so Earl Grey Cookie would have to remake it. Their quarrel was nonsensical, meaningless, a game they played simply because they could. And yet, Shadow Milk Cookie sat here, watching. Chai Latte Cookie tilted her head, a knowing smile playing at her lips. Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled slowly. “They are…” He hesitated, just briefly, before speaking. “Determined.”

Chai Latte Cookie let out a soft hum. “That they are.” Across the table, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie, having witnessed your petty war against Earl Grey Cookie’s tea, chuckled. “Oh, enough,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “Since (Y/N) seems so intent on making life difficult for Earl Grey, I think it’s only fair we return the favor.” You stiffened. “Wait-” Before you could react, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smoothly swapped their cup with a darker, stronger brew. A drink so potent that you could smell the bitterness before you even lifted the cup. Earl Grey Cookie leaned back slightly, arms crossed, smirking as he watched them hesitate. “Well?” he prompted. You groaned but, never one to back down, took a sip. Instant regret. The sheer intensity of the flavor made you grimace, your throat tightening as the bitterness lingered. Laughter rippled around the table, Chai Latte Cookie’s delighted giggles, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s triumphant chuckle, even Earl Grey Cookie’s smirk deepening ever so slightly. You set the cup down with a slow, deliberate sigh. “I hate you all.” “Oh, come now,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned. “This is justice.” groaning dramatically, you slumped against the table. And for the first time, Shadow Milk Cookie felt something odd settle within him something unfamiliar, something yearning. Because despite the absurdity of it all, despite the ridiculous antics It was warm. And for the first time, he wondered If, one day, you would speak to him with the same ease. Earl Grey Cookie took a slow, deliberate sip of his freshly brewed tea, setting it down with the kind of elegance that suggested he knew exactly what he was doing. His lips curled into a smirk as he tilted his head at you.

“You look defeated.” You scowled. “I am not defeated.” “Your expression says otherwise.” “My expression,” you retorted, narrowing your eyes, “is the face of someone plotting their next move.” “Oh?” Earl Grey Cookie leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. “A move that will finally best me, I assume?” “Finally?” You scoffed, placing a hand over your chest in mock offense. “You say that as if I haven’t bested you before.”Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a laugh, shaking his head. “Here we go again.” Earl Grey Cookie didn’t even blink. “Go ahead, (Y/N). Indulge me. When, exactly, have you bested me?” “Oh, I don’t know,” you mused, drumming your fingers against the table. “Maybe that time you got completely lost in that one library and refused to ask for help?” Earl Grey Cookie’s smirk didn’t falter. “It was a large library.” “Right, right, a ‘large’ library. And yet, who was it that had to come fetch you?” Chai Latte Cookie giggled, resting her chin on her palm. “Oh, this one sounds good.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “I remember that. Didn’t you spend hours wandering in circles?” Earl Grey Cookie took another calm sip of his tea. “I would not say hours.” “You definitely spent hours,” you countered. “And when I did find you, you tried to pretend you had been ‘surveying the architecture.’” “A fine excuse,” he mused. “An awful excuse,” you shot back. “I saw you staring at a map like it had personally wronged you.” “And yet,” Earl Grey Cookie said smoothly, “I did find my way in the end.” “Because I dragged you out!” Chai Latte Cookie and Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie laughed, the warmth of the memory making the moment all the more enjoyable. Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, merely sighed. “Ah, but I do believe my superior intellect has bested you in other matters.” “Oh, do you?” You raised a brow. “Indeed,” he replied, voice as smooth as ever. “For instance, who was it that helped you during that one disastrous attempt at potion brewing?” You grimaced. “Okay, but in my defense-” “And who,” Earl Grey Cookie continued, the amusement clear in his voice, “was it that had to explain, at great length, why enchanting your own shoes to hover was not a practical means of transportation?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Oh yeah, that was a fun day.” “It would have worked if I had just gotten the right balance-” “No, (Y/N),” Earl Grey Cookie interjected, his smirk widening ever so slightly. “It would have ended with you flat on your face.” You huffed. “I hate that you have good points sometimes.” “As you should.” The table burst into laughter, the kind of laughter that came from familiarity, from the joy of long-standing friendship and shared memories. You hadn’t had a moment like this in so long just playful banter, just warmth, just being. It felt good. “You are comfortable,” Shadow Milk Cookie observed. The words weren’t unkind. If anything, they were spoken with the same measured calm he always carried. But something about them felt… pointed. Something about the way his golden gaze flickered between you and Earl Grey Cookie, how his voice held an undertone that wasn’t quite jealousy, wasn’t quite longing, but something teetering between the two. Something that went right over your head. Earl Grey Cookie, however, caught it instantly. He studied Shadow Milk Cookie for a moment before offering a small, knowing smirk. “Tough luck,” he said, voice light but firm. “We’ve known each other much longer. Even before the Academy.” Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head ever so slightly. “Ah.” It was all he said, but the weight of it lingered. You blinked, realizing the shift in conversation. “Wait, did I never tell you?” Shadow Milk Cookie glanced at you. “Tell me?” You waved a hand vaguely. “About the four of us? How we met before coming here?” He shook his head. “You have not.” “Oh, well,” you leaned forward, suddenly animated, “we actually met back when we were younger…years before we even thought about coming to the Academy.” Chai Latte Cookie smiled knowingly. “Oh, this is a good story.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled. “Which one? There’s too many.” “True,” you grinned.  And just like that, the night stretched on, filled with laughter, filled with old stories, filled with the kind of warmth that only years of familiarity could bring. And Shadow Milk Cookie listened. Listened, and for the first time, truly understood  Just how far back you and Earl Grey Cookie’s bond reached. Just how much he had yet to catch up to. You leaned back in your seat, a grin tugging at your lips as you thought back to the past. The flickering candlelight of the dining hall cast long shadows across the table, but your mind was already elsewhere somewhere far from the Academy, far from the weight of exams and expectations. Somewhere simpler. "Alright, alright, now for how we all met " you started, glancing between them. "So, it all started when we were kids before any of us had even thought about the Academy. Back then, we were just well, us." Earl Grey Cookie hummed in amusement, resting his chin on his hand. "Just us? I remember you being an absolute menace." You scoffed, crossing your arms. "You say that like you weren’t right there alongside me."

"Only to ensure you didn't completely ruin your own reputation." Chai Latte Cookie giggled, stirring her tea. "Oh, don't act so above it. You were just as bad." Earl Grey Cookie let out an exasperated sigh, but the corner of his mouth twitched upward, betraying his amusement. Shadow Milk Cookie listened quietly, golden eyes fixed on you with an unreadable expression. He had been silent for most of the conversation, simply observing, but his attention never wavered. You waved off Earl Grey’s dramatics and continued. "Anyway Hazelnut, Earl Grey, Chai Latte, and I all grew up in the same town. It wasn’t particularly big or impressive, but it had character, you know? A lot of old history, a lot of people who swore by tradition. And of course, a lot of older scholars who hated when us kids got in the way." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. "Which we definitely did." "So," you continued, "the first time I met Earl Grey, I-uh." You hesitated, suddenly aware of Earl Grey Cookie’s expectant stare. You sighed. "Okay, fine. I might have challenged him to a duel." Chai Latte Cookie gasped in delight. "You did? I always thought it was him" "Listen, in my defense, he was insufferable even back then." "I was correct," Earl Grey Cookie corrected smoothly. You ignored him. "Anyway, we were arguing over some old scholar’s work something about magical inscriptions or whatever. I don’t even remember what, exactly. But it was heated. And at some point, I got so frustrated I just " You gestured vaguely. "Well, I declared a duel. And being the insufferable child that he was, Earl Grey actually accepted."

"It was only fair," Earl Grey Cookie said matter-of-factly. "One must back their words with action, no?" You rolled your eyes. "So we did it. Right in the middle of town. We squared up like we knew what we were doing which we absolutely didn’t, by the way. It was ridiculous. We were flailing at each other with training wands, and at one point, I tripped over my own robes" Chai Latte Cookie clapped a hand over her mouth, trying and failing to contain her laughter. You shot her a glare. "and Earl Grey nearly knocked himself out on a statue trying to dodge me." Earl Grey Cookie cleared his throat. "An unfortunate miscalculation." "Hilarious miscalculation," Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie corrected. "And then," Chai Latte Cookie cut in, eyes shining, "I stepped in to stop them from completely embarrassing themselves, and then I had to spend the next week convincing the elders that they weren’t actually a threat to the town’s intellectual reputation." "That part is true," you admitted with a sheepish grin. "Chai Latte had to sweet-talk them into believing we weren’t complete delinquents." "You were complete delinquents," she corrected with a dramatic sigh. "And I was a saint for sticking with you all." Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled. "And then I got dragged into this mess because someone needed to be the reasonable one." "I tried to be the reasonable one," Chai Latte Cookie argued, flicking a sugar cube at him. "But you’re the only one they actually listened to." "Because he bribed us with food," you admitted, shrugging. "That does sound like me," Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie said, grinning.

You turned back to Shadow Milk Cookie then, curious to see his reaction. He was quiet, gaze still fixed on you, expression unreadable. "You really did grow up together," he mused, more to himself than to anyone else. "Yeah," you said softly. "We did." And for just a moment, you thought you saw something flicker behind his golden eyes, something thoughtful, something distant. Before you could say anything, Earl Grey Cookie spoke first, his voice calm yet carrying an unmistakable weight. “It’s not that we mean to be exclusive,” he said, turning his tea cup idly between his fingers, “but there’s a certain understanding that comes with time, wouldn’t you agree?” The words were measured, careful not unkind, but pointed. You glanced at him, caught between curiosity and mild exasperation. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded in agreement, ever the steady voice of reason. “Years have a way of binding people together. It’s not something you think about until you realize how much of yourself is woven into someone else’s life.” Chai Latte Cookie rolled her eyes, though her smile softened the gesture. “Oh, don’t listen to them, Shadow Milk Cookie. They’re just being nostalgic and dramatic. They’ve spent so long looking out for each other that they don’t realize how obnoxiously obvious they’re being about it.” Shadow Milk Cookie regarded them in silence, his expression unreadable as always. But something in his gaze flickered just for a second. You cleared your throat, shifting the attention away. “Well, speaking of being obnoxiously obvious, Earl Grey, weren’t you saying earlier that you learned something interesting in class? Something that I’d apparently love?”

Earl Grey Cookie’s lips curled into a knowing smirk. “Ah. So you were listening.” You scoffed. “Of course I was. You said my name and ‘interesting’ in the same sentence. I was practically obligated to tune in.” “Well then,” he said, setting his tea aside with deliberate precision. “Allow me to enlighten you.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie let out a soft chuckle, while Chai Latte Cookie muttered something about him being dramatic. You, however, leaned in, curiosity piqued. “Do you remember the discussion we had about astral inscriptions last month?” Earl Grey Cookie asked. You frowned, searching your memory. “Vaguely? You mean the old ones that scholars still can’t fully translate?” “Exactly. We were discussing how certain scholars believe they were never meant to be read in a conventional sense.” He paused, letting the intrigue build. “Well, our professor mentioned an ongoing theory, one that suggests they’re not a language so much as a mathematical equation. A formula, rather than prose.” Your eyes widened. “Wait, you mean like a spell?” “In a way, yes. The theory suggests that the inscriptions aren’t just meant to be understood but activated. That their meaning is revealed only when the right sequence is performed.” Chai Latte Cookie, who had been listening with mild interest, raised a brow. “That’s… oddly poetic.” “It is poetic,” you murmured, mind already racing with the implications. “Imagine entire texts that don’t just tell knowledge but become knowledge. That means-” “That some of the most enigmatic passages in history might be locked behind a logic we haven’t yet unraveled,” Earl Grey Cookie finished. You sat back, exhaling. “That’s insane.” “And yet, it makes sense,” he said smoothly. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie chuckled. “Look at you two, finishing each other’s thoughts. You really are insufferable.” You nudged Earl Grey Cookie with your elbow. “You have to show me your notes on this.” “I already knew you’d ask,” he replied, reaching into his bag. “I made a copy.” “You legend,” you said, taking the parchment from him with something close to reverence. Chai Latte Cookie sipped her tea, giving Shadow Milk Cookie a knowing glance. “See? This is what we mean. You’d think they were born for this.”

Shadow Milk Cookie had been watching the entire exchange, silent but entirely present. His golden eyes flicked between you and Earl Grey Cookie, then down to your hands as you carefully unfolded the parchment. Something in his expression shifted. Something small, something almost imperceptible. Jealousy was a strange thing. And yet, there it was. Shadow Milk Cookie finally spoke, his voice measured, deliberate. “If this is something that intrigues you, I could lend my expertise,” he offered, golden eyes glinting in the low dining hall light. “I have spent years researching ancient inscriptions. I am certain I could provide clarity where others have struggled.” The words were simple, logical. And yet, there was something underneath them, something not quite visible but certainly there. You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden offer. “Oh well, I mean, that would be-” Earl Grey Cookie raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Are you sure, Sage? It’s an awfully time-consuming subject to dig into.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s gaze flickered toward him, his ever-calm expression betraying nothing. “I would not have offered if I did not believe it worthwhile.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie glanced between them, sensing something shifting in the air, while Chai Latte Cookie, ever the observant one, hummed into her tea. You hesitated, looking between the two of them, feeling an odd tension begin to settle. It wasn’t antagonistic, but it wasn’t exactly comfortable either. Chai Latte Cookie exhaled through her nose before setting her cup down with a soft clink, smoothly slipping into the space between words before they could become something more.

“Oh, come on,” she drawled, placing a hand over her chest as if the weight of the conversation had personally wounded her. “All this talk of research, and not one of you has offered to help me with my studies? Am I not worthy of such esteemed scholarly attention?” You snorted. “Chai, you don’t need help.You already climbed the ranks…You’re already top of the class in your division.” “And yet, I am neglected,” she lamented. “Truly, a tragic fate.” The dramatic delivery was enough to break the odd tension, a few small laughs rippling around the table. Even Shadow Milk Cookie let out something that could almost be considered a breath of amusement. You shook your head, grinning. “Alright, alright. If you ever need an essay proofread, I’ll drop everything.” “See, that is what I wanted to hear,” she said, satisfied. Then, with a casual glance in Shadow Milk Cookie’s direction, she added, “But really, (Y/N) Cookie is quite captivating, don’t you think? Always drawing people in, always keeping things interesting.” Shadow Milk Cookie’s golden gaze flicked toward her, unreadable. She met his eyes with an expression that was perfectly pleasant, almost too pleasant. It was a test, in a way. A subtle prod to see what, if anything, he would say. He didn’t answer immediately, instead allowing the words to settle. “…They are certainly remarkable,” he admitted at last, though his tone remained carefully neutral. You didn’t fully catch the exchange, too busy inspecting Earl Grey Cookie’s notes, but Chai Latte Cookie took in the slight change in Shadow Milk’s expression, the way his posture had shifted, and stored the moment away for later.

She said nothing more on the matter. For now, she had her answer. Dinner stretched on, laughter rippling between you all like waves in an easy tide. The weight of the academy, the endless lectures, the pressure of expectations none of it mattered in this moment. Here, at this table, surrounded by friends, it was as if time had loosened its grip just enough to allow something lighthearted to flourish. Even he the ever-poised, ever-revered Shadow Milk Cookie had been swept into the current of camaraderie. At first, he had been content to observe, his golden eyes flicking between the banter exchanged across the table. But the energy was infectious. Somewhere between Earl Grey Cookie’s exasperated retelling of how Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie had nearly set their entire laboratory station ablaze, and Chai Latte Cookie dramatically recounting a rumor she’d overheard in the library, a quiet chuckle escaped him. A chuckle that, much to your own surprise, turned into laughter. It was soft, refined, but unmistakably real. Your head turned in quiet shock, and you weren’t the only one who noticed. Earl Grey Cookie nearly choked on his tea, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned as if he had just witnessed something historic, and Chai Latte Cookie, ever quick to react, placed a hand over her heart with an exaggerated gasp.

“Oh my stars,” she whispered, as if she had just been granted a divine revelation. “Was that was that actual laughter from our esteemed Sage of Truth? I think the very foundations of the academy might tremble.” Shadow Milk Cookie exhaled, amusement still glinting in his eyes. “You exaggerate.” “I do not this is a momentous occasion! (Y/N) Cookie, did you hear that? Did you hear it?” You had, and you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “I think he’s laughing at you.” “I don’t care who he’s laughing at. The point is that it happened.” Earl Grey Cookie smirked. “This must be a sign of the end times.” Shadow Milk Cookie shook his head, but there was no exasperation in his expression, only something quiet, something almost content. The conversation meandered from there, shifting into stories from class, odd encounters in the hallways, harmless gossip about professors and their quirks. The dining hall had begun to empty, but none of you made a move to leave just yet. And then, amidst it all, Chai Latte Cookie’s eyes flicked toward your plate. Her gaze lingered not in judgment, not in anything remotely unkind, but with a quiet knowing. A familiarity woven from years of shared meals, of whispered conversations over cups of tea, of simply knowing you. “…That’s not what you usually get.” It wasn’t an accusation, nor did she phrase it as a question. It was just an observation, one spoken with the kind of care only she could manage. You blinked, glancing at your plate as if you’d only just noticed yourself. You had unconsciously chosen something lighter, something more balanced, something that, if you thought about it, was reminiscent of the very meals Shadow Milk Cookie favored.

“I-” You hesitated, grasping for an explanation and coming up empty. She didn’t press. She just smiled, eyes twinkling, before taking a sip of her tea. “Interesting,” she mused. “That’s all.” Shadow Milk Cookie, silent up until now, observed the exchange with careful intrigue. You weren’t sure why, but something about Chai Latte Cookie’s tone made you shift in your seat, a warmth creeping into your cheeks. Earl Grey Cookie, unaware or simply uninterested in whatever silent conversation had just passed between you and Chai, leaned back with a stretch. “Alright, before we get too deep into existential crises over dinner choices Hazelnut, didn’t you say you had something planned for revenge earlier?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned wickedly. “Oh, right. (Y/N) Cookie, your days of tea sabotage are numbered.” You barely had a moment to react before he switched your half-finished drink with a concoction of his own making. It was… an abomination. Greenish in a way tea should never be. You narrowed your eyes. “You wouldn’t.” “Oh, I would.” Chai Latte Cookie burst into laughter as you glared at the offending cup, while Earl Grey Cookie crossed his arms, nodding approvingly. “Justice.” As the teasing and laughter carried on, Shadow Milk Cookie sat quietly, watching the way you so easily belonged here how you fit so seamlessly among them, how your laughter carried through the space like warmth on a cold day.

And for just a moment, the remnants of that unfamiliar feeling stirred in his chest once more. Not quite envy. Not quite longing. Something in between. As the evening waned and the last of the plates had been pushed aside, Shadow Milk Cookie was the first to rise, smoothing down the edges of his robe with practiced elegance. “I have matters to attend to,” he announced, his voice measured, but there was something unreadable in his gaze when it flickered toward you. “Thank you for the invitation, (Y/N). It was… enlightening.” There it was again. That subtle weight behind his words, something deliberate. You barely had a moment to process it before he turned on his heel and left, his steps quiet but certain as they disappeared down the corridor.

“Ohhh, what the hell was that?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s voice cut through the quiet, loud enough to make a few remaining students glance over before he huffed and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Am I losing it, or did something weird just happen?” Earl Grey Cookie, still leaning lazily against the back of his chair, smirked. “No, I felt it too.” Chai Latte Cookie let out a dramatic sigh, already standing and tugging at your arm. “Come on, we have to walk you back.” You blinked, frowning. “I don’t need-” “Yeah, you do,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie cut in, waving a hand. “Because clearly, you need someone to spell things out for you.” With little room to argue, you let them guide you out of the dining hall, the cool evening air nipping at your skin. The four of you moved with familiarity, a rhythm formed through years of friendship. Yet tonight, something felt off the way they kept glancing at you, the way their expressions flickered between amusement and exasperation. Finally, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Alright, I’ll say it since nobody else is.” Earl Grey Cookie snorted. “Since nobody else is? We’ve been dying to say it.” Chai Latte Cookie laughed. “We were just trying to be nice about it.” You groaned. “Say what?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie didn’t hesitate. “Shadow Milk Cookie? Jealous.” You nearly tripped over your own feet. “What?” Earl Grey Cookie shook his head. “Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you didn’t notice. He was watching you like you were about to disappear.” Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “And the way he kept jumping in whenever you and Earl Grey started going at it? That wasn’t just curiosity, sweetheart.”

You scoffed. “That’s ridiculous.” “No, what’s ridiculous is the fact that you changed your whole dinner order to match his without even realizing it,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie shot back, eyes sharp. Your mouth opened and then closed. Earl Grey Cookie grinned, clearly enjoying this far too much. “And that little moment between us?” He gestured between you and himself. “You know, when I was showing you that thing from class? That’s when he really started to look like he wanted to throw me into the nearest bookshelf.” You gaped. “He did not.” “Oh, he did,” Chai Latte Cookie mused, tilting her head. “You really don’t see it, do you?” You sighed, exasperated. “There’s nothing to see.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? Then tell me why he suddenly had to offer his extensive knowledge to help you the moment Earl Grey started getting your attention?” You hesitated. “…That doesn’t mean” “It means exactly what you think it means,” Earl Grey Cookie cut in, his voice oddly amused but knowing. He glanced at you. “Look, I’m not saying you have to do anything about it, but just be aware. The guy’s not exactly subtle, even if he thinks he is.” You huffed, shaking your head. “You’re all reading too much into this.” Chai Latte Cookie just smirked, linking her arm through yours. “Oh, sweetheart, we live to read too much into things.” As you approached your dorm, the conversation still buzzed between them, all three of them dissecting the night’s events like it was a mystery novel they were determined to solve.

Earl Grey Cookie stretched lazily. “Tough luck for him, though. We’ve got years on him.” Chai Latte Cookie rolled her eyes. “It’s not a competition, you know.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Tell that to him.” You groaned. “You’re all impossible.” Chai Latte Cookie squeezed your arm one last time before letting go. “We’re just looking out for you, love.” You sighed, pushing open the door to your dorm, the warmth of the room pressing against your skin. As you glanced back at them, their faces were still full of amusement, affection, and something else. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Just… keep your eyes open, alright?” With that, they left you to your thoughts, the door clicking shut behind you. And for the first time all night, you were alone with them. You stood there for a moment, letting the quiet of your dorm settle around you. Their words lingered, pressing at the edges of your thoughts, but you shook your head, exhaling. They were exaggerating. Had to be. Sure, Shadow Milk Cookie was… particular, but jealousy? Over you? The idea was almost laughable. Your friends only knew him through you, which meant you had the better judgment in all this. Right? You sighed, pushing the thoughts aside. There was no use dwelling on it.

The next morning, you woke early, stretching lazily as golden morning light seeped through your curtains. Sunday. No lectures, no responsibilities just a day to unwind. You got ready at your own pace, relishing the rare, slow start to the day, before heading to the dining hall. Breakfast smelled incredible today. Warm syrup, fresh fruit, and oh, they had the ice cream bar open early. Well. It would be a shame not to indulge. You loaded your plate with golden, honey-drizzled waffles, the syrup pooling in each perfect square. Then, with zero hesitation, you made a beeline for the ice cream, adding a generous scoop to your plate. The cold creaminess melted slightly against the warmth of the waffles, mixing into the honey in a way that promised pure satisfaction. By the time you sat down with your friends, they were already deep in conversation. “Finally,” Earl Grey Cookie greeted, sipping his tea. “I was beginning to think you’d been kidnapped by the library.” “Good morning to you too,” you said dryly, setting your plate down. Chai Latte Cookie peered at your breakfast, eyes twinkling. “Living decadently, I see.” “Nothing like an indulgent morning,” you quipped, slicing into your waffle. The first bite was heavenly, warm syrup mixing with cool ice cream in a way that had you humming in satisfaction.

But before you could savor it for too long  “Well,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie drawled, leaning back in his chair, “at least you get to eat without the Sage of Truth breathing down your neck this morning.” Earl Grey Cookie huffed a quiet laugh, setting his cup down with a soft clink. “Figuratively, of course.” You rolled your eyes, swallowing your bite. “Oh, come on” “No, no, let us enjoy this moment,” Chai Latte Cookie teased, propping her chin on her hand. “A quiet morning without a certain scholar lurking about. Truly, what a rare sight.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Maybe he’s off brooding somewhere, nursing his wounded pride.” You groaned. “You all need to let this go.” Earl Grey Cookie only raised an eyebrow. “Do we?” “Yes.” You pointed your fork at him. “Because nothing happened.” “Oh, something happened.” Chai Latte Cookie’s grin was all too knowing. “You just refuse to see it.” You exhaled, exasperated, and took another bite of your waffle, deciding to ignore them. They, of course, refused to be ignored. You set your fork down with a sigh, eyeing the three of them as they practically vibrated with unspoken thoughts. Clearly, last night’s rushed walk to your dorm hadn’t given them enough time to say everything they wanted to say. And judging by the way Chai Latte Cookie was practically bouncing in her seat, this was a debrief waiting to happen. “Alright,” you relented, crossing your arms. “Go ahead. Clearly, you’ve been holding back.” Chai Latte Cookie let out a delighted squeak, clapping her hands together. “Oh, finally! I knew you’d come to your senses!”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie was already reaching into his coat pocket, pulling out the small, well-worn notebook he always carried. He flipped it open with a practiced ease, clicking his pen before glancing at Earl Grey Cookie, who, without being asked, leaned in to skim his notes. “Oh, for the love of” You groaned, rubbing your temples. “You’re taking notes?” “This is crucial information,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie said seriously, jotting something down. “We need all the details.” “You guys are acting like this is the next biggest scoop of the century.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses, utterly unfazed. “Because it is.” You opened your mouth, ready to refute that, but Chai Latte Cookie had already turned to you, eyes shining with glee. “Okay, first of all how have you not noticed how he looks at you?” she asked, voice dripping with amusement. “Because, sweetheart, if looks could hold someone in place, you’d be permanently stuck in time.” You blinked. “What are you even talking about?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie gestured vaguely in the air. “The way he watches you. The way he listens.” He tapped his pen against his notebook. “The way his entire being tenses whenever Earl Grey so much as breathes in your direction.”

Earl Grey Cookie let out a small chuckle, shaking his head. “It’s true. He looked positively put out last night.” You scoffed. “He did not.” “Oh, he did,” Chai Latte Cookie singsonged. “It was subtle, but come on, this is us. We know each other too well to miss something like that.” You threw your hands up. “You don’t even know him that well!” “Ah,” Earl Grey Cookie said, raising a finger. “But we know you.” “That’s not the same” “It kind of is,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie interrupted, scribbling in his notebook. “Because if we notice things about you that change when you’re with him, it tells us a lot about him.” You frowned, shifting in your seat. “You’re all reading into this way too much.” Chai Latte Cookie gasped, placing a hand over her chest in mock offense. “How dare you?” Earl Grey Cookie smirked. “We wouldn’t be your friends if we didn’t overanalyze your life choices.”

You groaned, slumping forward onto the table. “This is absurd.” “Absurd,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie echoed, flipping to a fresh page. “But not unfounded.” Chai Latte Cookie nodded enthusiastically. “Mhm. Case in point the tea situation last night.” You peeked up from your arms. “…The what?” “Oh, please.” Chai Latte Cookie grinned, leaning in. “You burned your throat to mess with Earl Grey. And Shadow Milk Cookie just watched stiff as a board, probably fighting the urge to pry the cup out of your hands.” “That’s just” You waved vaguely. “He’s particular about tea.” “No, no, no.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie pointed his pen at you. “That wasn’t just ‘he’s particular about tea.’ That was he doesn’t know how to handle how easily you play around with Earl Grey Cookie, and it bothers him on a fundamental level.” You sat up, crossing your arms. “Oh, come on. That’s a stretch.” “Is it?” Earl Grey Cookie mused. “Because I did catch the way his expression shifted when I mentioned we’ve known each other since before the Academy.” Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “Oh, he definitely didn’t like that.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie wrote something down before holding up the notebook for Earl Grey Cookie to check. Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his glasses, scanning the notes. “Mm. Add something about how he immediately offered to help with your research interest.” “Oh, good one,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie murmured, jotting it down. “Guys,” you groaned. “You’re killing me.” Chai Latte Cookie nudged you with her elbow. “You love us.” You sighed, dragging a hand down your face. “I tolerate you.” “Same thing.” Earl Grey Cookie closed the notebook with a satisfied hum. “Regardless, our assessment stands.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded. “This is big.” “Huge,” Chai Latte Cookie agreed. You shook your head. “You’re all ridiculous.” “Maybe,” Chai Latte Cookie said, propping her chin on her hand. “But you have to admit it is kind of interesting.”

You frowned, staring down at the last bite of your waffle. The ice cream had melted into a sweet pool around it, blending with the honey in a way that was strangely mesmerizing. “…Even If and I mean if you guys are right,” you muttered, “it doesn’t mean anything.” “Maybe not,” Earl Grey Cookie conceded. “But it’s certainly something.” You sighed, grabbing your fork and spearing the last bite of your waffle. Ridiculous. All of them. But even as you shoved the bite into your mouth, their words clung to you like syrup on your fingers, sticky and impossible to ignore. Once the final note was jotted down and Earl Grey Cookie gave an approving nod, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie clicked his pen and shut his notebook with a snap. “Alright,” he said, setting it down on the table. “Now that we’ve got all the facts down, it’s time for the fun part.” You sighed. “Oh, great. Because this wasn’t already a circus act.” Chai Latte Cookie ignored you, clapping her hands together eagerly. “Okay! Now, theory time! What do we think is going on?” Earl Grey Cookie folded his hands together, utterly composed as always. “Hazelnut, since you’ve been the lead investigator here, why don’t you start?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked, tapping his fingers against the notebook cover. “Oh, gladly. My theory?” He pointed at you. “Shadow Milk Cookie doesn’t know what to do with you.” You blinked. “Excuse me?” He leaned forward. “Think about it. He’s this big scholar, right? Super refined, theatrical, incredibly well-versed in everything except you. You throw him off. You frustrate him. He’s used to people treating him a certain way, and then you come along, all flustered and hesitant, and it messes with him.” Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “Ooooh, I like that. It’s true he’s used to people being all reverent and careful around him, but with you? You’re a nervous wreck, sure, but you’re still you. You challenge him without even realizing it.” You frowned. “I don’t challenge him” “Sure you do,” Earl Grey Cookie cut in. “And more importantly, you interest him.”

You crossed your arms. “That’s a stretch.” “Oh, is it?” Chai Latte Cookie leaned in, eyes gleaming. “Because if you ask me and, you know, I love my romance stories I think it’s something more.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie raised an eyebrow. “Go on.” Chai Latte Cookie propped her chin on her hands. “He’s fascinated by you. And not just in some casual, ‘oh, what a curious scholar’ kind of way. No, no, no. He sees something in you, and he’s drawn to it. Maybe he doesn’t even know what yet, but it’s there.” You exhaled sharply, shaking your head. “Come on, guys. He’s not” “You don’t see the way he looks at you,” Earl Grey Cookie interrupted smoothly. “And it’s unfortunate, really, because it’s quite telling.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie nodded. “There’s intent behind it. He watches you like he’s trying to figure something out.” Chai Latte Cookie smirked. “Or like he’s trying to figure you out.” You stared at them, feeling incredibly outnumbered. “You’re all ridiculous.” “And yet,” Earl Grey Cookie mused, sipping his tea, “we’re rarely wrong.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie pointed at you again. “So, what do you have to say for yourself, huh? Gonna keep pretending this is all just normal scholarly interest?” “Yes,” you deadpanned. “Because that’s exactly what it is.” Chai Latte Cookie clicked her tongue. “Sweetheart, denial is only cute for so long.” You groaned. “This is absurd.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie shrugged. “Hey, we’re just laying out the facts. And the facts strongly support our case.” Earl Grey Cookie tilted his head, considering. “Perhaps he doesn’t even fully realize it himself.” “Exactly!” Chai Latte Cookie snapped her fingers. “You think someone like him has time for this kind of thing? He’s too wrapped up in his own world of truth-seeking to stop and realize what’s happening right in front of him.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie sighed dramatically. “Tragic, really.” You buried your face in your hands. “I hate all of you.” Earl Grey Cookie chuckled. “You love us.” Chai Latte Cookie nudged you. “So, what are you going to do about it?” “Nothing!” you cried, exasperated. “Because there is nothing to do!” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Yet.” You groaned, pushing away from the table. “I am leaving.” Earl Grey Cookie stood as well, adjusting his coat. “Then we’ll walk with you.” “Oh, fantastic.” You rolled your eyes. “Because I love spending more time being harassed.” Chai Latte Cookie looped an arm around yours, grinning. “Come on, we just care about you.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie and Earl Grey Cookie flanked you as you all headed out, their voices continuing to dissect every interaction, every detail. And no matter how much you protested, you couldn’t shake the nagging feeling that maybe just maybe they weren’t entirely wrong. You exhaled sharply, crossing your arms as you walked with them. "Okay, fine. Earl Grey, you’re always the one with the most measured takes. You have to have a theory that’s actually based in reality. What do you think?"

Earl Grey Cookie smirked as if he’d been waiting for you to ask. He adjusted his coat, hands neatly clasped behind his back. “I thought you’d never ask.” Chai Latte Cookie rolled her eyes with a knowing grin. “Oh, here we go.” Earl Grey Cookie took a moment, as if carefully composing his words. “From what I have observed, Shadow Milk Cookie is not a man accustomed to emotional vulnerability. He is esteemed, revered, and above all detached. But when it comes to you, there is a shift.” He glanced at you meaningfully. “A noticeable one.” You blinked. “That doesn’t mean anything” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie cut in, smirking. “Ah-ah, let him finish. He’s just getting to the good part.” Earl Grey Cookie continued smoothly. “I don’t think he realizes it yet, but I would argue that you challenge him on a level he has not encountered before.” You frowned. “That doesn’t even make sense” “Oh, it does,” Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “Keep going.” Earl Grey Cookie gave you a knowing look. “He is used to admiration, to reverence. But you? You are hesitant, overwhelmed, and yet you still push forward. You question him. You argue, even if you don’t realize you’re doing it. And that intrigues him.”

You stared at him, unsure of what to say. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Oh, yeah. That’s definitely got the scholar all messed up.” Earl Grey Cookie allowed himself a small smirk. “Precisely. But beyond intrigue, there is something else brewing. He reacts to you in a way he does not react to others.” “Which means?” Chai Latte Cookie prompted, leaning in. Earl Grey Cookie met your gaze. “Which means he is invested. More than he should be.” Silence stretched between you all. You rubbed your temples. “You’re all reading way too much into this.” “Are we?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie grinned. “Yes!” you insisted. “He’s a scholar. He’s curious. That’s it.” Earl Grey Cookie simply hummed. “Perhaps.” But there was a glint in his eye that told you he didn’t believe that for a second. Chai Latte Cookie sighed dramatically. “Honestly, you might be the worst part of this whole situation.” You gaped at her. “Excuse me?” She laughed, nudging you playfully. “You’re so blind to your own effect on him! You’re making him confused, and you’re definitely confusing yourself.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie clapped you on the back. “It’s actually kind of hilarious to watch.” You groaned. “I hate you all.” “Yet you’re still walking with us,” Earl Grey Cookie mused. You grumbled under your breath. “Only because you’d probably just follow me anyway.” Chai Latte Cookie giggled. “Oh, definitely.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie flipped open his notebook, clicking his pen. “Well, this was productive. I think we have more than enough material for today.” “Oh, fantastic,” you muttered. Earl Grey Cookie closed his eyes in amusement. “This is far from over.” You huffed, shaking your head as you finally reached your dorm. “I’m going inside. I refuse to entertain any more of this nonsense.” Chai Latte Cookie beamed. “Goodnight, sweetheart~.” “Don’t dream about the scholar too much,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie teased. You slammed the door behind you, heart hammering. Because no, they were wrong. They had to be…Right? You sighed, staring at the closed door of your dorm. Maybe slamming it in their faces wasn’t the best way to shut down the conversation, even if they were being absolutely insufferable about it. Theories, notes, revisions they were treating last night like it was the biggest scoop of the century, and you were their unwilling case study. And yet, as you stood there, arms crossed, trying to shake the lingering thoughts of their absurd analysis, something gnawed at you. Maybe you had been a little too dismissive. With another sigh, you turned on your heel and swung the door back open. Your friends were still there. Naturally.

Chai Latte Cookie blinked at you, then broke into a knowing smile. “Oh? Back so soon?” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked, lazily flipping through his ever-present notebook. “Took you longer than I expected.” Earl Grey Cookie simply raised a brow, arms crossed. The look he gave you was expectant, as if he knew you had something else to say. You huffed. “Alright, look. I didn’t mean to slam the door.” “Of course,” Chai Latte Cookie said sweetly, though you could see the amusement dancing in her eyes. Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Uh-huh.” You exhaled sharply and crossed your arms. “Anyway. You all went to the Ghost City last week, right?” That got their attention. “Oh?” Chai Latte Cookie leaned in, intrigued. “Yeah,” you muttered. “The ice cream shop.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie’s grin widened. “Now you’re speaking my language.” Earl Grey Cookie tilted his head. “You wish to go now?” You shrugged. “Why not? I didn’t get to sneak out with you last time, so I figure why not make up for it now?” Chai Latte Cookie’s face lit up. “A morning trip to the Ghost City? How scandalous.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie clapped a hand on your shoulder. “That’s the kind of thinking I like to see.” Earl Grey Cookie adjusted his cuffs, looking over the three of you with a mix of fondness and exasperation. “And I assume we’re not taking the normal way?” Chai Latte Cookie waved a hand. “Oh, please. That would be boring.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile from creeping onto your face. “Alright, then,” you said. “Let’s go.” And with that, the four of you set off, the morning sun casting golden light over the Academy as you slipped away toward the Ghost City.

A/N I will reply to my inbox soon y'all I LOVE THE ART IM SEEING but I will reply to it and give my time to them...for now I have a lecture to attend so <3

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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[joequiinn]

To Solve a Crooked Rhyme | r x medium!reader | prol.

Story Summary | To commune with the dead was second nature, as familiar to you as the back of your hand. Seances and ouija boards, psychometry and automatic writing - the tools of your trade. Little did you know what kind of creature would come to prey upon you in pursuit of your gifts, though...

Story Warnings, Themes | fem reader, mature content, horror themes, 1890s northeastern setting, spiritualism (possible historical inaccuracies), various vampire lores used, canon typical blood/gore etc, cat-and-mouse vibes, slight use of 3rd person narrative

Author's Note | I've always found the spiritualism movement utterly fascinating, and what better place to explore it than in a vampire fic? As stated above, there may be historical inaccuracies (please view note on series masterlist linked below) and I'm playing with different types of vampire lore in mind, but I hope it all comes together well! If you'd like to be added to the taglist for future installments, let me know - 18+ only, no ageless blogs!

WC | 2.3K

[series masterlist]

!!! MINORS DNI !!!

He heard a voice reach out across the expanse, something forever far away and yet a tickle upon his neck. It was a whisper not intended for his ears, ghost-like in its dreaminess, bringing him to an abrupt pause when it managed to penetrate his mind as if it belonged there. Both so like and unlike the collective of voices he’d grown accustomed to hearing in this shared consciousness that came with vampirism; he’d upped his mental defenses enough that few could break through them, allowing him some peace within his eternity.

But this. This was something else.

In all his centuries as a creature of the night, so very few have been able to reach within him like this. But she somehow struck through his energy in a way that made his blood stir, that sent a shiver rolling up his spine. What a strange and fleeting sensation for someone of the undead. What an enticing thing to want to feel again.

The woman’s voice was even in tone, slow and methodical, a hint dramatic, perhaps for performance sake. And it drew him like a month to flame. He followed after the voice, chasing an invisible thread with a strange, innate understanding that something in his blood seemed to recognize her call.

It ebbed and flowed in his grasp as if he couldn't quite make the voice tangible, far enough away that only a few words were made clear:

“… are seeking… speak to you… your passing…”

He already understood what this woman was - he could feel it from the very moment that her voice managed to pierce inside his head like a swift arrow breezing past his cheek. A clairvoyant, a mentalist, a psychic - there were a dozen names for her line of work, and likely a dozen more that he wasn’t familiar with. And amidst an array of frauds and scam artists making a quick buck off others’ grief, this voice was the real thing, one that felt unlike any seers he’d encountered before.

He could feel it upon her voice as it danced around him, the weight of her words heavy, the scope of her ability wide. There were stories of those that could wake the dead, that could reach into realms beyond with only their voice. Yes, this was the nature of psychics, whose trade was built upon connecting with spirits. But he knew this one was different - she was the voice that could make time stand still, that could fold it like paper into a new, intricate shape. So uniquely gifted - so very easy for something insidious to target.

Oh, the things he could do with a voice like that…

“Where Lagan stream sings lullaby There blows a lily fair”

The song was a distant, cavernous echo, so far off that you could barely hear its tune, as if perhaps you simply imagined it. But, of course, you knew better than that - your senses were always sharp, for better or for worse - and thus it gave you pause. For although spirits were prone to strange and brief disruptions such as this, they usually weren’t quite so melodic and lilting.

You had hoped to read at least a chapter or two of your book before bed, but evidently that wasn’t going to happen. You set aside the novel that was resting in your lap, brow furrowing with curiosity, though nothing else met your ears aside from the buzzing of cicadas out your window. Ghosts were in the habit of making themselves known to you, yet as you looked about the room there was nothing unusual or of note to be found - no shadowy movements, no trinkets falling off shelves, no ghastly reflected faces in your mirror.

Curious about the faint interruption, you closed your eyes and sat up a little straighter, concentrating in the hopes that the unfamiliar tune would find its way back to you. Perhaps the spirit hadn’t meant to draw your attention at all, but on the off-chance that they were, you simply had to listen again. Though briefly you considered that the dreamy voice may be floating in through the thin walls from one of your neighbors’ tenement, you already knew that wasn’t true - you could feel that it was coming from somewhere just beyond the physical world.

Your whole life you’d seen and heard things that others simply couldn’t - and perhaps shouldn’t. The calls of wayward spirits were as familiar to you as your own voice, as commonplace as the sight of your reflection. It was an inherited trait, this connection with the supernatural, passed down by your grandmother who was renowned and trusted for her ability to commune with ghosts back in the heyday of the spiritualism movement. You could barely remember the woman, for you were so small when she left this world. Following her death, she willfully passed onto whatever was next, leaving you without answers to all the questions that sprouted up through the years. Thus, you had to hone those skills all on your own.

“The twilight gleam is in her eye The night is on her hair”

Ah, there he was, that silky voice coaxing you; how strange for him to sound both retreating from and approaching you at the same time. More often than not, you were able to pin down a spirit’s location with relative ease; it had been a long while since you had to chase after anyone, as generally ghosts weren’t that complicated.

You’d gotten in the habit of visualizing the spiritual energies surrounding you like tree roots - winding and weaving, seemingly endless, but not impossible to navigate with enough attention to detail. If you found the right root, you could follow it all the way to the base, to the spirit lingering at the end. Unable to identify where exactly he was, you took a deep breath, focusing and wondering again if this ghost knew he was heard and if he wanted you to find him.

Tonight had already been quite busy for you, your energy worn thin from the meeting you’d had with a woman named Mrs. Clemens regarding her husband’s death. You’d heard about her loss even before she reached out to you, seeing his name written about in the paper - apparently, his corpse looked as if it had been mauled by a wild animal, though the details beyond that were withheld from the public.

Evidently, Mrs. Clemens was dissatisfied with the police investigation; much of your time spent in your first meeting was filled by her venting her frustrations and you simply listening to the best of your ability. You’d be the first to admit that you were better with the dead than with the living. She turned to you in the hopes that you may offer her some clarity on her husband’s mysterious death, on what truly happened and what the police may have not made her privy to.

And, whether for better or for worse, you had given her some details, though they were scant at best. You managed to connect with Mr. Clemens rather quickly, giving you the suspicion that he was just as unimpressed with the police as his widow, though with his ghost still so fresh he struggled to remember that he was, in fact, dead on occasion.

Through automatic writing, Mr. Clemens painted the best picture of the attack that he could with the limitations of his memory - it was a man, rather than an animal as police suggested to the widow and the public. Unlike anything Mr. Clemens had encountered before, it left him with uncertainty, and thus the details of the event weren’t wholly clear; Clemens seemed convinced, though, that the stranger had attempted to cannibalize him while he was still alive.

Following that gruesome detail, Mrs. Clemens asked that you stop working for the night, as just the thought of it alone shook her deeply. These new details brought her little comfort, as now she was insistent the information be brought to the police so they could look for this mongrel, as she called him. In your personal experience, trying to work with the police resolved nothing. Although around these parts spiritualism was taken seriously in many circles, there was far too much trepidation from the law for your methods to be trusted in an investigation.

But Mrs. Clemens was willing to pay you well for your time and work, so you suggested she sort through her husband’s belongings, specifically anything that may have been on his person when he died. Perhaps psychometry, being able to hold and feel the energies of these objects, may prove itself more useful to your research. The two of you were set to reconvene later in the week, as you needed time to build your energy back up - mediumship was hard work, after all.

“And like a love-sick lennan-shee She has my heart in thrall”

Of course, chasing the song of a phantom didn’t help restore your energy any. Usually, you could find means of tuning out all the noise, for ghosts were plentiful, leaving strong energies everywhere they went like breadcrumbs for psychics to find. Ignoring the breadcrumbs had become easier through the years, shutting off that part of your mind with ease when you needed a moment of peace. This energy, however, was different, and you simply couldn’t disregard it the way you normally would.

So, like any good and curious medium should, you rose from your bed to sit at your desk, lighting the half-melted black candle and closing your eyes once more. Though you couldn’t explain why, you got the sense that this spirit wanted you to give him chase, as strange as that seemed. You focused, trying to find that metaphorical root, but somehow it was to no avail, there was no evident path for you to follow. Pesky little thing, this spirit.

“Why are you hiding?” You asked in a steady tone, continuing to search for the energy that alluded you. For a brief moment, you thought perhaps he had left because you couldn’t feel any nearby presence outside of the usual. But then you heard his haunting melody again, and somehow you got the sense that it was intended to mock you.

“No life I owe nor liberty For love is lord of all”

There was something undeniably different here that you simply couldn’t place. You hadn’t the confidence to say whether the difference was good, bad, or otherwise, but you were certain this spirit had a side to it unlike your standard fare of ghosts wanting to say goodbye to loved ones or getting lost on their journey beyond. There was a near lack of energy that made him hard to pin down - was he malignant or hostile, was he a trickster or simply misunderstood?

Determinedly, you rolled your shoulders back, seeking the energy again as you remarked, “I’m sure you’re quite amusing at parties.”

To your utter surprise, you felt his chuckle as if it were within your own chest, causing you to shiver; the spirit was closer than you thought, and evidently quite good at hiding. Seeing as your quip seemed to amuse him, you steadied yourself and tried again, hoping that you could get some further interaction, or at the very least a reaction.

“Would you mind telling me your name?”

No response. Nothing for an achingly long stretch, until finally a teasing voice tickled your ears, “Don't think I'll be doing that, love…”

You were taken aback by the spirit’s taunting, words darker and huskier than his singing, reverberating both within you and without you. The remark told you a lot about him, though. He had been dead for a while, for the newly deceased were often too disoriented by their circumstances to make jokes. And if he’d been around a while, then he ran the risk of being dangerous, which normally you would have sensed much sooner; again, there was something very strange about this one that you couldn’t put your finger on.

“That didn’t answer my question.” You urged with more command in your tone, but received nothing in response - no comebacks or laughter or singing to be had.

You waited, considering if this almost-conversation would continue, since his presence couldn’t be detected as other spirits typically would be. Several minutes ticked by in silence, candle flame slowly eating away at the wax, your posture taut in anticipation, the moon idling through the night sky; but you already knew that was the end of that. Whoever he was was gone for now.

With a final sigh of acceptance, you stood, blowing out the candle at your desk and deciding it was time to call it a night - you couldn’t do any more work with your energy as low as it was. The lamp burning upon your nightstand lit the way across the small expanse of your room, guiding you back to the warmth and comfort of your bed.

As you passed by the window, you glanced out at the street growing emptier as the night grew darker. Men still trekked along, either heading home or to the nearest bar; the only businesses still open at this time of night were bars and inns. In the building across from yours, nearly all lights were out, save for a faint flickering here and there between curtains.

Content with the quiet of the night, you began to walk from the window, but something made you stop, some kind of itch at the base of your skull that drew your attention back out. For a long, tense moment, you stared out at your familiar neighborhood, eyes scanning carefully. You weren’t prone to being startled or spooked, so you wouldn’t call the sensation you felt alarm - no, rather it was caution.

But nothing about your street appeared out of place. Perhaps you were just a little tense given the day you had, and the strange interaction with a singing spirit. So, you turned your back to the window and made your way to bed, ignoring that prickling foreboding that crawled up your spine, reminding yourself you had nothing to fear.

After all, you hadn’t seen the glow of something nefarious out there in the dark - no, you surely hadn’t, for it must have purely been the shine of light off a reflective surface…

. .

A.N. | Not quite sure yet when I'll have chapter one out, but I wanted to post this and give everyone a little taste of what's to come. I'm working on another writing project alongside this, so I apologize if it's a bit of a wait for the next update!

Taglist | @avidreader73 @cowboy-courage @decayingfool @vesnaragast

[felassan]

Thread: Sylvia Feketekuty on the influences of Emmrich and the Mourn Watch

The rest of this post is under a cut due to length and possible spoilers.

Sylvia Feketekuty: "I think I've gotten to most people’s questions, and I promised I'd talk about influences on Emmrich and the Mourn Watch before wrapping this up. So here we go! It took me while to figure out Emmrich's character voice. I'm happy with where I landed, but he was a tough one. A few books helped me out. MR James' Collected Ghost Stories (1890-1930) My favourite ghost stories of all time. James excels at building dread, at writing people finding strange things in books, or around the corner, or in the old lane at night."

"He was also an antiquarian and a scholar at Cambridge. I wanted Emmrich and the Watchers to feel formal, but not like they were from another epoch. James’ language, polished by a rich academic career, was an excellent benchmark for 'older, but not ancient'. E.g.: if using contractions was appropriate for James' time, it was appropriate for Emmrich. It freed me up, mentally speaking, to deploy them whenever they improved cadence or flow. Thomas Ligotti's Songs of a Dead Dreamer Fellow Ligotti fans may already be thinking Emmrich doesn't really share the philosophy underpinning Ligotti's work, and they’re right. However!"

"Songs of a Dead Dreamer is filled with fantastical imagery that’s a bit lusher than that found in Ligotti's later works. It was really good at bringing to mind the kind of moody, expansive dreamscapes I think our necromancer mentally occupies. It’s from a different book (Noctuary), but Ligotti’s “The Spectral Estate” also merits a mention. If you plunked it down in front of Emmrich to read, he’d know exactly what it was on about. The Romantic poets (or any poetry on similar themes: overpowering swells of emotion, the grandeur and awe of nature, love and loss and grief.) Palgrave's Golden Treasury was usually in reach."

"If I was in a jam, or psyching myself up for a scene, sometimes I’d read a few poems to get into the proper head space. Or just for the pleasure of it. Poems are great! Please take a link to Shelley's "A Dream of the Unknown", one of my favourites. [link] I also read a few books by morticians and funerary directors. A friend lent me Smoke Gets in your Eyes and From Here to Eternity by Caitlin Doughty (probably the most famous mortician on the internet?) I also checked out Nine Years Under: Coming of Age in an Inner-city Funeral Home by Sheri Booker."

"These books were full of lessons about how people react to death, how different cultures treat it, how anger and grieving express differently but come from the same wellspring. Very humane looks at how we deal with loss and other people. Moving on to non-books: My First Cadaver, a podcast of stories from medical students and medical professionals."

"I listened to a few episodes My First Cadaver, and there were some incredible tales in there. Gross (I could never be a doctor) but incredible. And I was struck by was how much students working on donated cadavers got attached to them. I can’t remember if it was in MFC or not, but there was one story about a medical student introducing his date to the cadaver he was working on like she was a beloved aunt. It was very sweet! Peter Cushing in Horror of Dracula (1958) and The Curse of Frankenstein (1957) These films are filled with handsome costumes, ominous sets, and the oversized passions I associate with gothic melodrama. Cushing's perfect in them."

"His portrayals of Van Helsing and Baron Frankenstein are brisk, determined, obsessive, and brimming with energy; they’re scholars who are experts in their field, yet still men of action. They felt like natural touchstones for a professor suddenly called to grand adventure. I also ended up reading Cushing's memoirs. In a bit of strange synchronicity, there were similarities between his life and traits I'd already decided to give Emmrich. Cushing came from a working-class family, had an intense phobia (his was of the dark), was vegetarian, and so on. I'd had no idea."

"(Humans tend to pattern-match, but it was a little eerie.) A side note: I've seen people speculate Emmrich was based off of Vincent Price. There’s a bit of the good Mr. Price in there, but Cushing got to play more heroic roles than he did. He felt more right to me. A second side note: did you know Vincent Price was a gourmand who loved to entertain? He and his wife Mary put out a beautiful cooking book, A Treasury of Great Recipes, filled with warm and charming commentary. If you're interested in that kind thing, highly recommended!"

"One influence when I was pitching the Memorial Gardens to the rest of the team was Swan Point cemetery in Rhode Island. It's where Lovecraft was buried, and like many a Weird Tales nerd before me, I was curious and wanted to see it."

"I wasn't prepared for was how lush the plants and flowers were, and how beautifully landscaped everything there is. Swan Point is a historical burial place, and also a carefully tended garden and arboretum. It stunned me. I'd never been in a cemetery like it. Emmrich complains about Hezenkoss making him play complicated wargames when they were students, and that one in particular had three separate rulebooks."

"I've seen people guess whether I was referencing D&D or Warhammer 40K. D&D was formative, and I know a frankly embarrassing amount about WH40K at this point (No regrets. Necrons and Admech 4-ever.*) But the origin is even sillier. *Why yes, Mechanicus 2 IS my most anticipated upcoming game. I used to own the first edition of a board game called Mansions of Madness, and was supposed to learn the rules so I could lead my friends through it. But come the day, I’d procrastinated, and was running short on time."

"Fantasy Flight's previous game in the same vein was Arkham Horror, and AH is not a simple game. But I remember being hopeful, as I peeled the shrinkwrap off, that maybe MoM would be easier to learn than AH. Have streamlined rules, or fewer things to remember. Then the top popped off, and three separate rulebooks fell out and slithered to the floor. (The DAV game’s not meant to be MoM, but the absurdity of that moment stuck with me.) (It's not the game's fault, by any means, that I was unprepared, and the session went as well as it could have with me flipping through the books going "Okay wait...hold on...I think that was here...no, wait.") The Nevarran hazelnut torte recipe is actually a family recipe from my grandmother, on my father's side. I’m beyond delighted people have actually made it. (Our recipe uses metric measurements, but the DA style guide uses imperial, so I was worried about the conversion. Looks like it went okay.)"

"On my mother's side of the family: my grandmother cooked and cleaned for a living, and my grandfather was a butcher. He passed away before I was born, and my grandmother when I was very young. So I gave Emmrich’s parents those professions as a little nod to the grandmother I only knew very little, and the grandfather I never met at all. I would’ve liked time with them both. And to end on a lighter note, "Ever thought of becoming a hat person?" is an extremely oblique reference to a line spoken to one of gaming's greatest characters: Murray, the demon skull from Curse of Monkey Island. (Curse is the first Monkey Island game I ever played, and therefore my favourite.)"

"Small bonus: here’s the music I listened to most while working on Emmrich and the Watchers. Some of it probably only makes sense to me, some of it seems thematically obvious. (I don’t have Spotify so best I can do is an itunes screenshot.)"

"Not on the screenshot because I changed PCs halfway through, but I also listened to a lot of music from Cryo Chamber, a great dark ambient label. [link] And their sister label, Cryo Crypt, which does "Dark Fantasy Dungeon Synth." [link] And also Allicorn IS on the screenshot but I think I've listened to his stuff on every game I've worked on by now. [link]"

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Bonus: follow-up comments and exchanges -

User: "I KNEW the torte was somebody’s family recipe!!" // Sylvia: "My only regret is that the icing was originally a stove-boiled icing made with eggs and chocolate and butter emulsified together. I couldn't get it working, however, these past few years. I think we lost some crucial part of the steps when trying to write out a clean copy. So I went with ganache for the game, because I didn't want to print something that didn't work, and I've used ganache myself. It's good! But I'm going to try to replicate the original again one day." [source, two] // User: "I noticed that sometimes, ingredients doesn't react the way they used to and part of that is probably due to some "industrial" changes in the recipe for ingredients like chocolate or butter to cut the cost of making them, imho. It's sad because it means we lost a very specific way to do things..." // Sylvia: "Yeah, that was the first thing a friend who bakes a lot suggested. I wonder if I was a victim of "Buttergate" when Canadian cows were being fed so much palm oil butter was harder to spread as a result. After a long search, I found a local place that makes butter that actually tastes good, which is an incredibly sad sentence to have to type out." [source, two]

Sylvia, re: Vincent Price being a gourmand and his cooking book: "It's extremely cool. My library had a copy and I remember it being pretty big, too." [source]

User: "I was following this thread and I'm delighted about all of these facts and information. Thank you for sharing!" // Sylvia: "Aw thank you! And thanks for reading, it was nice to unpack all the stuff kicking around my mental attic." [source]

User, re: MFC: "Sorry to post again but this one got me- my mom is a doc, and i remember her telling me stories of the cadaver she worked on (evidence of different surgeries she had, the cancer she had, etc), and mom always ended her stories saying how thankful she was to her. It really does stick around." // Sylvia: "No need to apologize, I liked hearing about your mom's reaction! It's exactly what I kept hearing and reading about, a sense of reverence for the gift." [source]

Sylvia: ""The irony that I had to convert the measurements back to metric" Haha. I tried to get as close as I could. Here's the written down metric version of the cake batter. It's an older recipe so I had to try to guess what a "knife tip" ended up as." [source]

A user on the torte being a family recipe: "Oh my gosh 🥹 that makes it all even lovelier!" // Sylvia: "Thanks! I was really excited to share the family recipe, it's a bit of work but it's one of my favorites." [source]

A user under the post about MR James' Collected Ghost Stories: "So you're probably the one behind the mysterious bronze whistle, I take it?" // Sylvia: "Haha, guilty. Cameron Harris, our editor, helped me figure out a phonetic guide to the latin. (If it fails anywhere it's very likely my fault.)" [source]

User: "As an avid Emmrich lover & someone trying to write some Emmrich POVs in my Emrook fanfictions, I can not thank you ENOUGH for this wealth of info / music inspo to go off of" // Sylvia: "Thank you! (Seriously though some of those songs probably only make sense to me, they're not all thematically on point, but some are. Hope you enjoy!)" [source]

User: "As another "needs a million hours of droning ambient music to write" writer I appreciate these greatly" // Sylvia: "We both have good taste! 🎶" [source]

User: "Thank you for writing out this list!! Peter Cushing makes so much sense as an influence. I love the variety of media here, it gives me so much new stuff to check out!" // Sylvia: "Thank you for reading! If you do check out some of this stuff, hope you enjoy!" [source]

Sylvia: "thanks so much, and for reading the thread! It was fun to write." [source]

User: "Thank you for sharing these books!I was looking for a good ghost book" // Sylvia: "Thanks! Hope you enjoy James. "Oh, Whistle, and I'll Come to You, My Lad" was the first story of his I read and I'll never forget that experience." [source] // Sylvia: "I just love the mood James could create, so much." [source]

User: "ELECTRIC SIX MENTION" // Sylvia: "My greatest favorites, now and forever." [source]

Sylvia: "Please archive away, I am intent on deleting the account eventually but it'd be nice to know people could look this stuff up later if they're curious. (Future generations need to know which Atrium Carceri tracks I listened to!)" [source]

User: "Amongst many things, not the least of which is the gratitude and delight of having your fantastic insight into the writing process of Emmrich, my grandmother’s hazelnut torte is fantastically close to the Nevarran version which was a delightful discovery." // Sylvia: "Ah now nice. I assume she was also central/eastern European then? I suspect it was a popular recipe at a certain time." [source]

User: "As an ex-mortician turned game writer, this was a FASCINATING read!" // Sylvia: "Haha, I definitely took inspiration from morticians! (Thank you for checking it out, that thread got long)" [source]

User: "ATRIUM CARCERI - Such a perfect band for the Mourn Watch!" // Sylvia: "I stumbled on Atrium Carceri when I was a student, and there's happily so much dark ambient available now, but Simon Heath's particular vibe can't be beat." [source]

User: "Rockefeller Street is just like that, man. It's sticky." // Sylvia: "Yes! It's so good, it just hits a certain mood dead center." [source]

Sylvia: "Ginkys of BlueSky has created a Spotify list of the music I listened to when writing Emmrich and the Watchers! Almost everything's on there. Thank you Ginkys. (FYI: Not everything I listened to matches the MW vibe, sometimes it was just a song that got stuck in my head for a few weeks.) - [link]" [source]

User: "I appreciate Replay being on here so muuuuch" // Sylvia: "My favorite song on the album! Though 911 was also real solid." [source]

User: "Love that there's Lady Gaga" // Sylvia: "Friend just sent me Abracadabra, I'm excited for the Gothic Camp here." [source]

Sylvia, about the torte recipe: "If it's useful, here's the full thing in metric. WARNING: Last two times I tried this cooked icing, it failed. I'm not sure whether I miscopy a crucial step, or if changes to local butter were the culprit. Either way, proceed with caution. A ganache is way safer, and very similar." [source]

^ User: "Thank you! That's helpful. I haven't baked many cakes before so I'll do some research about icing/ganache before trying. Hopefully looking at local (Swedish) recipes will give me a hint of what to be careful with." // Sylvia: "Ganache is SUPER simple (you basically heat cream and pour it over chopped chocolate), so I lean even more towards recommending you go with that instead of the cooked icing. Hope you the baking." [source]

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