#But of course those sorts of thoughts would be difficult for her to admit with her upbringing

[acourtofthought]

Elain shrinks into herself when Lucien is around?

This girl gets flashes of the future. You know there's been images of:

Their bodies slick with sweat

His teeth on her inner thighs

His voice moaning her name

His hands tangled in her hair

His mouth on her.... well, everywhere

Her knees on the forest floor looking up at him.

Her crying out his name, again and again

Looking at Lucien would bring those images racing back and we all know that a shift in her scent could be detected, the reddening of her face would easily be spotted.

Elain was raised to behave like a lady.

Lucien brings about very unladylike thoughts.

Hot Mate + Seer Powers = Elain having no need to read a smutty novel for inspiration because she's now already seen things she never realized were a thing and you know she'd be struggling with how much they intrigued her since as Nesta said, humans were taught primness.

It's really that simple. Sarah didn't call Lucien her love then remind us over and over of how hot he is, how Cassian, Amren and the king noted his good looks, how Feyre thought of his warm bare chest, broad hard shoulders and gleaming hair (while already mated to Rhys no less), for one of the daemati twins to tell us all about the bedroom habits of the Autumn Court males only for his own mate not to notice the exact same things.

[moyazaika]

sharing is caring

yandere! childe (genshin impact) x fem! reader

cw; (1.9k wc) darling wears glasses, obsessive + possessive themes, allusions to violence, implied non-con, nsfw themes, mdni 18+

genie's notes; commissioned piece by @lucienbarkbark who was an angel to work with! it's always fun to dive into fanfic so thank you for giving me the opportunity to do so; have fun reading! ♡

the snezhnayan winters are deathly cold, but even then, they are not nearly as chilling as your husband’s ire. 

rarely are you ever the object of his interrogation, but there are those inevitable few moments you’re reminded of how old habits really do die hard—you slip up, in spite of all your best efforts—and hell freezes over.

take, for instance, right now. 

because although his lips curl into something akin to a smile, you know childe far too well to believe this is anything but a deception, returned in favour of your own omissions.

the heat of the nearby fireplace’s flames lick at your feet and are, you recognise, the last remnants of warmth in the room. even the heavy fur coat draped over your shaking shoulders does little to protect you against childe’s blue eyes, cutting into you like shards of dark ice. 

“ajax,” you plead. “i’m—”

“a liar.” childe finishes for you; his voice is deceptively gentle, soft as a lull. it devastates you when he laughs. “you’re a liar, my love.”

he’s got all of your letters in his hands. already, you know you’ve lost. the envelopes have been ripped open and the codes deciphered. how stupid of you to believe you could make a fool of the eleventh harbinger.

the silence that follows; settles down into the space between the two of you, is long and languid. your husband is in no rush to speak, seemingly content in merely taking in the way you’re squirming before him. he is eager, yet impassive, in his appraisal. it’s not the reverent sort you’ve gotten so used to, for there are no sweet nothings whispered against your skin as he lets his eyes linger on the softest parts of you. 

tonight, his observation is more akin to an examination. an analysis, perhaps. like he’s looking for something—finds it, you realise with a sinking feeling, as his gaze snags on your hands, curled up by your sides, and marred by deep, black, ink.

damning markers of your disloyalty. 

instinctively, you let the sleeves of your coat fall past your wrists. it’s a futile attempt at delaying the inevitable, and it makes you feel like nothing more than a guilty little girl having been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. you can’t stand the silence anymore. you really need to just—

archons—

the hair on your skin stands on end when he finally deigns to meet your eyes. beneath the weight of his cold gaze, you think anything would be better than this. it’s difficult not to walk right into the fireplace; lie down amidst the welcoming warmth of the flames that burn so brightly.

“i tried to trust you, y’know? i let you send your family little letters, and i never opened any of them even when all i wanted,” he confesses, “was to tear those pretty envelopes apart. i’ll admit, i even thought about breaking a finger or two a couple of times, did you know that? nothing to post if you can’t write.”

he looks to you for an answer, and it’s all you can do to stare back. he shakes his head, then. “no, no. of course you don’t know. how could you? you thought you had me all figured out.”

you have to force yourself to speak, because the words don’t come easy when you’re on the verge of a meltdown. you don’t even recognise the strangled sound of your own voice. “i’m sorry. i’m so, so sorry. please don’t hate me.”

“sweetheart,” he chides, fingers pulling the corners of his lips down into a melodramatic frown. “i could never hate you. i’m just, y’know, curious.” he lets his hand fall back to his side, pale mouth splitting into a sharp grin as he takes a step closer. “only wondering where i went wrong with you, that’s all.”

“nowhere. you didn’t.” your eyes are burning, though his are still crystal clear. lucid. sharp. he is immovable. you feel like the yielding force of weightless waters that split apart before a glacier’s path. “it’s all my fault.”

“i thought we put all this behind us. that you’d finally gotten it through your head.” he stalks closer, even steps far too measured to be casual. “imagine my surprise when i read these letters my wife begged me to let her send to her family and, ohh! would you look at that?”

“my little wife,” childe's voice falls completely flat, “thinks she can leave me.”

you cast a quick glance around your bedroom, scanning the space in your immediate vicinity for anything to hold onto. the vacant eyes of porcelain dolls and ornately carved figurines from your favourite novels all stare back at you emptily. a typewriter gathering dust by the windowsill. how it used to delight you at first, filling your monotonous days holed up within the walls of your husband’s prison by decorating it with pretty things.

they’re all useless to you now.

you wonder why childe chose not to cut off your fingers. he should have, you think. then you would never have ended up here. then maybe you would never have had any hope.

but you know the answer to your own question. after all, you’ve known him long enough to understand that childe finds great amusement in the way you still manage to carry that quiet hope within you.

oftentimes, he’ll catch you roaming the halls of this maze-like palace, attempting to mentally chart your way out. and every time he catches up to you, he’ll laugh, and press a kiss to your cheek, as if he knows exactly what you’re up to. as if it’s some sweet, private jest the two of you share.

“please, ajax.” you try again, “tsaritsa’s soul, i never meant to—”

“yeah, yeah. save it, love. there’ll be plenty of opportunities to beg for forgiveness later on.” you know it’s all for show when he pretends to think something over; nothing more than a performance when he suddenly snaps his fingers with an eager grin. “oh, that reminds me! i actually have something i needed to tell you.”

you watch as he thumbs through the stack of opened letters in his hands. you catch glimpses of your familiar scrawl; the desperation painfully obvious in your every etching onto the papers, begging your family to send a saviour, to reach out to the adventurer’s guild or the archons and send a cavalry to come knocking down the doors of the tsaritsa’s palace.

“you’ll love this one, sunshine.“i mean, well, you kinda have to. don’t have much of a choice, huh?”

all of it is a performance. from the ease with which he tosses the envelopes into the fire down to the very cadence of his voice as it takes on a familiar, sickeningly sweet lilt. you know this because you remain acutely aware of the fact that childe knew exactly what he was going to do with you the moment he finished reading those letters.

that doesn’t mean you’re ready for it.

“we’re going to liyue, lovely. i’m going to let you see your family again. i mean, isn’t that so much nicer than sending a letter? we’ll even catch the lantern rite whilst we’re there.” you sink deeper into your furs, stumbling away from him for every step he takes closer. “figured it’d be good for you.”

childe’s voice dips an octave lower, and the curl to his lips is a mockery of the usual smile that sits there just for you. “good for the baby, too.”

“tartaglia.” it’s impossible to see his face through the tears; everything in the room takes on the haze of a distant memory, and you wish, so desperately, that this moment would be over sooner. you could tuck it away within the recesses of your mind and never visit it again. let it be another lesson. “what baby?”

“your mother was overjoyed at the news.” he hums absently, “she said something about your haircut? mentioned already working extra hours to commission new baby clothes.”

your back hits a wall. and finally, with nowhere left to go and no saviour here to help you, childe takes his sweet time in catching up to you; and when he finally does, it’s all you can do to keep your neck painfully craned and looking up at him without falling to your knees.

“aren’t you excited, sweetheart?” he tilts his head, lifts a palm to cup your face. he’s smiling so earnestly, but his eyes are completely dull. you try searching for a sliver of the sunny man childe can sometimes be, and find, in place of the sunshine, the cold rays of light that hit shimmering snow and dissipate into nothing, instead. “finally, a family of our own making. it’ll be nice to go back to liyue, too.”

“i don’t understand.”

“it's simple, my love,” childe’s lithe fingers creep beneath the heavy fur coat you’re wearing. with deft hands, he slides it off your shoulders in one fluid motion. it falls onto the floor, dangerously close to the fireplace. a shiver rolls down your spine as you instinctively inch closer to your husband, seeking any semblance of warmth within the freezing halls of the palace. “it’s only tradition. it takes a village to raise a baby.” he laughs. “trust me, i know. my sisters were the sweetest little girls, but the boys have been a handful since birth. we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“…ajax? i never—”

“i’m trying, y’know?” he takes off your glasses and presses a lingering kiss to your cheek. sighs against your skin as he folds up the frames and tucks them aside. “i’m trying very hard to be a good man for you, sweetheart.”

"listen to me, i—"

"you missed your family, sunlight. i get it, i’m a busy guy. i clearly wasn’t giving you as much attention as you needed. you obviously had too much free time on your hands. i figured if we had a family to tend to, that’d keep you busy. plus,” he grins. “i wouldn’t need to take your fingers! you’d never turn to anyone outside of zapolyarny. maybe, finally, you would also have something to love.”

you can barely breathe. “no, no i don't want—”

“you’ll learn to,” childe smiles. this time, finally, it reaches his eyes. “you’re going to adore our little one. trust me, sunlight; we’re going to be the only family you’ll ever need.”

you search his face for something, anything—and your heart breaks at the sight. you turn to the side, can’t even bear to face the man before you for a second longer, when all you find is a terrifying absence of anything but the deepest depths of conviction.

in the distance, as childe works to shed your body of all these elaborate furs between flittering kisses, you can already hear the sound of fireworks. when he sinks into you; a baby’s wailing cry.

the fire crackles cruelly, as your letters of desperation turn to ash, going unanswered for eternity right before your eyes.

[66stitches]

abby anderson request !! :)

i wanted something where abby is starting to doubt her sexuality and trusts reader to ask questions and just talk about it (reader is a lesbian and they're close friends, it can end up with them kissing — or more, if you're comfortable)

cw: sfw, kissing (a lot of it), descriptions of masturbation (abby), talk of sexuality and questioning sexuality, no physical description of reader

Daily click - Palestine masterpost - TLOU and israel

a/n: thank you for the req !! I don’t write full on smut unfortunately (though I might write some short stuff in the future), but I tried to write a few kinda sexual scenes here and there

wc: idk prob like 1k

divider creds

Abby loved Owen, truly. She was attracted to him: that is what she kept convincing herself of everyday.

Every moment with Owen was a new lie she fed herself.

He was the man she loved. There was nothing she doubted in her relationship with him. The absence of love’s warmth meant to fill her body was her own fault; her inability to reach climax when they had sex was a problem for which only she was to blame.

It doesn’t mean she never tried, though. Abby had spent nights attempting to pleasure herself to the thought of Owen: the only person she should be thinking of; the only person supposed to be capable of reaching her to her climax.

And yet, all she felt was nothing. She laid in her bed, carnal and romantical dissatisfaction utterly consuming her. She was convinced that she was simply incapable of experiencing any sort of attraction exceeding platonicity.

But it only grew more confusing from there.

In another one of her inevitably futile attempts of bringing herself to climax to the thought of Owen, she felt her mind begin to drift to another thought that would hopefully bring her to that much desired release.

She didn’t intend for it to, but the man was just not doing it for her.

That night, she thought of a woman.

That night, she came so hard she swore she could see stars.

A specific woman she thought of in particular, but she would never admit who it was that finally relieved that ache. Not even in the confines of her own thoughts.

And so here she found herself, seated on the soft cushion of your worn-out couch.

You were Abby’s sole friend who was openly lesbian. Abby had seen you bring women over numerous times before. She had listened to your rants about your sexual and romantic encounters with women.

She even helped set you up with one, which harbored a slight odd feeling in the pit of her stomach for a reason she couldn’t quite decipher.

She had thought of it many times: what it was like being with a woman. She didn’t really know what to make of those thoughts. Whether it was mere curiosity, or perhaps something more.

And now here she sat next to you, trying to find the confidence to speak.

She never found it hard to confide in you. Of course not, you were her dearest friend. But this dilemma of hers was difficult to merely utter aloud, even if it is only to herself.

You were on your phone when Abby spoke.

“So… you’re gay,” she started, and she wanted to strike herself as soon as the words left her mouth, because of course you were gay. What kind of opening is that?

“Good observation?” You chuckled, bemused. You placed your phone down, curious as to where she was going with this.

“What’s it like? You know, being with a woman,” she asked, already regretting bringing it up, but she just needed some certainty.

Your eyebrows twisted in confusion at the inquiry. You and Abby were comfortable enough to share anything with each other. Nothing was considered too much information or too uncomfortable to talk about.

It was just an odd question coming from Abby, who you thought was so sure of her sexuality.

“I guess it’s like how it feels for you being with a man.”

God, she hoped not.

“Why?” You asked.

“Just curious, that’s all. Wanna understand your sexuality more, educate myself,” she spoke rather timidly.

You laughed softly. “Oh, because you’re so woke, right?”

Abby could tell you didn’t believe her. In all fairness, she didn’t really put much effort into trying to sound the least bit credible.

She didn’t even know why she was lying to you right now. She trusted you, she always has. This was just a difficult truth to face.

“I don’t know. I’m just feeling a little confused, I guess,” she confessed, shrugging.

“About your sexuality?” Your voice was slow, but your heart beat quicker than ever before.

You would be lying if you said you didn’t find Abby attractive. You’ve always had a little childish crush on the blonde, but you constantly found yourself trying to shove your feelings aside, somewhere far away so it could no longer reach to gnaw at your heart.

But now this — this made it all different. You might be getting slightly ahead of yourself, but you can’t help but think that now you might have the smallest chance with her.

“I don’t know— I mean, yeah, I guess,” she said as she fiddled with the seams of her shirt. “Owen’s just never really made me feel… well, anything. Anything you’re supposed to feel with a partner, I don’t feel it. I thought maybe the problem was Owen specifically, but I’ve come to realize that it’s not.”

“But women get you going?”

“I think so,” she admitted, finally. “I tried to think about a woman last night, while, you know…” she trailed off, her skin suddenly feeling very hot at the confession.

“And?” You whispered, feeling just as hot at her confession. “Was it just what you were missing?”

Abby went quiet for a moment, then she answered. “Yeah, it was.”

It was silent. Abby still looked like she had something to say, so you offered no response for a moment.

“But how could I know? I’ve never tried anything romantic or sexual with another woman, so how would I be able to tell? I could just be confused,” she said.

You were quiet, contemplating your next words. What you were about to do could either ruin your friendship, or elevate it to something more. You were relying on the latter.

“You wanna try?” You asked. Your voice sounded bold, but everything within you was shaking with apprehension.

She offered naught but an incredulous look. Her eyes were blown wide, disbelieving.

“What?”

Well, shit.

“I mean, solely for experimental purposes, of course. A kiss shared with another woman, just to be certain,” you explained.

The tension was thick, almost palpable. You were nervous at Abby’s silence and you realized that this is where your boldness gets you.

You were ready for her harsh rejection and the revulsion that would surely be evident in her voice, but then she spoke.

“Okay,” she said. Not a hint of revulsion in her tone. You didn’t know it, but her heart beat just as quick as yours.

“Really?” You asked, surprised as if you hadn’t been the one to offer.

“Well, yeah,” she leaned in slightly, bringing her face closer to yours. “Just for experimental purposes, right?”

“Yeah, sure,” you breathed. You brought your face to hers, and in a split second you closed the gap between you, meeting each other in a slow kiss, your eyes fluttering shut.

Her lips were soft. Her kiss felt nervous, lacking confidence, yet it still exceeded every expectation.

You pulled away once you felt it was enough. You looked at her and waited for what she had to say.

“Oh yeah, I’m definitely gay,” she said and pushed your face right back into hers, meeting your lips in a much more heated kiss.

This kiss, however, held the confidence the previous one lacked, her lips moving skillfully against yours. You waited for the shock to wear off before kissing her back, clearly not expecting her to want more.

You disconnected your lips once again, pulling her face away from yours. “Abby—”

“Just need-” she interrupted her own words to press another swift peck to your lips. “A little more-” another kiss. “Just to make sure,” she said, finally and pulled you in for another kiss. She cupped your burning cheeks with her palms and slipped her tongue into your mouth.

What was supposed to be an innocent kiss, solely for the sake of experiment (how the thought made you laugh now), turned into her exploring your mouth with her tongue and pushing her body against yours. This kiss held no place for innocence now.

She softly moaned into your mouth, the sound vibrating throughout your body.

She used her thumb to lightly caress your cheek as she kissed you like her life depended on it. She slightly pulled apart then, nibbling on your bottom lip with her teeth.

As the kiss came to an end, you sat staring at each other, breathless, and oh so blissful.

“You wanna know something?” Abby asked with a dumb smile on her face which brought another smile upon your own. You hummed.

“It was you,” she started, still faintly breathless. “You were who I thought of.”

Your eyebrows rose at the confession. It was unexpected, but certainly not disliked.

What you were more surprised at, though, was how casually she said it, seemingly too blissed out at the moment for any feeling of embarrassment.

“You telling me I was your gay awakening?” You asked, grinning.

“You could say that.” She shrugged and scratched at the back of her neck.

You laughed and scooted closer to her. “Well, I guess I’m honored then,” you said.

“Alright,” she rolled her eyes and laughed. She leaned in then, craving more of your taste.

You giggled into the kiss and pulled away, licking your lips to savor her intoxicating taste.

“I think we’ve already come to the conclusion that you’re gay. You still want more?”

She brought her face closer again and caressed your cheeks. She was close enough that you could feel her breath against your lips.

“Yes,” she breathed. “Now shut up and let me kiss you.”

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 24

satoru gojo x f!reader x suguru geto

plot: moving to the city from a small town was no easy feat, especially to start teaching as a jujutsu sorcerer.

summary: coming to a conclusion, satoru makes an important decision that has indirect consequences for everyone else — trigger warning: dubcon, reader is not in her right mind

masterlist • ao3 • chapter directory • previous chapter • next chapter >

Chapter 24. Sweet Cinnamon

At a glance, if he really thought about it, Satoru’s life hadn’t changed all that much. He upheld his role within Jujutsu society just fine; he still went to work and trained relentlessly—just as it was all expected of him. His students continued to not suspect a single thing and as for his remaining colleagues—they didn’t either. After all, nobody outside of his once tightly-knit group of friends could ever suspect just what sort of secret he was hiding just below where he slept.

All of the horror—the suffering—remained unchanged because he had the cover of being the strongest. An important name. A respected figure because what could Satoru Gojo, the man who had the entirety of Jujutsu society wrapped right around his finger, possibly have to hide?

Nobody could ever guess that just below his otherwise unassuming home, there was you who slowly gave into the reality he had so ‘generously’ sculpted. It was insulting in a sense as you finally broke into the concept. The prospect of living life under his assigned conditions and what were otherwise, oppressive terms, no longer seemed that bad, especially since it had been long enough to become untrusting of the outside world to begin with. Everything was losing its appeal and the prison you once sought escape from, was starting to feel like home.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so much like your jailer anymore—perhaps your cellmate—equally trapped in a reality that you both didn’t fully understand.

Maybe your resolve was just weak.

Satoru never thought so, oddly enough, which was why he chose to break you down slowly as opposed to the alternative, if you would believe him or not. Not that he would admit it, and especially not you, but this whole situation was grating on him, too. Maintaining the sudden severance of his once tightly-knit support network while simultaneously upholding the person that the rest of the world needed him to be was a tough task, after all. You wouldn’t get it, of course, so that much remained a burden for him and him alone. Any sane person would rightfully call him delusional at such a mention, because how difficult could it possibly be, to keep up the life that he was born into?

(He wasn’t just the strongest anymore—he was a mentor, a protector, a parent—but he was also the person that he was when around you.)

Satoru never expected to get away with it though, so much so that he didn’t account for it, but luckily for him, he was good at everything—even keeping secrets buried beneath the surface—even when the dirt kept coughing right back up at him.

You’d change.

You’d adapt.

(And then things would be right again—things would smooth out once more—everything would go back to just how it was, right? …Right?)

Satoru took a deep breath as he tried to justify his delusions, already feeling the negative aftermath of his deeply-rooted obsession. He didn’t understand why he felt this strongly about you if he was being honest, someone he once thought to be insignificant from who knows where—but here he was—losing his goddamn mind.

The only conflicting factor being, was Megumi, because where did you otherwise fit into his life when the boy was too perceptive to accept sudden involvement within his life?

You’d show up clean out of nowhere, supposedly accepting your role as the husk of someone you once were and the kid would see right through it all, somehow. The idea frustrated him a great deal, but if he could pull it off—then maybe life could become worth living again to the two of you—maybe you could learn how to enjoy things again (and not hit him with that wavering, blank stare). He supposed that for now at least, the bedroom could remain off-limits—at least until the prospect of Jujutsu High met him around the corner, come next autumn when Megumi would tear away for the campus instead.

Until then, he would be careful.

He should never make the mistake of perceiving Megumi’s indifferent state as ignorance.

That’s how he would slip up.

That’s how he would lose someone he considered to be his son.

Satoru in the meantime tried cooking today again, shoving the leftovers of what he had accomplished (or lack of thereof) into a stray container. Megumi was on his last day of school for the week and therefore, he had risked it considerably by bringing you up earlier—luckily though—the kid was out cold the entire night. Besides that, there were the festivities that he stuck around for, being begrudgingly sentimental towards such things. Such reluctance and even stubbornness reminded him both dearly of his old trio.

He thought about it often—just what sort of adult he’d grow into—for him to end up like his real father, Toji Fushiguro, Satoru thought would be a devastating prospect. Given the direction Megumi seemed to be heading though, it was highly unlikely. He carried a good head on his shoulders, likely due to him being a suitable model if he could believe it. Satoru gulped at the thought, not quite liking that payoff either, especially given what he was up to right now. The role he so masterfully played, only to be a facade in the end.

“Are the pancakes any good?” Satoru asked, watching the boy poke around the plate with his face scrunched up in disapproval.

Megumi was silently blunt—most found it to be harsh, but at least it was easy to tell what was appreciated and what wasn’t.

With a strained gulp down, Megumi replied in a slightly bothered tone, “Too dry.”

Satoru half-laughed, attempting not to feel dejected, but at least he supposed that it was honest feedback. “Yeah, I… I guess they’re not salvageable either, huh?”

“Maybe not,” the kid muttered in a curt, albeit polite tone, pushing the plate away from him and crossing his arms. “Why are you cooking so much lately, anyway?”

Satoru shrugged as he tried to force down the bites of food he made. He wasn’t usually bad at cooking, especially not with sweet things. Luckily, Megumi didn’t pick up on that or didn’t care about the intricacies of his personal life. For the most part, the annoyance seemed to come from being a taste-test guinea pig instead.

“I’m not sure—I guess, I guess… I guess I want to be useful?”

Megumi blinked, studying his guardian’s expression closely. “Useful?”

Satoru nervously laughed, patting the kid on his head. “You’re a growing boy aren’t you?” he asked, trying to spin it around, realising that despite him being quite young too, it felt like he was ancient when he tried to be relatable towards Megumi.

“You’re acting weird,” Megumi complained, rolling his eyes as he tried to get out of the kitchen by this point, hoping to leave whatever sort of forced banter was unfolding.

For now, Satoru decided to brush away the rejection and scooped up the remainder of the failed concoction into another container, intending to bring it down to you later—or perhaps he shouldn’t—not if he was trying to get you to like him… Then again. That look you had in your eyes when you saw the first snow, though? He knew that he had finally gotten somewhere. He just had to dull your spirit enough to make you appreciate the little things enough.

(The little things that paled in the grand scheme of what he wanted to accomplish with you.)

Satoru listened as the front door slammed shut, intending to leave soon himself. A decision formed in his mind as he considered the process of everything else. He would go through the day as normally as possible, arousing no suspicion at all. He’d teach, he’d piss everyone else off at the faculty all the same and then finally, he’d head home.

Movie nights were always a hit or a miss for you, but this time he would try again, letting you take the lead. He’d get your favourite snacks and your favourite drinks, and let you choose a film out of a variety this time. He wouldn’t try and force you into anything this time either, not anymore—or at least—not like that. Maybe, just maybe, if you were able to feel like you had even a semblance of control (however false it was), then you would finally understand the big picture of what he was trying to paint.

~~~

With the rest of the world fast asleep and with Megumi staying over at a trusted babysitter; Satoru lowered himself into the basement at long, long last. The sight was something he had barely gotten used to by this point, though. Would you even believe him if he told you that he doesn’t actually like seeing you cooped up like that? That he hated that sort of, vacant and surely dead-inside look you gave him daily—nightly—whenever it was. He wanted something different—perhaps those eyes that glinted with hope when you were back in your small town with him at your side, not whatever this was—whittled down to something blank, the sparkle put out and faded.

(Unless he could rekindle it.)

(That was the sort of hope he held onto for both of your sakes.)

The stairs creaked and your body twitched, but you didn’t make an effort to acknowledge him. Satoru softly sighed at such a thing, waiting for the dreaded question to finally surface, the answer on his lips already threatening to escape.

False freedom was what he could give you—but you could never go home.

And yet, just as the words left your lips, the question was something different.

“Can we go up and look at the sk—” you began, only for him to cut you off before you finished with the mention of his, “—never.”

A tense silence brewed between the two of you and the implications hung heavy in the thick, almost stagnant air. Satoru for once, hesitated, unwinding his bandages clean from his eyes and finally dimmed the blinding fluorescents into something more bearable, at long, long last. The shadows were at last allowed to settle and a new look in your eyes formed at the gifted low light—not just relief, but acceptance too—the look of someone defeated, ready to surrender.

He took a deep breath and settled the plastic bag full of snacks and the like down before where you sat, before sitting down right next to you. Satoru considered extending an arm out to reach and pull you in close—to touch you—but he refrained. Nothing forced, he told himself, even if it was too late to go down that approach. He knew himself, that what he was doing was fucked up, but also, he never wanted for it to be this way. Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself. Something about Suguru getting to you first and in secrecy, too, had triggered a darker side of him that he didn’t know he had—that he potentially didn’t want to understand. Maybe it was never about sharing what his friend had to begin with, maybe he would have been fine with it from the start. Maybe it was simply just because…

(Did he even know the real reason?)

It was simply just because Suguru saw something in you that he couldn’t.

Or?

No, that couldn’t have just been it. Or at least, it couldn’t have been the full truth. Think, Satoru, think. There was something deeper—more volatile.

At first, Satoru thought that Suguru was reaching. You were a pretty face, right? Maybe he wanted something passive or casual, that much was fine, but he could read him perfectly well. From the moment you disclosed what you did at the table from the very first time you met, something potentially very dangerous triggered for Suguru. He had seen that look in his eyes before, way back then, right when he was at the cusp of falling off into the deep end—right before he stopped himself.

Perhaps he should have seen the signs earlier on; what with the lacking interest of who it was that they, as sorcerers, should be protecting and how to do it.

(No, no. He got it.)

It was simply because, instead, Suguru saw a familiar darkness within you that he used to bring closer to justify the means.

Whereas you just wanted to move on—to reduce the negativity—to prevent the darkness from consuming you.

(Maybe it was that… Satoru wanted it too?)

Satoru took a deep breath, drinking in the silence. He thought back to hearing about that murder in your old town, recognising the name immediately—the follow-up to a recently connected killing of a civilian but also, his own family too. He remembered that dysfunctional home; the tough crowd that he had to face and yet, it still made him feel weird, but at the same time… not that he wanted to justify the crimes of his friend, he kind of got it. Or at least, he was starting to.

It was however wrong of him to share that information with you in that way, so for that reason, he had to do better. The abduction should never be forgiven, that much was perfectly fine and even something he accepted, but, he would at least try to help you move on.

Away from the negativity.

Away from jujutsu society.

Away from Suguru.

And into a fabricated life, yes, but… he would give you everything he could beyond that and never force anything ever again.

(Was that much such a delusional hope?)

Before that could happen though, he had to understand something. He reached out into the bag at his feet and took out two drinks of something citrusy, pulling at the tab before handing you the other one.

“Hey, [name]?” Satoru asked, locking his eyes on the same wall you focused on.

You turned your head ever so slightly but didn’t answer.

Satoru continued anyway, “Tell me what really happened back then—the part of the story that you didn’t tell. I know that Suguru knows because otherwise he wouldn’t have done what he… I guess… I’m just trying to understand something.”

Your lips parted a little, trying to bring yourself to tell the truth again. A part of you wondered why he was bringing this up now. Maybe he was just curious, or maybe he was trying to conduct his own investigation as to why his good friend went off the deep end. Whatever the reason, you gave in a second time.

You started off the same way, just like before, reciting it just as clearly as you did for Suguru back then. You watched his reactions as you spoke, watching his once curious expression slowly morph into something shaper—something with a different sort of edge to it. Perhaps it was vulnerability, realisation, or both. It faded quickly whatever it was, quickly twisting into anger, perhaps even self-blame because just like Suguru, Satoru at long, long last, finally understood why you were as dangerous as you were.

A product of the very humanity they were assigned to protect, yet so horribly scarred from it.

Satoru tensed as you finally finished up and for a good, long while, he didn’t say a single thing, but then when he broke the silence, he surprised you instead.

“Did you mean to say that you want to go look at the sky, earlier?” he asked, his voice so tender, so raw.

You didn’t have to think twice. “Yes.”

He sat up, stretching out his stiff limbs from their once compacted position, and looked around. Maybe the basement was a bad idea from the start. Maybe giving into the whole estate was. Satoru sucked at his teeth as he made another internal decision, leaving the bag behind and leading you up, flicking the lights off and all of the suspicion be damned, the change was going to start now. He led you up to the roof, letting you lean against the railing to look at the starts, and for just a minute, he left you all alone to step just out of earshot to make a call.

He was going to change things. Isolation was never it. The fucking penthouse was never it. He finally got it. He’d make arrangements for somewhere else, perhaps exactly as Suguru planned and Megumi would go to high school as normal come the end of the next summer. It hurt, but the person he left him behind with was trusted and eventually, he would return—but first—whether it was the wrong way to do it, he was going to make things right. You’d live somewhere far away from the literal prison he had wrongfully confined you to and he would mend things from there on.

(Not quite realising that it was another format of the very same thing he had otherwise inflicted, convincing himself that it was different this time.)

Satoru scoffed again as he finalised those decisions, internally berating himself.

He should have given you that chance from the start.

He shouldn’t have let Suguru poison your mind.

He shouldn’t have succumbed to a moment of weakness back in the classroom—fuck—what exactly did he do, when he…

The cataclysm, indeed.

He was simply just the rain that followed after the clouds, and you, the storm.

~~~

After a moment, you headed back down with Satoru from the moment that it got too cold. Your fingers found themselves curling against the clothes that he wore. It was already deep into the dead of winter, but you tried to tolerate more than you could, thinking that this was your last time seeing the sky—even if it was dark—you pushed yourself more than you could.

However, as Satoru guided you into the bedroom and sat you down, suddenly seeming so awkward, so tender; the sass and the confidence gone from his usually proud demeanour, he revealed the person that he kept hidden beneath the surface so well—from the world, from his friends, from everyone—although now, at least not to you.

For what was below strength, also lay weakness.

Satoru tugged you towards him, pulling you deep into his chest, enveloping you with his body as though to shield you from the rest of the world. With his grip and the hurt that coursed through his veins, he radiated a deep anger, feeling something beyond just regular sadness consume him. He held onto you so tight, so longingly, so desperately.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered quietly on a loop, his chin resting atop your head, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

For whatever reason, you gave in. You needed to be held softly for a change—to for once, be listened to. You gave in. You knew you shouldn’t have, but…

His fingers traced their way down to meet your jawline, gently pushing you up to meet with his eyes, so purely blue and crystalline. Satoru’s lips then crashed against yours, his breath hitching—yours too—when you for once, reciprocated it for a change. You were breaking. He was breaking. His lips tasted of sweet cinnamon today, of burnt sugar, of something sweet. He wouldn’t let you go, pulling you up, for once, trying to read into what you wanted for a change.

Delicately, his touch found its way in between your legs, snaking the path down to meet at a certain point. His movements were clumsy—inexperienced—his motions out of rhythm; but, god, he tried. You deserved to feel good for a change, after all. For a moment he stilled, realising that he was only prolonging the cycle, but then—a shudder, no—a moan slipped through your lips and just like that, the addiction returned in full blast, straight like morphine into his system.

Grinding into his touch felt foreign but you did so anyway, circling your hips ever-so-slightly to guide the pace. Satoru picked up just fine, moving to hover over you after a heated moment, as gently as possible trying to read into your body language, pushing apart your legs from the second that he felt no resistance. In an anticipated rush of nerves, he fumbled with his own clothes, plunging his aroused length into the apex of your cunt, burying himself deep inside, pistoning himself with almost manic fervour.

Satoru hilted himself again and again, his breath catching in his throat as ragged gasps barely trickled out of his lungs. You felt so good with your legs wrapped around him like that, sinking him fully into you like an anchored weight—so capsizing and devastating and yet—

Embracing the storm, you allowed him to rut into your core like a man crazed, peppering you with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses all the while. His momentum felt slick, somehow not painful like all of those times before, and yet—charged with something dangerous—so raw and apologetic, finally feeling something from you that wasn’t despair. You kissed him again, letting the taste of cinnamon linger.

Satoru, to your surprise, however, wept into the pillow beside you, dampening your hair in the process. Oceanic blue eyes that flooded—pounding into you with fresh regret, yet at the same time wishing to forget about all that he had inflicted—that he was, actively inflicting; telling himself that it was all okay this time because you were finally giving in.

(Even though, surrendering to a broken state of mind wasn’t the answer.)

“Does this feel good?” he asked as his voice cracked, sounding muffled as he strained into the pillow, partially obscured by your hair.

Your breath locked in your throat as you tried to respond, rolling whimpers that bordered on whines filling the silence instead. You did feel good, but you also didn’t, but you also did. Satoru pushed the advantage, misinterpreting the breathless silence as something positive—you were enjoying yourself, right? At least for now, everything was okay, he was okay, and nothing mattered—

Satoru stilled all of a sudden, feeling himself grow close. His fingers moved quicker that time, tracing feverish laps around your clit, reducing your lower half to a violent tremble, feeling your legs give in from underneath him; the chorus of your voice looping in a short-winded symphony and finally, you came undone at long, long last.

A wave of pleasure imploded within you, collapsing from the very moment it coiled, but beyond that, something felt wrong. So terribly wrong. Like a sudden wave of clarity had washed over you, regret settled into the depths of your heart and soul. The weight of what you gave into playing heavily, leaving you feeling like a woman drowned. You didn’t fight back this time though, realising that you were closer to freedom than ever before—all you had to do now was to hold on a little longer—to give in, to surrender—so that the starry nights could become sunrises forever more.

Satoru finished with a final loaded thrust, driving himself with a wailing conclusion. His head dropped forward, resting his forehead against your own and after a while, he pulled out at long last, not caring about the cleanup for a change, rather just… enjoying the afterglow of the moment.

A hint of worry started to consume him though.

What if your admission of surrender wasn’t real?

As you both drifted off to sleep, he held onto you even tighter than before, hoping, even praying, that this wasn’t the case at all, and yet…

Nevermind.

He would make it right again, because, at this point, he had to.

~~~

In the meanwhile, days later after the call with Yuki went through and the hope had planted itself, Shoko received a phone call to her personal cell from an unfamiliar number. Practically tearing out of the med bay within a flash, she quickly locked herself in a nearby supply closet with her back pressed against the door, shutting out the world just in case.

With a tentative hand, she pressed the phone against her ear, expecting to hear words of comfort, her heart dropping from the moment she heard Yuki talk.

“It’s me,” Yuki greeted, her words sounding tense. “We might have a problem.”

Shoko’s breath hitched, already sensing something terribly wrong.

“A problem?” she asked, trying to keep a composed tone.

“Yeah, I, uh,” Yuki continued, “I had a mole check over the estate posing as a housemaid and, “he’s not there Shoko.”

Shoko’s voice faltered. “What do you mean?”

“His home was picked clean, it’s empty,” she added, trying to break the news in as delicately as possible, yet in words that begged understanding, “she asked around, but it turns out that she didn’t need to—they’re keeping it a secret for now, but—Satoru Gojo is gone.”

How could she be so close and yet somehow so far away from it all? For her to have devised a plan that might just work and yet, Satoru flipped the tables all over again. Was this intentional? Her mind raced, yet nothing stuck.

For a moment, it felt like time went still.

What kind of cruel fucking joke was this?

And more importantly, what did that mean for you…?

[novashelby]

It Feels Like Home When You're Here~Tommy Shelby x Reader One-shot

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader

Warnings: Mention of war, mention of sex, but overall sfw.

Word Count: 1,246

Summary: Tommy Shelby feels disconnected with everyone after the war. Everyone except you. This was a request using the prompt: "Why do I feel like I’m home whenever you’re near me?" Just know the prompt is not mine, but I can no longer find the list. I will credit it once I find it.

Please enjoy! Please consider commenting and a reblog!

War did something to boys. Took good boys…good natured, impressionable boys and turned them into hardened, difficult to do men. Tommy wasn’t any different. No matter how he wanted to think or what he knew of himself, he was no different than the others who went to France and died. Everyone died in France in one way or another. Everyone died and everyone killed. And after scurrying through the dark, rat infested tunnels with no light other than a hand held torch, nowhere felt normal. Nowhere felt like home. People he once could connect with weared thin and fizzled off, and before he knew it, the only thing that soothed him was the brown liquor filled bottle. But they weared thin, too, and he’d have to go buy a new friend. 

After a busy Wednesday, Tommy headed to the pub. It was an unusual case. In fact, it’d be unusual if he didn’t go to the pub for a drink or two. Pushing through the creaky wooden door, he skimmed over the sea of people. Every time he’d walk anywhere, there’d be a chorus of greetings. A popular man he was. But lonely, God, fucking lonely, but he’d feel pathetic to admit it. In the farthest right corner of the Garrison, John and Arthur were sharing a rum.

“Thought I’d find ya’ two here,” Tommy said, taking a crack at a poor excuse of a sarcastic joke. He sat down and whistled for a glass. Of course, it came promptly. No one dared to make a Shelby wait for anything. 

John, already two sheets to the wind, looked over at his older brother. In a slew of slurred jumbles, he asked, “and what has ya’?” Meaning, in some sort of way; how are you? Tommy couldn’t answer before the direction of conversation changed to what it always was; women, money, horse racing. John was going on about some whore he came across the previous night. “The back end on her.” He elbowed Arthur in the side who joked that he had kids to go home to.

Sometimes Tommy would join in on the banter, enjoying the occasional lightheartedness, but usually he’d half-listen and half-observe the space around while his head just slowly drifted. That particular night, he watched the barman slide down pints and poured glasses of brown liquor. 

The door swung open, the tiny bell on the frame ringing. Tommy glanced over for a second and went back to his drink when it hit him. Only men and the occasional whore walked through those doors. But her long hair and petite features stuck out like a sore thumb. Unlike the men who dressed in browns, blues, and beiges, she fashioned something lighter. A pretty lilac under a white winter coat made of mink, or so she said. He looked back over again, eyes following her. He knew why she was there and it didn’t take long for their eyes to connect.

John stopped talking and Arthur, under his breath, mumbled, “my fookin’ God.” But she was neither of theirs, Tommy thought as she approached the table. The pub followed her as she walked. John and Arthur looked up at her, but Tommy silently slid from the table and extended his hand.

“I was looking for you,” she said, but he didn’t respond. He simply took her arm with one hand, and with the other, he downed his whiskey and took out a smoke from his pocket. Together, they walked out of the pub in silence, down the dusty Birmingham street. It was a little bit before either of them spoke. Just when they hit her small dingy flat, she said, “I was going to cook you dinner, but last time you hardly touched a thing-”

“I don’t see you for dinner,” he said, taking over the key that she fumbled with in her hands. She sighed, putting her palms in the air, moving off to the side. He just wanted to feel her bedsheets against his skin. He fiddled with the door and it came undone easily. “You need a better lock-”

“When will you admit you see me for more than sex?”

“I don’t admit things very often,” he said, and they paused together in the entryway of the flat, bodies pressed. He smiled, touching her rosy rouge tinted cheek, thumb making circles. He nodded for her to continue onward, and she untangled herself from his overbearing stance. 

Her apartment was always cold, but it was the only place where life didn’t suck. That and the pub. But even the pub became lonely and dark. He took his usual spot on the sofa and when she walked by, he reached up and snaked his arms around her waist to pull her down with him. “I don’t need another drink,” he said, nose tangled in her hair, sniffing the lavender scented shampoo in her thick curls. 

“Perhaps I wanted one,” she said, twisting herself to look at him. Hearing him whisper c’mere was like music to her ears. Instantly, she rotated, putting one leg on each side of him. She straddled him as his hands rested on her hips, keeping her steady. Intimately, she placed her hands on his cheeks, thumbs rubbing circles. She chuckled, “you need a shave.”

Tommy smiled, leaning in to peck at her lips. “I’ve only shaved this past Saturday.”

“It’s Wednesday-”

“Alright, alright,” he said. “Then I’ll just get up now and-”

She pressed harder against him, snaking her arms around his neck to pull him in close. “Didn’t say I didn’t like it.” Her lips ghosted over his ear moving to his temple, leaving a lingering kiss while his hands tickled up her back under her blouse. When his fingers worked at her bra, she let out a soft sigh. “When will it ever be about something other than sex, Thomas?” she asked, pushing away. His hands dropped, finding a new home on her thighs. They stared at one another for a few moments before continuing, “hmm? Will you ever let me in deeper?”

Tommy looked off to the side, swallowing. “It’s just hard for me right now-”

“You always say that,” she accused, grabbing his face, cupping his cheeks in her hands. “You always say that. Thomas! When is it ever not hard? It’s always going to be hard, but don’t you understand…you’re here. Other men weren’t as lucky!”

Before he could process his thoughts, he replied, “no, they were luckier.”

She straightened her back, dropping her hands to her side. Scoffing, she said, “so my brother-”

“No, no, no,” he said, stopping her before she could speak anymore. He held her close again, working around her stiffness. He rubbed his face into the crook of her neck before resting his forehead on his shoulder. “We don’t have to have sex…it’s just the way I know how to express my emotions.” 

She eased a bit, running her fingers through his hair. “It’s hard, is all. learning how to navigate you-”

“Out of everywhere, this is the only place that feels right,” he said, looking up at her. “Why do I feel like I’m home whenever you’re near me?” There was no answer for that. She didn’t know what to say because she herself couldn’t explain it. They agreed it’d never happen. That they’d stay neutral and it’d just be as it was and nothing more. But somewhere along the way, they bonded to one another. 

And neither minded.

[onlybeeewrites]

Music of The Night

Requested: sort of :)

Pairing: Sejanus Plinth x fem!reader

Warnings: none, just some fluff

Word count: 1.63 k

Part 3 of the Valley Song Series: Previous <—>Next

Tag list: @v-love @stinkii-boii

It had been a few days since that day at the lake. It was an amazing rest of the day as you and Sejanus spent a whole more underneath that tree, talking. You learned a lot about each other in those few hours as the conversation came almost too easy.

You had learned a lot about Sejanus. He was not just any Capital boy that volunteered to be a Peacekeeper, but he used to be...is...from the Districts too. District 2 to be specific. You learned that his family became stupid rich after the war, bought their way out of District two. Though you had to admit to yourself that it was impressive, to have so much money. To have enough to buy your way into the Capital. You honestly never thought someone could have so much money.

And then he told you about the Capital, how he never really felt right there. That he felt so helpless. Especially with the Hunger Games. His disgust with the inhumane treatment of the tributes. And that was why he was there. To actually make a change, and you watched his eyes light up as he told you his hopes of becoming a medic.

It was then when you had realized that Sejanus Plinth was like no other boy you had ever seen nor spoke to. His words the passion behind them all, the genuine meaning behind his eagerness. Sejanus Plinth was too good for the cruelness of the Capital, of Panem.

And as you told him about yourself, Sejanus thought the same thing of you. You had told Sejanus a similar story that Lucy Gray had told Coriolnaus when they were speaking about thier background.

How you all traveled around the districts performing before the Peacekeepers came. Your parents spoke up along with Lucy Gray's and within minutes they were all shot. Leaving all seven of you orphans.

You, of course, always gave everything to Maude Ivory, your little sister while Lucy Gray kept look out for you.

You told Sejanus about your performances, how they were when Lucy Gray was gone, and how happy you all were to see her come home. You spoke about how you did not quite like the front stage like your sister and cousin. You had much preferred the backup.

Lucy Gray had been trying to get you to be more confident with your voice and performances, you were absolutely lovely after all.

And by the end of the day, while the summer heat was cooling and you all packed up and made your way back to the Seam, you and Sejanus were truly and quickly smitten. Even Maude Ivory was teasing as the Covey and the two peacekeepers split off for the night.

Though now it had been a few days since then, and you haven't seen nor heard much from Sejanus. Though you couldn't blame him since you knew they always were rough on the new peacekeeper. You were sure that he would show up at one of your shows at some point.

However, what you weren't expecting, was a soft few knocks on your old creaky home. You and Lucy Gray were the only ones awake at such a late hour.

You usually couldn't sleep, at least not easily, and Lucy Gray's nightmares from the arena made it difficult for her too. So usually, as of lately, you both would keep each other company until your eyes grew droopy.

You shared a concerned look with Lucy Gray. Who could be here at such an hour? It was late and most of the District would be asleep by now, especially where they lived. The only ones who would be awake would be the peacekeepers that would be out on patrol.

Swallowing nervously, Lucy gray got to her feet and brushed off her skirt before slowly peeking out the door. You watched as her body relax and a grin on her face with what you could see.

Hushed whispers were exchanged, though you couldn't place your finger on it. That was until Lucy Gray nodded, and left the door open just a crack.

"It's for you. Here," she said passing you your mother's old cardigan before shoving you to the door. "Be careful, don't be out too late." she teased.

You looked to your cousin in confusion as you slipped on the old faded cardigan and made your way to the door. "Lucy Gray what are you doing? Its too-" but you stopped in your tracks as you finally see who it was at the door.

"Sejanus..." you said, feeling your face heat up as you softly shut the door behind you. As you look him over, you notice his peacekeeper's uniform, his rifle slung on his shoulder. He must have been on patrol...did he come all this way to see you? The thought of it made your face heat up.

"Y/N.." Sejanus said quietly, softly, shifting where he stood as he was able to finally see you again. Though it took some convincing of Coryo to allow him to sneak off for a little while, it was well worth it to see your beautiful face in the cool moonlight. Just the thought made his stomach flutter.

"I wanted to see you. They've been on our asses about training and patrolling....but I just wanted to see you again. I saw the light in your window and hoped you were awake. I was wondering if you wanted to have a late night picnic with me...if you're not too tired." he asked.

And that's when you noticed the little rucksack he had tucked away. It wasn't much, you couldn't imagine he was able to sneak much out. Unless he had already prepped and stashed it away somewhere. But the thought that he had come all the way out there to ask you to a midnight picnic made your face flush.

"Of course. How can I say no to that? C'mon," You say after a moment, a large grin spreading over your face. You took his larger hand in yours and tugged him off to the meadow.

There was close enough to return home if needed, but still allowed you both to have some privacy.

"How's this?" you asked.

And what a sight it was. The full moon was shining down over the field, reflecting off of the flowers and some dew drops already forming.

Sejanus smiled and nodded, "It's perfect," he said as you two settled down. He placed his rifle off to the side, though still in reach. Just in case. And once you settled he untied he cloth and residing were his mother's cookies. Your eyes widened as you looked up to him.

"How did you mange to get some of these?" You ask excitedly, picking up one of the cookies and taking a deep inhale. "Smells amazing." you say before taking a bite and letting out a satisfied sound. "Hmm...taste amazing too,"

Sejanus laughed as he took a cookie himself, "My Ma made them. She likes to bake, always has. And she likes to send them to me. Reminds me of home." he explained as he took a bite.

Your eyes and expression softened, "Well," you said after chewing, "My compliments to Mrs. Plinth. my favorite baker in all of Panem," you declared.

Sejanus couldn't help but smile, "I'll write to her and let her know she has a fan," he mused before the two of you fell into a comfortable silence.

The sounds of the nightlife continued to fill the air as the minutes passed. The sound of the wind and soft chirping of the crickets filled most of the silence. Some birds, maybe some owls called out into the late night.

"Thank you for this. It was awfully nice of you," you said after a little while.

Sejanus smiled and nodded, looking over at you. "Of course. I wanted to do something nice. I don't exactly always have the time but....you're worth making time for." he said.

That caused you to flush and glance at him, admiring him in the moonlight as well. The way the silvery beams reflected in his brown eyes, making them almost shining. And the way he was looking at you...damn the way he was looking just made you want to kiss him.

Sejanus swallowed nervously as he stared back at you. The way the moonlight was shining in your eyes and hair, he swore he had never seen someone so beautiful. Slowly he reached up, using his thumb to brush away some crumbs that settled on your lips.

It was now or never.

"Y/N....can I..." Sejanus barely got the words out before you almost too eagerly nodded. He took a nervous breath before leaning in and pressing his lips to yours.

You let out a small sigh as your eyes fluttered closed, slowly wrapping your arms around him to keep him close. The feeling of his lips sent butterflies to your stomach, electricity through your skin as his lips fit rather perfectly against your own.

It had be a dream the way it was all happening. You had never thought that you would feel this kind of emotion again...not after...him at least. But here you were, kissing he cutest boy in all of the Districts.

The two of you pulled back once you felt that burning in your lungs, needing some air. And you did, though you pressed your foreheads together keeping each other close. You looked up adoringly into his eyes before you both started just laughing as you both realized what had happned.

It was almost too perfect as the two of you sat here for a little longer, enjoying your time together, listening to the symphony that played through the trees for you.

[bonefall]

How does Whitewater feel about her “cursed” kits being leader and medicine cat? Does she feel like Windclan is now cursed as well? Does she feel regret? Is she upset Owlclaw never rose to power like they did?

WindClan is cursed. She begins to feel that sort of slow-burn fear that ferments into furious bigotry-- and Owlclaw is the one who suffers for it.

When she brought the two bigger kittens out into the storm that night, she left Owlkit behind out of a sense of... some kind of warmth. She didn't want the helpless thing to die. As time passes, she starts to think maybe that's what she should have done when she had the chance.

Maybe that storm was meant to kill it.

We aren't our thoughts, we are our actions, but a thought indulged is future actions taken. She thinks about that every time she squirms in discomfort from looking at him. Guilt jabs her when she thinks about how his father is Mudclaw, how she hypocritically was going to invoke Queen’s Rights which she hates so much. Going into the nursery feels like walking into a jail cell. This wouldn't be happening if that storm had killed him.

Every time she has that reflexive, negative feeling towards her kitten, she lets that thought linger a little longer. That storm should have killed you.

She doesn't realize this, but this is an excuse. If the storm was supposed to kill this kitten, now this isn't HER terrible intrusive thought. SHE isn't believing something so cruel. It was maybe fate. It was perhaps StarClan trying to help her. These feelings are natural. Justified. The reason; That Storm Should Have Killed Him.

Oh. But no one else could possibly take Owlkit. She is his Mi, she would never (admit she has a problem) force him onto someone else. This is her (punishment) responsibility.

Of COURSE he developed behavioral issues. He's known as a big bully and a bit of a loner. Owlkit learned quickly that asking for help gets him hit, and Owlpaw quickly became very distant from his mother. Whitewater didn't "chase" him-- and that hurt too.

He's definitely closer to his mentor, thankfully. Blackstar knew Owlpaw was going to need someone capable of handling a difficult apprentice, who would do a good job of integrating him properly into the Clan by establishing connections to other warriors. So he got Oakfur.

And the ones in WindClan...

Kestrelflight was put into the Cleric's den early. Barkface died in a mine collapse in BB!TNP, so as soon as it was demonstrated he had a connection to StarClan he was shoved in, too young. To Whitewater, the realization churns in her belly, making her heart race with fury (and satisfaction, her biases confirmed) that Onestar is breaking the code to train a kit before its 6th moon.

Damned WindClan! They claim to be so pious but their priest is a child! Kestrelpaw will be their downfall. This must be their punishment.

Harespring is a clumsy warrior, terrible when he fights other cats. Too gentle. Too anxious that he will hurt others. Surely useless to WindClan. Whitewater doesn't live long enough to see Harestar, but if she watches the ceremony from StarClan, she revels in her smug bitterness.

From her position, she'd be able to see that his plan to defy Onestar and rescue Kin cats wasn't entirely his own. His mate Heathertail was the organizer, the one who brought all those cats together. This must be WindClan's punishment-- that he took the lives that were surely meant for a leader as competent as her.

[bamber344]

Bonus scene: The Heart Wants, But The Mind Knows Better (Vividyn bathing scene)

prev/next

masterlist

I promised, didn't I?

Note: This is an extra scene from the previous chapter, Memories From A Past Life. If you haven't read that one yet, this won't make much sense. Also, I seriously recommend it. I cooked, if i do say so myself.

Enjoy!

CWs: partially-sexual nudity, references to previous violence

Vivienne stumbled into the bathroom on shaking legs, lugging Jordyn’s practically limp form around her shoulders. Her armour was not making this easy. She would admit that having to do this for her right after dealing with a monster attack – all that death and horror, all those innocent lives lost despite Vivienne’s best efforts – was grating, but… it was what she signed up for. She wanted to be a nurse. Bathing a patient after being on her feet the whole day was probably par for the course. And… at least it was a bit of a come-down. No one would bother her here. It was just her, Jordyn, and the warm water. No more death. Only healing.

In truth, she tried not to think about it most of the time, but it was hard right after an attack. If she constantly focused on all the suffering she witnessed on a regular basis, she’d probably be a basket-case by now. It was only due to the years of therapy she had after watching Rosie die that she knew how to deal with all that anxiety and fear. Just pack it away until her next appointment, and get it all out on the shrink’s couch. Don’t let it show in front of the others. They all had enough to deal with without Vivienne’s problems piled on top.

“Jordyn?” She shook her a little.

“Ngh?” Jordyn lifted her head, seemingly waking back up. It was incredible that she could just fall asleep on her feet like that.

“Do you reckon you can take your armour off?”

Jordyn nodded, and Vivienne carefully let her stand on her own before moving to heat the water up. She could hear the sound of armour clanking to the floor behind her, and resolved herself not to look back until it was totally necessary. This was gonna be awkward enough without any accidental peeking.

“‘M done,” Jordyn mumbled.

“Got your shadows up?” Vivienne asked.

“Mhm.”

Vivienne turned, and sure enough, there was a cloud of shadows covering Jordyn’s face. The rest of her, however, was totally exposed. Vivienne swallowed, her cheeks heating up at the sight of Jordyn’s chiselled body. Gotta be professional about this.

She approached, placing a hand on the small of Jordyn’s back, trying to ignore the raised scars under her fingers. Jordyn immediately leaned into her, obediently following along as Vivienne led her to the bathtub. It wasn’t difficult to get her to lie down, but once she was under the spray of the warm water from the showerhead, she turned all floppy again. For a moment, Vivienne was worried she’d passed out again, but her shadows remained in place, meaning she had to be at least somewhat conscious.

“Talk to me, Jordyn. How are you doing?” she asked, wiping monster blood from her skin with a flannel.

Her head lolled to the side. “Chest… sore…”

Vivienne made sure to be gentle as she scrubbed the area with soap, trying not to look too hard at Jordyn’s body in the process. Fuck, but she was gorgeous, though. All that firm muscle, and the way that she threw herself into danger today despite how scared she obviously was. Vivienne couldn’t lie, it was attractive.

She immediately shut the thought down. Now wasn’t the time for that sort of thing, and it was the last thing either of them needed. If either of them needed to work off some pent up frustration, Brianna was there for that, and frankly, Vivienne wasn’t sure she could keep it entirely platonic if she let herself give into that with Jordyn. The dynamic was just… too dangerous right now. 

Jordyn whimpered slightly as Vivienne moved down to clean her lower body, and she immediately flinched back, heart thrumming.

“S-sorry. You can do that yourself, if you want.”

Jordyn shook her head. “Nnno. You can…”

“Okay…”

To be fair, Jordyn was barely keeping her head up; Vivienne doubted she’d be able to clean herself effectively. And honestly, why was Vivienne so worked up about this?? Again; NURSE IN TRAINING!! This should be routine! It wasn’t any different just because it was with a friend, one who’d saved not only her life, but the lives of innocents today. It wasn’t any different just because that friend had a body you could grate cheese on.

FUCK. Vivienne resisted the urge to smack herself. She needed to STOP THINKING LIKE THAT. Jordyn was just a friend in need, and nothing more. She went through the motions of wiping her down, getting soap wherever was needed and then rinsing her off with the shower, doing her best to shut her brain off in the process. It was probably just because she was tired.

If she really wanted to think about Jordyn that bad, there were more important matters to worry about. Such as…

“Hey, Jordyn?”

“Mm?”

“Do you… have some sort of extra power you haven’t told anyone about?”

Jordyn’s head lethargically rocked back and forth. “Mrffm…” A small tendril of shadow solidified from under her body and slid up the side of the tub, gently curling around Vivienne’s arm like an embrace. It was unexpectedly warm. 

She must have just heard the word ‘power’ and reacted. Clearly, Vivienne wasn’t going to get a straight answer right now.

Jordyn was about as clean as she was going to get, so Vivienne shut the water off and helped her up, trying so so desperately to ignore the feeling of her wet, warm body as Jordyn leaned on her for support. It was… difficult. 

Vivienne sat her down on a stool and got to drying her off, briefly styling her wet hair into a mohawk purely for shits and giggles, because she needed something silly in her life today. Jordyn didn’t seem to mind, though she did appear to be waking up a bit more. 

It occurred to Vivienne that Jordyn wouldn’t have any clean underwear after her accident, so she quickly teleported out and grabbed a pair of panties for her. When she handed them over, it almost seemed like Jordyn lit up behind her shadows. Interesting…

Now that she was a little more aware, Vivienne gave her space to put her clothes back on, though was a little surprised to see her re-equipping her ruined armour. It probably just felt more secure for her or something, or maybe it was about not having to focus on her shadows. Which reminded Vivienne, there was something she’d been working on lately. Maybe now was a good time to present it to her.

But first, Jordyn needed a nap, and the rescue efforts of the destroyed buildings around the monster were still ongoing. 

Vivienne’s day wasn’t over just yet. She sighed, taking Jordyn to the bedroom. No time to rest for her, no sir.

But, that was par for the course, wasn’t it?

Taglist: @steelandblood @sapphicwhump @urnumber1star @alsolucakairomi @thataquaticwhumper

@iamheretohurt @anoyedartist @dontyoubleedoutonme @seastarblue @lettherebepain

@bacillusinfection

This was pretty much pure fanservice, but I also wanted to establish Vivienne's general feelings about Jordyn as of this moment, as they will be important in the coming chapters. which could mean anything.

thanks for reading! let me know what you thought!

[guillotinesandroses]

Voice of Summer Rain; Sakura Haruno + Female Reader

Lately she has found herself wandering the village's inner forests, lost in thought. Usually she has her emotions in a chokehold, saying what she feels and chasing what she wants. The words of others mean little to nothing when she has set her mind to something. Her heart sets its sights onto what it desires fast and makes it clear. This epiphany stems not from a lack of clarity, but a frustrating inner conflict of her own making. 

Maybe she really cannot understand men. Whatever Sasuke and Naruto have going on is much deeper than the bonds she holds with either one of her teammates, as much as she hates to admit it. That got her to thinking about her bonds with the women in her life. She cares for Ino, of course, but the lengths those two have gone to for another is insane. It is easy to say you would risk it all just to keep someone safe, but doing so in practice sends most backpedaling. Naruto would never have tried to kill Sasuke, yet she had despite claiming to have loved him the most. 

Like a true ninja, she has always put the village first. As soft as she claims to be, her resolve had shaken even when she had declared she would leave with Sasuke. Perhaps if she had cared more for love, he would have accepted her company. Although she may have failed to kill him due to her lingering care for him, she did still try to kill him. Now, away from but on good terms with Sasuke, she has gained more time for herself to think. 

The only person she would throw it all away for, is the one who has always been willing to do the same for her. In spite of having had Sasuke practically wrapped around your finger back in the day, you never made any sort of move on him. Looking back, maybe that was part of why he liked you so much. Filled with envy, she came to you one day, crying and saying she cannot compete with you. She barely got the chance to beg before you smiled and agreed not to make any moves on him. 

Her head had jerked up in surprise, sobs pausing from pure shock. You claimed to just be friends, but now you promised not to make a move even if you were to develop feelings for him. In mere moments, you turned from an unstoppable rival to her number one supporter. Although her motives centered around her crush, you helped her with anything and everything she needed help with. The gratitude that spawned from your actions prompted her to try to repay you in some way. 

That attempt ended in disaster, as she figured after taking away the best possible love interest, she should find you a new one to replace him. She really did mean well when she tried to set you up with someone else. Then she went and sabotaged your date when it seemed to be going too well. Sakura herself could not explain why she did what she did. The guy was not her type at all, and she genuine wanted you to be happy. 

Her heart had stirred with envy either way. In the same manner as they did when someone else flirted with Sasuke, her fingers dug into her biceps as she tried to keep her cool. She scowled then in unbearable jealousy, an embarrassing amount of it. So, she responded in the only way she knew how to, barging in and putting a stop to it. Making up an excuse to seem like she saved you from dating a bad guy, she dragged you away on a study date. 

Even now she finds it difficult not to get jealous of everyone you surround yourself with. She had always been just an average girl after all. Although confident and in touch with her feelings, with Inner Sakura existing only as an unpleasant memory, old habits die hard. Anxiety swells in her guts each time she thinks of confessing. Confessing to what, she used to wonder, having only realized as of late the workings of her heart. 

If facts about you were collected to a trivia game, she would ace every question. She always found herself glowering in shame when she caught her gaze wandering down your body in the changing rooms. She used to play it off as jealousy, since her unflattering chest could not compare to yours. Truth was, your laugh, soft as summer rain really did something for her, breath catching in her throat. Sparring sessions that ended with sweat running down your temple left her chest tight. 

There is nothing she can do to deny or hide from it anymore; she is completely and utterly in love with her best friend. All there is left to do is confess. With a dry mouth, she adjusts her flower arrangement one more time. She has rarely shied away from expressing her feelings, and she has no intention to start doing that now. Courage is all she needs to make this confession, which will make or break her future. 

Even if you reject her, she can accept it. Unrequited love is something she is more than used to. However, she has grown and will not pester you with her feelings again if you do so. Well, maybe she will once or twice. After that she swears she will be done, she did learn her lesson from Sasuke. 

As she watches you approach her from a distance, a smile of acceptance falls onto her lips. However this goes, she knows you well enough that you would not abandon her for this. You would be flattered, say no, and move on. Simple as that, the thought eases her nerves, after this is done, she will not have anything to conceal anymore. No matter how it goes she can be free, continue to care for you, and let herself life by her motto at last: "a life with love throughout!" 

[lizardperson]

lonesome road

[on ao3]

fandom: fallout new vegas characters: female courier/original male character rating: m cw: canon-typical violence wc: 706 prompt: #fff295 help not wanted for @flashfictionfridayofficial

---

A well-placed headshot took down the last ghoul, and Gabriel ducked back behind the little brick wall.

"Clear?" he asked, getting an affirmative beeping from ED-E in return. He had to admit, the little floating robot came in handy sometimes.

Passing the dead bodies on the ground, he frowned. Once again he noticed how these did not look like normal feral ghouls, with their weirdly flayed bodies, exposing raw flesh and muscle. Did those sand storms cause this? Something really wasn't right here. Yes, he had heard rumors about 'The Divide' before, but he still had no idea what actually was going on. Maybe Mika could answer some of his questions - assuming, she was still alive.

Gabriel checked his Pip-boy, she was close - or at least her signal was. That only meant her own Pip-boy was still functioning. She had better not got her brat ass killed in this reckless undertaking.

Carefully sneaking through one of the many ruined buildings, on the lookout for more enemies or traps, he closed in on her signal, and finally found her sitting by a small fire.

"Mika."

Startled, holorifle in hand, she jolted up, but visibly relaxed again when she recognized him. "Hey."

He wordlessly dropped down beside her and pulled her into his arms. They sat in silence for a while, until some confused beeping drew their attention.

"Right," Mika remarked. "ED-E, meet ED-E."

Gabriel raised an eyebrow, watching the two eyebots circling each other. Apparently, she really couldn't live without those damn things, and somehow had managed to find another one even here. That one was in noticeably better shape though, seemed almost brand new, in comparison to the 'old' one with all its banged-up bits and shoddy repairs. Maybe it was time for a replacement.

Gabriel glanced at Mika, she also looked pretty rough. Scraped and dirty face, bruises on her arms, bloody bandage around her upper leg. The last few days hadn't left her unscathed. But at least she was still alive.

Both went back to silently staring into the fire, then Mika suddenly murmured: "I'm sorry. I just really felt like I had to do this alone."

"Why?" Gabriel gently asked. On one hand he was still angry with her for running off like that, only leaving a hastily scribbled note that she would be back soon and not to follow her, on the other hand he was simply glad she was mostly okay.

"Because this one is personal."

He had already put together bits and pieces of what this whole thing was about, something to do with her past, and an old friend - or enemy, or acquaintance? - who sent a message that made her head into this hell place all of a sudden. But one day he would really love to hear the whole damn story.

"And?"

"Didn't want to drag you into it."

Gabriel sighed, trying to sort his thoughts. Part of him wanted to grab and shake her, somehow hammer all the things into her brain that she seemed to forget constantly: That she didn't have to do the hard things all by herself, that it was okay to ask for help. That they were in this together, no matter what. That he loved her more than anything.

Instead, he just sighed again and pulled her closer, knowing how futile that would be now.

"Well, now that I already walked halfway through this mess, might as well stick together," he noted nonchalantly.

Mika snuggled into his arms and chuckled. "Fair enough. I might have underestimated all the critters lurking around a little, so some additional firepower is probably smart." She grimaced. "There's deathclaws here, by the way."

"Of course there are," he groaned. This damn place was getting worse by the minute.

All the more reason to not let her continue on her own. He had promised to be by her side no matter what, and he very much intended to keep that promise, even when she made that really difficult sometimes. She wouldn't get rid of him that easily.

"Thank you," Mika suddenly whispered, and he knew she meant it.

Gabriel pressed a kiss on top of her head. Maybe one day she would finally understand that she wasn't alone.

[dyns33]

Good Uncles - Sequel

Anti Y/N needs Morpheus' help, because her uncles are stupid

(Good Omens season 2 spoilers)

Y/N and Morpheus loved each other more than anything.

This was what Matthew repeated to himself when the young woman came to see him with her strange request, and especially her comment which could have been taken as an insult in any other circumstances.

But Y/N loved Morpheus, so she certainly hadn't meant to be rude, and Morpheus loved Y/N, so he wouldn't take it badly.

Besides, she wasn't really wrong, even if the raven would deny agreeing with her if the boss asked.

"Since Dream is an idiot who has trouble communicating, I figured he could help me with my family problem, but since he has trouble communicating, I need your help to ask him."

"… Did you just say he was an idiot ?"

"Yes." Y/N said simply, looking at him with a face that said she didn't see the problem. "The worst idiot in the world, just before my uncles. So I need his advice to reconcile them, like they helped us to finally be together."

"… He loves you, but I don't know if he'll be happy with you saying he's an idiot."

"That's not the point. Will you help me ?"

Y/N's family problem seemed simple enough.

Her uncles, two other idiots, were totally in love with each other, without ever admitting it to each other for centuries. Then, one day, one of them decided to be brave, and the other ran away, not knowing how to react to all these feelings. Some sort of break up then, or whatever it was.

In fact, it was more complicated, since one of the uncles was an angel, the other was a demon, they were on opposite sides but kept secretly allying since the beginning of humanity, and now the being of light had had a promotion, forcing him to return up there.

He had suggested to his sidekick that he could come with him, be an angel again, but of course, the demon had categorically refused, suggesting instead that they stay together on Earth, happy and far from the divine and infernal stories.

Then there was a kiss, and the end of the world.

“Well, not literally the end of the world…” sighed Y/N, former antichrist, who had decided not to destroy the universe as Lucifer wished. "But it was still terrible. Aziraphale calls me through the celestial channels, and even though he pretends he's okay, I can clearly see that he's sad. And Crowley… He's devastated ! He really thought that they were going to be together forever. He drinks all the time and hardly leaves the house anymore. I threatened to destroy his car, nothing ! I threatened to destroy his car by driving it and risking having a accident, he destroyed the car."

“He remains sane despite his turmoil.”

"Morpheus, my dear, this doesn't help me. What can I do to make them stop their nonsense and see that they can't live without each other ?"

Dream of the Endless opened his mouth, and closed it almost immediately, after his faithful raven pecked his hand. He turned to Matthew, who was staring at him with a stern look, silently begging him to think before speaking.

"Even though technically no one needs others to live, I know the torment of broken hearts, my younger sister having shown it to me and having experienced it myself. It is difficult to help those who suffer of this pain, especially if they are stubborn by nature, as are angels and demons."

“You who are stubborn by nature, how have you been helped in the past during such difficult moments ?”

"… It takes time. My father doesn't help directly, but he allows the wounds to heal, the memories to be less painful, and to learn from all these experiences. I don't know if you can help your uncles, my love. Your presence and your shoulder are the only things you can offer to them, as well as advices, but whether they decide to follow them is up to them."

"I don't like that answer. It's not a stupid answer."

"I'm not as stupid as you seem to think."

"Obviously. You're only an idiot when it concerns you." Y/N joked, kissing his cheek before he started to pout. "Thank you, Morpheus. I'll try to help them. It's hard to see them like this when they were so happy before."

The dream master didn't like seeing his lover so saddened, but as he had told her, it was not possible to solve her problem as easily as she hoped.

Feelings were complicated, changing, volatile things. They were even more complex for celestial beings, who were not supposed to feel them, or at least not in a repeated or negative way.

Joy mostly, sometimes sadness for others in the case of angels, a lot of anger in the case of demons, but certainly not love.

Crowley and Aziraphale having never done anything like everyone else, they had to test this limit, and it went badly.

It wasn't a surprise, but Morpheus was a little disappointed with how this story turned out. Because it made Y/N suffer, but also because he had been secretly observing the two clandestine friends since the beginning of their romance, waiting to see what would happen, and savoring the demon's dreams and hopes.

A dreaming demon, full of imagination, and defying the infernal authorities. The only one. Of course he was favored by the Lord of Nightmares.

While Y/N tried her best to comfort him on Earth, even though she still had trouble getting him out of his apartment, Dream decided to pay a visit to the Heavenly Kingdom to greet the new manager.

"Your lordship ! What a surprise ! What a joy ! You… Y/N is not in trouble, I would know. I'm keeping an eye on her. Are you still having trouble in hell ? They've been a little panicked since Belzebub left, but we haven't noticed any suspicious activity."

"I have no quarrel with the underworld at this moment, Aziraphale. I have come to see you."

"See us ? As a courtesy call ? Good… Very good." stammered the angel, who was not as stupid as his niece seemed to think either.

“Let’s talk about my brother’s book.”

"No ! I mean… We've had this conversation before, noble dream lord. Although the mighty Destiny knows everything, the divine plan remains ineffable, and we are not supposed to know it. So I do not wish to talk about this subject."

"And I would not force you to do so. But know that no one escapes their destiny, however strange it may seem, unexpected and distant. We can try to flee it, delay it, fear it, but as certain as a kiss, it will happen."

Aziraphale looked at Morpheus without saying anything. He understood the message well, and even though he knew it was a bluff, because no one except Destiny and God knew what was in the book, he wanted to believe what those words meant.

It was scary, it would take time, but his winding path would one day lead him back to Crowley. Something inside him kept repeting it.

"Anyway…" Dream added before leaving. “If that wasn’t the Plan, there’s no stopping my sweet Y/N, or me, who hates seeing her sad.”

That same evening, aften several months, the angel contacted the demon for the first time.

It was complicated, because Crowley remained stubborn, and hurt, but he agreed to listen, a bit satisfied that it was not him who took the first step, feeling considered.

When she asked him if he had anything to do with it, and what he had done, Morpheus replied that he had simply been diplomatic and tactful.

"In other words he scared the cherub. Because fear works well with idiots."

“Matthew, leave us.”

“He was afraid of losing you last time, that’s why he agreed to talk.”

“Get out of my sight, now.”

"Thank you, Dream. Thank you so much." Y/N said, hugging him tenderly.

The problem was not resolved, but after several calls, because the fear of the wrath of Y/N and her lover was less strong than the fear of losing his demon, it was allowed to see the exchanges as a good omen for the future.

[trexalicious]

Of all the public criticism levelled at the Duke of Sussex in recent days, the comments from his old friend Ben Goldsmith were possibly the most significant.

‘Tragic but true – Prince Harry’s behaviour is unforgivable,’ the 44-year-old financier, who grew up with the duke, said this week.

The reference to forgiveness is thought to be in response to Harry’s extraordinary BBC interview last Friday in which the prince admitted that a reconciliation with the Royal Family would be difficult because of his tawdry memoir, Spare, and his criticism in numerous interviews.

‘Of course, some members of my family will never forgive me for writing a book,’ Harry, 40, said. ‘Of course, they will never forgive me for lots of things.’

But the importance of Ben’s intervention this week should not be underestimated.

For the Goldsmith family – particularly Ben’s sister Jemima – were so close to Princess Diana and her sons that rumours persisted that the two were sisters.

Such claims were unfounded even though Diana’s mother, Frances Shand Kydd, was rumoured to have had a long-running affair with Jemima and Ben’s father, billionaire Sir James Goldsmith.

Ben is the first former pal of the duke to condemn him publicly. But, if Harry thinks those comments are strong, he should hear what his old chums are saying in private.

For friends tell me they are ‘disgusted’ by Harry’s interview, in which he made a number of explosive personal claims such as that he didn’t know ‘how much longer’ his father had after his cancer diagnosis.

He also claimed that those who ‘wish [him] harm’ would consider his defeat last Friday in a legal challenge over his taxpayer-funded security in Britain as a ‘huge win’.

One friend told me: ‘I don’t know what’s more disgusting – Harry’s comment about his father’s health or his suggestion that people want him dead.

‘It’s very sad, but we all know that he doesn’t want to hear things he disagrees with.’

A handful of British friends are still in touch with Harry, including Mark Dyer who recently stepped down as a trustee from the prince’s beleaguered Sentebale charity, businessman Charlie van Straubenzee and Lord (Charles) Vivian. But, I am told, many are reluctant to say anything out of turn for fear they will be cut off.

Indeed, anyone in doubt about how willing Harry is to drop friends need look no further than Dominic West.

The Crown actor, 55, was so close to his fellow Old Etonian that they trekked to the South Pole together in aid of the charity Walking With The Wounded in 2013.

However, ten years later, West revealed that he had been cut off by the duke.

A close friend of the actor told me they had fallen out after the expedition with injured servicemen and women, including double amputees, when West told a series of anecdotes about the trip at a joint press conference.

West revealed they had celebrated completing their 208-mile trek by drinking champagne from one of their co-adventurers’ prosthetic legs.

‘Two of the Aussie guys stripped naked and ran round the pole but most of us – Harry included – just went on a two-day bender with the Icelandic truck drivers who had brought some lethal home brew with them,’ West told the press conference in 2014.

‘There was a lot of liquor drunk. We all drank champagne out of [one of the team’s] favourite prosthetic legs.’

But it seems the prince did not see the funny side of his disclosures.

‘Harry threw a s*** fit,’ West’s friend told me in 2022. ‘He accused Dominic of invading his privacy. Dominic told him not to be ridiculous. They haven’t spoken since.’

West, who also starred in US drama The Wire, appears to have backed up the claims. Speaking of his broken friendship with Harry in 2023, he said: ‘We sort of [lost touch because] I said too much in a press conference, and so, we didn’t speak after that.

‘I think I was asked what we did. What we did to celebrate when we got [to the South Pole] and I probably said too much.’

If only the increasingly isolated Harry was prepared to listen to those who say ‘too much’ again, he might find a way to mend fences with old friends – and, perhaps, with members of his own family.

[mid-sweettalk]

Someone Will Come Running - Chapter 2

Ship: Gelphie [Wicked]

Rating: M [future and past violence]

Chapters: 2/4

Summary: Galinda finds out some more about her roommate.

Read on Ao3

Chapter under the cut!

Things after that are decidedly… awkward.

Galinda isn’t quite sure how to conduct herself around her roommate, now that she knows they are technically a Match. It’s distractifying, to say the least, thinking about the whole situation. Galinda’s dreamed of finding her Match since she was a girl, dreamed of the life she would get to build with said person: a mansion in the Gillikin countryside, running an estate as the Lady of the house, two or three children to carry on the Upland name—because, of course, unless she landed royalty of some sort, whenever she married she would hyphenate if not have her husband take her last name.

That’s definitely another thing: Galinda had always very much assumed her Match­ would be a man. That’s simply… well, how it’s done. Sure, there might be other same-gender Matches, but she’d never thought that she’d be a part of one. How else would she continue the Upland line?

Things start inconveniently popping up in her head that make her Think.

How she’d have sleepovers with her school friends in secondary school and her cheeks would warm when said friends brazenly started changing clothes in front of her, even bouncing around half-dressed—Galinda had always done the proper thing and gone to a separate room. But she’d always thought that was why she’d been embarrassed—it was the impropriety of it all.

Or how the first things she always took note of when considering a man for his appearance were the things she didn’t like, the things she would have to ignore if they were to be together, whereas with women she’d always first noticed the things she’d thought were pretty—though she’d always assumed that it was jealousy and wanting those things for her own body that made her heart race and face flush. Everyone knows, it is simple fact, that women are just objectively more attractive than men—right?

Needless to say, Galinda’s entire plan for the future has now been turned on its head. Aside from being a woman, her Match hates her, and she quite hates her right back.

Well… maybe hate is too strong a word. Elphaba is annoying, truly, downright insufferable at times, but Galinda has always recognized the almost-fun she has with their banter, the entertainment she gains from their pranks and the challenge of thinking up her next one . She’s always known that, despite her complexion—and maybe even sometimes because of it, in certain lighting—Elphaba is quite pretty, with her strong cheekbones and freckles and the lithe, lean muscle framing her body. Her brains are admirable, as well, as Elphaba is by far the top of the class in every academic subject, and her comments and retorts toward Galinda are always witty and cunning. She’s quite… impressifying, Galinda has to admit.

It’s increasingly difficult not to notice other things, as well—Elphaba’s quirks, if you may. For instance, the girl loves her tea; she has several different kinds, one of which she saves for the morning and one of which she saves for nighttime, the others Galinda has yet to see her touch. In the cafeteria, she never chooses the meat option for her meal, sticking to more plant-based foods instead. If she’s not immediately blurting out the answers in class, then she is always the first to raise her hand. She adores her sister, always doting on her without being overbearing. And she seems to like poppies, always keeping a fresh bouquet in a small vase beside her bed.

...She also has a black silk scarf she wraps around her head every night, assumedly to protect her fine braids from frizzing while she sleeps; she only puts it on once Galinda is in her own bed, but she notices still. She’s much stronger than her small stature would suggest, even with the aforementioned muscles, as she constantly—and aggravatingly—bests Galinda in sparring class. She has a favorite study spot in the library, near one of the windows Galinda passes by almost every day, and if that spot is taken by someone else, she has a favorite spot in the courtyard. And when she’s very deep in thought about something, she’ll stick the end of her fountain pen between her lips, the muscles of her jaw flexing as she chews. When she figures something out, her eyebrows raise and eyes widen, dark green lips parting ever-so-slightly before tilting up in an accomplished smirk.

You know. Just basic things any roomie would notice—or so she assumes. They, admittedly, make Elphaba feel more… real to Galinda, more tangible, less of a vague concept of an “enemy” and more like a real person with multiple sides to her.

But the fact of the matter remains: she also stole the sorcery seminar away from Galinda, and that is most definitely unforgivable. The insults she bites out are still insults, her emotions still quickly turn to anger, her demeanor remains nigh unapproachable.

They simply… don’t get along.

Galinda has to acknowledge that Matches don’t always work out, it’s simply fact. It’s rare, but there are occasionally those who either never actually meet their Match or end up dissolving their Matched relationship down the line. Galinda, of course, had never planned for herself to be one of those… disappointments , but surely she’s eventually bound to find someone who would want her enough to forgo their own Match in order to be with her. Perhaps she could find one of the even-rarer cases of one who’d been born without a Mark at all, like she’d initially thought Elphaba to be.

She shoves down whatever she may feel about the situation. She doesn’t have time for things such as sadness. So, when she catches herself running a finger over her defunct Mark and zoning out or, Oz forbid, wanting to cry, she boxes it all away, tucks it all into a dark corner in the recesses of her mind and does her damnedest to forget it’s even an issue.

It would probably help if she had someone trustworthy to talk it all out with, get some reassurance that everything would be okay. Maybe then these feelings wouldn’t end up rising back up to the surface so often. Galinda very much wishes to talk to Ama about the giant upset that has become her life, but she unfortunately has been seeing less and less of her Familiar now that classes are in full swing. Familiars aren’t allowed in the classrooms to prevent students from using their Bonds to cheat in any way (though why that can’t just be a rule on exam days like it had been for the previous generations, Galinda isn’t sure), and Galinda finds herself requiring more and more study time to keep up with her course load. She’s still determined to make it into Madame Morrible’s seminar somehow, and she’s fearful that low grades in her other courses would diminish what precious little chance she already has of succeeding in that endeavor.

Ama has stopped hanging around the dorms as much, as a result. She’s apparently decided to give Galinda more space to focus on her studies, which Galinda tries to be grateful for even though she misses the Swan’s presence—and could certainly use her help studying certain topics. Some nights, when she’s trying to sleep, she can feel Ama’s restlessness through their Bond and wonders if her Familiar misses her just as much.

Occasionally, Galinda thinks of asking Elphaba for help with her studies; her roommate always has her nose in a book, anyhow, and as mentioned before, she’s at the top of the class in every academic subject. But then Elphaba will say something snide, or her sorcery textbooks catch Galinda’s eye, and the thought suddenly seems preposterous again.

So, she pours all her efforts into studying on her own, or with Pfannee and Shenshen, though they’re rarely anything more than a distraction. If she’s not studying or doing something necessary like eating or bathing, then she’s at some party or club event or fulfilling some social obligation she’s agreed to—because of course everyone wants Galinda Upland of the Upper Uplands to grace their gathering with her presence. It’s quite exhaustifying.

So, you see, it’s because of all this that Galinda simply doesn’t have the time to truly hate Elphaba Thropp. After a couple weeks have passed since the… reveal, her ardor has settled to something more… neutral, something more akin to tolerance. But not because Elphaba is her Match, of course not, it’s simply because she doesn’t have the energy to spare.

This lack of hatred is more clearly displayed the night after those horrendible words are written on Dr. Dillamond’s chalkboard. Galinda is having another restless night—as is Elphaba, apparently, by the way she tosses and turns in her own bed. Does Galinda necessarily care about that rude, old Goat? Not truly, but it’s the principal of the matter; imagine if she didn’t have Ama, if the Swan couldn’t speak. It’s a simply horrific idea, and she wonders if it’s sentiments like what was painted on the chalkboard that have led to the new Familiar policies.

She’s up much later than she usually is, due to all these racing thoughts. She’s just made the mental note to be sure to check on Ama Clutch the next day when Elphaba shoots straight up in her bed, gasping for breath.

Galinda stills, studies her roommate as much as she can in the dimness of their chambers. Elphaba doesn’t seem to notice her; she holds a hand to her throat as she chokes down air, then slides her palm down to press flat against her chest.

Does Elphaba have nightmares?

The green girl tosses her thin blankets away from her body, and even Galinda can see the light sheen on her skin, the dampness of the back of her nightgown. Her roommate quickly stands and heads over to the balcony, throwing open the doors and stepping outside.

Oh. This is why she does that nearly every night. Galinda suddenly feels very, very guilty for snapping at Elphaba over this habit, this habit which now seems to be a very understandable necessity.

And she can’t help but wonder: What could possibly plague this girl’s thoughts so insistently that she has terrors nearly every night?

Well, it is very difficult indeed for Galinda to say the word “sorry,” but she feels too guilty to merely sit idle. She pushes herself up in her bed and patiently waits for Elphaba to reenter the room.

When she does so, she visibly startles at the sight of Galinda sitting up in bed, watching her. “What?” she snaps, immediately defensive—Galinda winces, but reminds herself that Elphaba’s reaction is warranted with the state of their relationship.

“I just—are you okay?” she says, trying for softness but still finding her voice tense.

Elphaba rolls her eyes and shuts the balcony doors behind her. “As if you care,” she says flatly. She moves to go back to her bed.

Alright, Galinda does take full offense to that one. She feels her brows flatten in response. “I was trying to be nice.”

Another roll of green eyes as Elphaba sits down on the edge of her bed. “Oh, is that so?” she asks sarcastically.

Galinda feels herself deflate a bit, shoulders dropping. Is it really that unbelievable that she could have kind intentions for once? Guilt floods her chest again. “Well. Yes.” Oz, even she can hear the vulnerability in her tone now.

Elphaba seems to hear it, too, thank Oz. Galinda sees her shoulders stiffen, her back straighten, and hears the hesitance in her voice when she says, “...oh. Well. Sorry. I—yes, I’m fine. Just… a bad dream.”

The apology softens Galinda a bit further, and her curiosity comes back. “About what?” Then, worried she’ll be seen as prying, she tacks on, “If you’d like to talk about it, that is.” Galinda can’t see every detail of Elphaba’s shadowed face, but she does see her lips quirk to the side as she pauses.

Elphaba takes a slow, shaky breath. “Drowning.”

Oh. Galinda isn’t sure what she’d expected, but it definitely wasn’t that. “That sounds… horrendible,” she confesses. Does she dream of drowning every night? Did something happen to her as a child to cause such terrifying fears?

“It is,” Elphaba admits, starting to shift a bit uncomfortably where she sits.

Galinda is filled with the urge to help, to ease Elphaba’s pain somehow, but she doesn’t know what to do without knowing the cause behind it all. She bites her lip before daring to ask, “Why is it you have these—”

But Elphaba cuts her off. “It’s late,” she says, voice flattening again, though not angrily like before. She swings her legs up onto her bed and draws her sheets up once more. “Goodnight, Galinda.”

Galinda feels the sting of rejection as a pit in her stomach and tries to tell herself it’s fine. They may be Matched, but they’re not friends, they’re not close in any way. This is the most civil conversation they’ve ever had, and Galinda’s trying to dig out all of Elphaba’s secrets; of course she’d be wary.

She tries not to let that familiar disappointment settle. This is just how it is, how it’s going to be.

“Good—goodnight, Elphaba,” she responds, so quietly she’s not even sure her roommate hears her.

As she turns to face the opposite direction and pulls her comforter up over her shoulders, Galinda wonders if Ama can feel her heartbreak.

***

A prince arrives the next day.

Vinkan Prince Fiyero Tigelaar is all anyone can talk about even before he makes his first appearance. Students of every year, every gender wonder and speculate on what he’s like, what type of Familiar he has, whether he’s found his Match yet, whether one of them will have the same Mark.

Galinda thinks he’s perfect before they’ve even met.

So, what if they’re not Matched? Plenty of people have relationships before they find their Match, and some of them are even so happy in said relationships that they never feel the need to go looking for the one who bears their Mark—that last bit is rare, perhaps, but it happens. This would be no different, it’s just that Galinda has found her Match and is simply… pretending she hasn’t.

Upon actually meeting Prince Fiyero, Galinda finds that he flirts with everyone he crosses paths with anyways, so why not have some fun?

His russet skin and blue tattoos make him a novelty on the Shiz campus, but it also reminds Galinda of Ama’s comment on her first day here. And would you have offered such ‘help’ to a Vinkan? The memory fills her with shame—maybe she should truly apologize to Elphaba for her behavior that day.

For now though, she focuses on catching Fiyero’s eye—she does—and keeping his attention on her—she mostly does. She offers to give him a tour, which he accepts, starting with taking his Horse Familiar to the Animal dorms. It works out, she thinks, since she’d been wanting to catch up with Ama today, anyhow. Hopefully the Swan won’t embarrass her in front of this new prospect. Thankfully, Galinda hasn’t had the chance to tell her that Elphaba is her Match, so at least there should be very little judgment on that end.

When they arrive to the area in which Galinda’s been told the Animal dorms are located, however, her stomach twists unsettlingly—these are decidedly not normal dorm buildings. Instead of an enclosed shelter with rooms for each animal—or even two or three of them at a time—the “Animal dorms” appear to be nothing more than repurposed stables. The Familiars seem to be split by general species, but they are packed in tight and nearly piled atop one another.

Fiyero gives her a worried look, and Feldspur’s steps seem hesitant as well. “This is how you all treat your Familiars, here?”

“I—I didn’t know,” Galinda stammers, now embarrassed on top of her anxiety. “We were told that the Animal dorms were as extravagant as ours—and Ama, she didn’t…” Why didn’t Ama tell me about this? “There has to be some sort of mistake.”

“Looks pretty intentional to me,” Fiyero grumbles, but he still follows her forward, patting Feldspur’s side soothingly.

Galinda spots a man dressed in employee colors, one who appears to be a caretaker for the grounds. “Pardon me, sir,” she calls as she nears him. “I’m looking for my Familiar? She’s a white Swan, her name is Ama Clutch, of the Upland family? I was told this is where she stays, but it appears I’ve found the wrong place.”

The caretaker pauses his work and looks her up and down, sending an uneasy shiver across her body. “A swan, eh?”

“...A Swan, yes.”

“Yeah, I think I know what you mean. Over here.”

The uneasiness grows into nausea as Galinda follows the man, Fiyero and Feldspur trailing behind her. Surely he’s mistaken; surely Ama hasn’t been subjected to living in these conditions this entire time.

But he leads them over to a section housing a multitude of avian creatures—Chickens and Doves and a Peacock, a Crane like her Momsie’s Familiar, all squished together so that Galinda can hardly tell one Animal from the next. Is this why their Bond is so restless at night?

“Oi, pretty bird!” the caretaker—if Galinda can even call him that, with this revelation—calls out.

Galinda would normally have been elated at seeing Ama’s head pop up above the crowd of feathers, but now it only further sickens her stomach.

“This your Master?” the not-caretaker continues, and Galinda whips her head around to glare at him.

“Master? I beg your pardon?” But she’s interrupted before she can truly lay into him for such a rude, disparaging comment.

“Galinda!” Ama calls, hardly able to flap her wings in order to escape the back corner she’d been occupying. Several of the other Birds cry out and chastise her for smacking them as she pushes herself into the air, but she ignores them in favor of reaching Galinda at the entrance to the stall. “What—what are you doing here, Duckie?” she asks, sounding more nervous than excited to see her—by the way their Bond feels, Galinda thinks she is very concerningly nervous indeed.

Galinda doesn’t even have it in her to be embarrassed at the use of her pet name in front of Fiyero. She crouches low and strokes the side of Ama’s long neck, just barely resisting the urge to bury her face in white down feathers. “I—I was showing Fiyero around, and—I wanted to see you, I—my dear Ama, why didn’t you tell me they had you all living like this?” She blinks rapidly in an attempt to hold back the tears that now threaten to fall from her eyes.

Ama heaves a heavy sigh, sparing a short glance Fiyero and Feldspur’s way before returning her focus on her Companion. “Duckie, there’s no point. Other students have tried arguing, but there’s nothing to be done. It’s been your dream to come here since you were a girl, and I wasn’t about to damage that.” Ama tries to send some calming thoughts across their Bond, but it doesn’t help soothe Galinda very much. “I didn’t want to worry you when there is nothing you could do about it. Besides, it could very well be much, much worse—”

“Worse? Oh, you must be in shambles if you think anything could be worse than this—you don’t even have a nest of your own, for Lurline’s sake!”

“Except it can be, Galinda!” Ama snaps, voice raising in a way she very, very rarely has before. It stuns Galinda into silence, so she continues. “Other Animals are talking about how the only reason their Companions chose to come here is because other universities wouldn’t allow them to travel together at all.” Galinda bites her lip, heart sinking, and Ama must feel it in their Bond because she softens slightly. “I know you’ve been sheltered all your life, that your view of the world has not yet widened, but the very fact of the matter is that it can be much worse, Duckie. It’s this, or nothing—this, or I leave you here, alone, to go back to Frottica, alone.”

Galinda feels her lip tremble even through the hold her teeth still have on it.

“This is ridiculous,” Fiyero says from behind her, voice filled with frustration. “If I’d known, I never would have come here. Feldspur, you have to believe me.”

“I know, lad, calm down. I think Miss Ama has a point. I’m sure I’ll be fine.”

Ama nods to Feldspur in acknowledgment. Galinda feels like her voice has disappeared.

“If you’d like, I can show you where the Horses stay, Mister—Feldspur, was it?”

“Indeed.”

With that, Ama urges Galinda to stand and, after she brushes dirt off the hem of her skirts, they start walking.

“Now, look,” Ama says as they travel to the other side of the compound, “it’s really not all that bad. I just didn’t want to worry you. They say we can leave when we want, though they tend to give us a tough time unless our… ‘Masters’ are with us”—Galinda scoffs at the use of the term—“so if you ever find yourself needing me, just come by. Besides, some of the students come by to keep us company, even bringing us gifts on occasion. Why, even—oh! There she is, in fact—hello, Miss Elphaba!”

And indeed, Galinda looks up to see her roommate standing at the door to a stall, a basket of poppies hanging off of her arm. She has a smile on her face, at least until she notices Galinda standing there—and Galinda unwittingly takes note of the fact that Elphaba has the most adorable little gap between her two front teeth, the way her lips curl up more on one side than the other, the way her freckles scrunch up beneath her eyes—

“Oh,” Elphaba says, disappointment at Galinda’s presence glaringly obvious. She keeps her tone light in responding to the Swan, though. “Hello, Miss Ama. How are you, today?”

“Quite well, quite well. I was just showing our new friend Mister Feldspur to the Horse’s quarters.”

“Ah, yes. We’ve… met.” Well, that’s definitely a curious glare Elphaba is giving Fiyero. “Done any more trampling as of late, Your Highness?” Wow, and what a scathing tone; she hasn’t even talked to Galinda with such disdain since their first meeting.

“Only to those who deserve it,” Fiyero says with a smirk. Elphaba scoffs and gives one of those infamous rolls of her eyes.

Galinda feels very out of the loop.

“Pray tell,” he continues, “where is your Familiar, Miss Elphaba?”

Elphaba stiffens, as does Ama beside her, their Bond issuing a warning for Galinda to keep her mouth shut.

“Not here,” Elphaba says flatly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” She changes her tone again to address Ama. “I’ll leave some poppies by your place, Miss Ama; I thought I’d bring you all something to liven up the space a bit today.”

“Thank you, dear; that’s very kind of you.”

And then they are on their way once more, though Galinda can’t help but glance back at her roommate as they pass. How long has she been coming here? Has she known about the Familiars’ living conditions this entire time? Does she think Galinda’s known, that she’s been okay with it? Perhaps that’s why she treats her like she’s some heartless creature, like she’s that rude non-caretaker who sees Animals as things to be lorded over by Masters. The idea of Elphaba thinking such horrid things about her makes her nauseous all over again.

Ama brings them to the stalls where a few other Horses are stationed, and after introductions are made, Feldspur dismisses Fiyero to continue his tour with Galinda.

“I’d like to meet my new neighbors and get settled in. No worries, lad. Go on, now.” Feldspur’s voice is kind and calm, and so Fiyero nods and lovingly pats the side of his face in goodbye. Ama nods her agreement, their Bond pulsing with reassurance that manages to calm Galinda’s anxiety only slightly.

Fiyero then turns to her, and Galinda tries her best to brush her thoughts about this whole situation—and the green roommate that plagues her mind—away as he offers an arm to her.

“Shall we, then? I’m sure there’s much more to see,” he says kindly, though Galinda can tell that there’s still some unhappiness underneath the surface.

She takes his arm and tells herself to focus—she needs to impressify this perfect prince so that she can still have a love for the ages, still have the future she’s planned for all her life. So she puts on a smile that she knows will show off her dimple the best, tosses her hair over her shoulder, and says, “Of course, darling.”

If Ama says everything will be fine, then surely everything will be fine.

[desperatelyseekingcannibals]

Santa for Christmas (DogPath)

Explicit // M/M // Cal Roberts (The Path)/Nigel (Charlie Countryman) // Tags: AU, Cal left Meyerism when he was younger, ex-cult member, Nigel is going legit in the US, divorced dad Cal, teacher Cal, Santa Nigel, bar hook-up, first time, anal sex, Christmas, kid fic, Mall Santa, quiet sex, time skip, happy ending. Prompt fill. 

Cal takes his son to see Santa. Unfortunately Santa is the same man he had a one night stand with a few weeks earlier...

Chapter One (of Two)

Christmas was something Cal still hadn’t quite adjusted too, despite having left the cult almost two decades ago - escaping, as he saw it, the week before he turned twenty. Having been raised in a setting not only devoid of the societal norms found in the rest of the country, it had a whole set of its own. Everything had been an adjustment. In the beginning he had turned to alcohol as a coping mechanism. One that got much worse before it got better.

It had been years since his initial deprogramming, but Christmas remained the most difficult holiday to adjust to. They’d had big celebrations in Meyerism, but none on this scale, none where for at least six weeks there seemed to be nothing else but Christmas. 

He didn’t believe in it - though he didn’t really believe in anything these days. And the fact that he was sure most people who celebrated it, didn’t either, made no difference. He wasn’t sure he’d ever get used to celebrating a holiday that seemed as fictional as all those he had celebrated in his youth now felt. 

Usually he let the holidays pass him by without much thought. He was personable of course, wishing his students a happy holiday, returning the greetings of his neighbours. But he had no tree, no decorations, no special meal planned. It was just another day. Usually. 

But this year, he had Forrest. 

In the years since he’d left the Meyerist commune, he had attended college, graduated, ended up in a job that sometimes left him emotionally drained to the point of wishing he was back in the cult where he just had to do as he was told.

And he had gotten married and divorced. 

The whole thing had been a mistake. He’d met Mary at a self-help group he helped run for those escaping from the same sort of situation he’d been in. As it happened, Mary had been in exactly the same situation. He’d never met her when he was there, but she was the only other ex-Meyerist he met out in the real world. And initially, that had drawn them together. 

Looking back, he could admit his fault in it all. He had been lonely. The kind of lonely that came with not quite fitting into society, not really understanding society. Being so wholly alien to it. Mary hadn’t been raised Meyerist, but she’d been vulnerable when she’d joined the movement - coming from a home devastated by a tornado and unsettled homelife before that. She’d wanted somewhere to belong and they’d preyed on that. So Cal should have known better than to get involved.

He was an idiot. And so their whirlwind, co-dependent and arguably toxic relationship was all of six weeks old when they got married on the spur of the moment in Vegas, a few days after they found out that she was pregnant. That night had been the first and last time since he got sober that he had gotten blind drunk - taking him back down to zero days. 

It was another six weeks before they both realised they’d made a terrible mistake and decided to go their separate ways. Quite literally in Mary’s case. Her sister had tracked her down and taken her home, somewhere safe and loving. And Cal couldn’t begrudge her that, it just meant that he would be a couple of hours drive away from his son. It wasn’t ideal, but they’d been making it work for five years now, and this was the first Christmas Forrest was staying with Cal. 

That was how Cal had ended up decorating his apartment, buying a tree, and now taking his son to the mall the first day of the winter break. It was very different doing this for Forrest rather than himself. He didn’t believe in Christmas any more than he had before, but it felt meaningful in some way that it never had when he’d been on his own. The way Forrest’s face had lit up just seeing the apartment decorated and being lifted up to place the star on top of the tree, had been worth the effort.

“Santa!” Forrest gleefully proclaimed as they walked hand in hand through the well-adorned mall.

“Yes, Santa,” Cal agreed as he tried to work out where Santa’s Grotto was. He’d already bought gifts for Forrest, and a small one to take back to Mary after the holidays, so the only reason they were in the mall was to see Santa. If they could ever find him!

“Daddy!” Forrest tugged on his hand, his voice full of frustration - not unusual for a five year old, Cal had discovered. “Santa!!” 

Cal looked down to see Forrest was pointing off in the direction of a small queue with festive signs. 

“Great work,” Cal smiled down at him and changed direction to join the queue, which wasn’t actually as small as it looked - it went up and then turned back on itself and so Cal and Forrest had to walk past the grotto itself to join the end of the queue. 

As they did so, Cal looked in, seeing the excited children that were next in line, some teenagers dressed as elves, and then, as the curtain to the grotto pulled back for the next customer, there was Santa sat on a throne. 

Cal stopped dead in his tracks, and for a moment his eyes met Santa’s and a grin formed on the man’s face - almost hidden by the grey beard - before the curtain closed again. 

“Daddy, I want to see Santa!!” Forrest tugged his arm to get him moving again. As they walked to the end of the queue, Cal’s mind was racing, trying to decide whether there were any other malls, or anywhere really that had a Santa’s Grotto. He really didn’t want to do this, he would rather drive for a couple of hours to another mall if that’s what it took. Though, looking down at Forrest, he knew he couldn’t even entertain the idea. 

But Cal really, really, didn’t want to do this. 

Because Santa was Nigel. 

Continue on AO3

[archivalofsins]

Seriously, the lack of long-term thought/planning being put into the verdicts of characters is so impressive to me.

I can't understand how people aren't concerned about how voting Amane Guilty with no consideration for her circumstances or sin is going to impact Mikoto's trial. Mikoto, the character who canonically has Dissociative Identity Disorder, something that not only forms in childhood due to abuse but through going undiagnosed can lead to recurring abuse throughout one's life.

Amane possibly being Guilty/Unforgiven showcases that it does not matter how bad the prisoners' circumstances may get within the prison or how bad they were outside of it. It showcases that certain individuals are undeserving of safety and peace of mind as long as enough people just dislike them. It showcases how children who do not fit societal norms are adultified and treated as threats for not fitting those norms.

Something that will definitely negatively impact Mikoto because despite being older than Amane, they have been heavily implied to have a great deal in common through the source material. From what we've been shown of Mikoto trial two so far it seems he will be trying to make an emotional appeal of sorts in his voice drama.

Coming directly off the heels of the beginning of Amane's trial, where people have displayed a great lack of compassion, doesn't bode well for that tactic. Especially since a good deal of people already hold disdain towards his character for just existing in a way they find distasteful. These things only serve to make me feel my concerns around this are valid.

Outside of that, I just believe it's unfair for certain adults within Milgram to continue to be infantalized and coddled to the extent that they have been while the only prisoner to be taken to course and interrogated for their behavior fully is the youngest individual here. It's even more unfair for the prisoners who come after her to have their trials after such a precedent has been set.

A precedent that firmly states ones circumstances can be disregarded when taking into consideration their sin or even worse the sin can be disregarded entirely in favor of only looking at the harm they can cause in the prison presently. That isn't fair to any of the characters who are still on trial or about to be. Simply because it wasn't considered when it came to any of the characters on trial before them.

Every prisoner in here is a threat to someone, and some have voiced their dislike for other prisoners, specifically just like Amane has. Yet that wasn't used to say they were any less or more forgivable. Nobody said, "Oh no, if we vote, Yuno Innocent, she's going to attack Haruka and Mu." Despite the fact she blatantly admitted in her second written interrogation, the two were beginning to annoy her.

Or said anything similar about Futa and Shidou, who voiced their disdain for Kotoko after what she did. To be fair, people speculated those things I know I did. However, that information wasn't manipulated and weaponized to the extent it is being here.

So, yeah, I still think it's unfair for those things to suddenly be used against Amane when they didn't matter as much before. It's even sillier when you take into consideration that anyone in Milgram can attack anybody for any reason during the intermission as long as they can still move, which everyone else would be able to.

However, we've been expressly told that Mikoto's other personality will be restrained if they continue to be a problem, which they more than likely would be if voted guilty again. Having this stated implies prisoners who are voted guilty twice may be restrained more.

This is something concerning when it comes to Amane's case for me. Because there's a guy in here that specifically kills kids for attention. If everybody else hasn't fucking forgot. I thought it'd be a difficult thing to forget given the fact that he bragged about being able to kill anything smaller than him in his second voice drama.

Then, specifically stated through the lyrics of his second song-

"I will keep on killing to be your good boy. I can't stop, I can't stop- Am I still INNOCENT?"

Along with other lines such as,

"I will definitely make you love me again. I wasn't wrong, I wasn't wrong- Please don't say I'm a loser. Hug me again as you once did."

So, while those voting Amane Guilty are concerning themselves with Shidou's very secure fucking safety because he has one of the strongest people here guarding him around the fucking clock. I'm worried about the safety of the isolated child that's only been checked in on by Futa and Yuno.

Not even just because of Haruka's history either. Because again, if people have forgotten, Kotoko has stated she does not go easy on children before.

20/06/18

Amane: Thank you very much for teaching me. ……but, though I realise it’s strange me saying this after I asked you, I must admit it’s kind of unexpected. You give off the impression of someone who wouldn’t want to get involved in things like this.

Kotoko: ……well, you’re not wrong. I’m surrounded by people who could all be murderers, so I don’t plan on going out of my way to talk and make friends. I can’t let my guard down. But I like ambitious people like you. If you want to study more, then I’m happy to teach.

Amane: I see…… You look scary at first impression, but I quite like the way you treat everyone equally regardless of whether they’re older or younger than you. You don’t just treat me like a child or anything like that.

Kotoko: Treat you like a child? Hah, you’ve got to be kidding. Back when I was your age, I was already the person I am today. I don’t have any plans to let you get away with something just “because you’re a child.” ……remember that.

There, I’ve finished marking. 83%.

How do I put it… Even though you act like this, it’s not like you’re super brilliant at studying or anything, huh.

So, no, I'm not voting in favor of possibly restraining the child with these two walking about very free. That's wild. Haruka is doing nothing to hide the fact that he kills kids. He threatened Es in his second voice drama before threatening to harm himself. Kotoko has expressly said from the beginning that she has no plans to let Amane get away with anything just because she's a child and expressly told her to remember that.

Yet, most are still concerned with the safety of these fucking adults. I'm concerned with Amane and Mikoto having the ability to defend themselves in the case they get attacked. Because no one else is going to help, as has been illustrated well by Mikoto's birthday this year and Amane's last year.

22/06/27 (Amane’s Birthday)

Kazui: What’s up, Shidou-kun? You’re looking pretty down. I guess you must be tired, I’ve been relying on you a lot lately.

Shidou: Yeah, I just remembered…… today is Amane’s birthday. I’m just getting a bit sentimental.

Kazui: Hmm, it’s unfortunate, but at the moment we can’t worry about that. ……you understand, right? There’s something that you need to do right now. And if you tried talking to her your words definitely won’t reach her. Don’t look at me like that. We’ll just wait until the situation changes. Let’s do our best.

Shidou: Yeah. I’ll do what I can. I can’t have a child making a face like that. Even though we’re “murderers”…… we’re also the adults here.

Shidou has done nothing to hide the fact that he still has more important things to concern himself with than Amane's safety. Something the rest of the cast has shown as well except for Futa, who has interacted with her and tried to check in on the younger prisoners the most this trial.

But no, apparently, these other adult murderers are just at such an unfair disadvantage against these two specifically.

[miitgaanar]

@soartfullydone asked:

No. 21: “See the chains around my feet.”

Vows | Restraints | “Don't move.” - Lemuel/Bastion

So. Uh. This was a whumptober prompt. But every month is whumptober if you really want it to be.

Anyway. I've dedicated the last eleven years of my life to trying to figure out how Lemuel Adelier ticks. I hate to admit that Bastion's been woefully neglected on my end. My studies did not include this bird man.

This was also my attempt to practice writing a fic that is decidedly not 4,000 words. I need to get better at writing shorter pieces, damnit.

I'm sorry to anyone who decides to read this. lmao

***

"Don't move."

Bastion Winalils lifted his hands in the air as if in surrender, though his shoulders remained rounded and a heavy, bored sigh escaped him.  He could feel the tip of a blade digging into his back, the steel cold and sharp.  It would be simple enough to offset out of harm's way, to vanish from his assailant's view within the span of a breath—only to then reappear behind him and rip the air from his lungs.

But that would be too simple, and this particular assailant too fun to poke and prod like a rabid beast.

"Is that any way to greet a friendly face, Captain Adelier?" Bastion intoned, daring a glance over his shoulder.  Adelier's face was stone, his eyes hard and his mouth a firm, thin line.  A roguish grin lit up the Black Tongue's pale visage.  "And here I thought we had developed a rather cordial working relationship."

"I didn't call on you, Ilgan Yag," Adelier spat, as if the word were poison upon his tongue.  Oh, if only.  "You'd best have good reason for defiling the Temple grounds with your stench."

"Does Ssael not open his doors to everyone?" Bastion needled further.  He was rewarded with the tip of the sword pressing harder into his back.  His grin only widened.

"Not everyone," Adelier ground out.

"A pity.  A convert might very well have been lost this day."

"Enough.  Do not toy with me.  I'm in no mood."

That much was clear.  Though Bastion couldn't say he'd ever caught the Soud in a particularly receptive mood. 

"Fine, then," Bastion said, lowering his arms to play at adjusting the hem of his gloves.  A show of nonchalance, though his lips remained upturned in thinly veiled amusement.  "Perhaps you can help me."

"I'd rather help a sow find her bliss," Adelier said flatly.

"Come now," Bastion said, turning on his heel to face the Soud.  The blade remained level with his chest, those piss colored eyes boring into him with a fearsome ire, but he was otherwise unmolested.  "I'm just following a bit of gossip.  I simply wished to confirm it at the source."

Adelier's brow rose a fraction, inquisitive.  Bastion had to smother the smirk that begged to take shape.

"What sort of gossip?"

"The most interesting kind," Bastion continued.  "There's been talk of a caster amongst your lot.  Talented, it seems.  Can cast with nary a word spoken."

Adelier flinched, his blade faltering slightly.  A surge of satisfaction flooded Bastion's veins, and that smirk appeared unbidden.

"Tacit casters are incredibly rare," he explained, the words laced with a not so subtle taunt.  "Not to mention innate tacits.  So of course I had to follow the trail and see for myself.  Color me surprised when the source turned out to be the Lion's very own Delight."  The moniker came out with more bite than he had intended, but the scars at his back itched, and only now did some relief for that old wound appear to be at hand.

Adelier's face seemed to blanch, though it was difficult to tell in the dim light of a looming dusk.  "I don't know what you're talking about," he said, the words gruff and forced.

"Your niece has been very busy, it seems," Bastion continued undaunted, his gaze flickering down to examine his nails.  "Though I suppose she'd be your daughter now, yes?  Congratulations on the nuptials, by the way.  I would have sent a fruit basket had I been informed."

In a flash, Bastion found himself with that same blade pressed to his throat, the steel bitingly cold against his warm flesh as Adelier closed the short distance between them.  Adelier was fairly agile for a man of his build.  He had begun to harden himself in the few years since that dark, snowy night, the almost lithe form he had once sported now showing more bulk.

He should only know that his brutish ways would not save him—or her—should Bastion will it.

"I swear to God," Adelier rumbled, his breath fogging the air between them.  "If you so much as come within ten yards of her, of any of them, I will flay you alive and leave you for your hallowed crows."

They stood almost nose to nose, close enough that Bastion could see the ragged edges of the ugly scar carved into the Soud's face.  It twisted with the scowl that pulled at his countenance, turning his handsome features into something unsightly.  That same petty satisfaction thrummed hotly beneath his flesh.

Bastion allowed himself a soft chuckle, the minute movement causing the sharpened edge of the sword to dig into the skin of his throat.  A bead of blood welled under the blade, slowly trailing down the Black Tongue's neck and pooling within the hollow of his clavicle.  Fury danced in Adelier's eyes, his piercing gaze seeming to pulse a fiery gold.

But before he could make good on his threat, or at the very least slit Bastion's throat from ear to ear, Bastion held his hands up once more as if in surrender—though his smirk did not once falter.

"Promises, promises, darling," he said, his tone light and taunting, and grabbed for the hilt of the sword.  His free hand reached for that ever immovable silver torc at his neck and murmured something near inaudible, though loud enough for the khert to heed his call.

Adelier dropped the blade as if burned, the hilt glowing a bright orange and sizzling softly against the frost dusted ground—but before he could fully draw that second dreadful sword, Bastion had already vanished from view, his laughter echoing endlessly into the khert itself.