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[litmot-archived]

Softly Into The Night

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

The paper before you becomes blurry. You raise your hand to massage your eyes, overcome with exhaustion. Time had run from you, the hours blending in the grasp of night. 

Isaac stifles a yawn, winking as he catches your gaze. “Am I enticing you?” he teases, passing you a folder of new documents for the case you were working on. 

“I don’t think about you at all,” you say. “I’m sufficiently busy.” 

He had handed you the missing piece.

And there it was, a perfect cycle. How comforting to know all the loose ends had finally been tied — case closed. 

[litmot-archived]

Isaac Masterlist

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

All the Loose Ends

Fastidious Valour; Part II

Breaking Apart

Strictly Business

Secretary (nsfw); Part II (nsfw)

Birthday Gift (nsfw)

Never Falter

You're a Villain (nsfw)

Inexperienced (nsfw)

Time Stands Still

Bittersweet; Part II (nsfw)

Bad Relation

Cold; Part II

Take Care

Starry Night

May Your Heart Be Free

Jealousy

Sunlight

Memento Mori

Sacred Scars

In Pieces

Mine (nsfw)

I'm Not Open To New Ideas

Enjoy The Silence

Dripping (nsfw)

Drowning Lessons (nsfw)

Remnants Of The Past

Overbearing

Holding On (To You)

Twist My Heart

Too Much

It Doesn't Matter

Thorns

[litmot-archived]

Hihi!

after reading ‘table turned’ from the Zaros fanfic story, I JUST HAVE TO KNOW WHAT HAPPENED NEXT, if it isn’t much work, could you maybe continue it? Where the Earis just completely burst out in anger or even cry in front of zaros? Your story’s are just so well written that I need a part two! If it isn’t to much to ask for ofc😽😊😊

Tables Turned II

Zaros Atha’lin x Reader

You slammed the door shut. It did not help to dissipate your anger. No, you felt like you were boiling, like something was scratching at you from the inside. The suffocating need to break something — the teacup sitting on your bedside drawer looked especially appealing, the frail porcelain begging to shatter into a million little pieces on the stone floor — you reached for your pillow instead, squeezing it tightly. 

Breaking things, as appealing as it sounded, never helped in making you feel better. At least squeezing the pillow, clutching it tightly against your chest, brought some semblance of comfort. 

Unconsciously you began to cout. In. One. Two. Three. Flour. Hold. One. Two. Three. Four. Out. One. Two. Three. Four. In—

You never would have thought that the breathing exercises your instructor had familiarized you with years ago had become such an integral part of calming you down. Breathing was never something so natural, so simple. You closed your eyes, focusing on it properly, feeling the way your lungs expanded as you sucked in a breath, visualizing the numbers in your mind’s eye — or perhaps it felt more like a wave, rising and falling in time with the air in your lungs — before you exhaled, making sure to relax as much as you could before inhaling again. 

It was an endless game, really. And as you continued to focus on this little detail of your life — how the air flowed in and out of you — you began tracing patterns on the soft pillow in your hands, feeling the fabric of it between your fingers, allowing your mind to drift somewhere that was not quite your imagination but did not feel entirely rooted in the present either. 

You were slowly unwinding, slowly becoming more at ease again. There was a peacefulness in the quiet, a comfort in the familiarity and privacy of your room that made you feel like you were allowed this moment of respite. This moment to calm down, collect yourself, and shape yourself back into the form you needed to uphold in front of a crowd — or in private, really. 

And then there was a knock on your door and you felt annoyance shoot through you like a flash of lightning. 

You were not quite ready to face the world again, and holding a conversation with whoever it was that dared to disturb you right then felt like asking too much of you. Perhaps they would leave. You doubted anyone had seen you walk in—

“I know you’re in there, Earis,” came the voice from the other side of the door, and before you even knew what you were doing you had leaped off the bed — the pillow discarded carelessly — and yanked open the door to come face to face with Zaros. 

You kept your hands busy — one clutching the doorframe, the other on the handle — to refrain from jabbing a finger into his chest as you attempted a calm tone despite the blinding rage simmering in you again, “What do you want?”

“My, is that a way to treat your noble competitor?” he teased, and you were sure the door was about to splinter. His smug face looked so punchable right about now and having him on the ground, nursing a split lip sounded like a tempting sight to see. 

But you were better than that, you knew. 

With a scoff, you tried to push the door close again, but Zaros was surprisingly quick. He stopped you, placing a palm against it and leaning into the doorway. “Do you want me to break your wrist?” you seethed, finding it harder to contain your fury at his boldness, at his audacity. 

You wanted your privacy, you wanted some peace and quiet and a moment to yourself without your adversary in the room with you, trying to poke at you for a reaction. 

“I’m sure that would count as sabotage,” he said, slipping past you. “But then again, you’re not above cheating, as we both know.”

That was it. 

You grabbed him, balling your fists into the rich green fabric over his chest and pulling until he stumbled, his face mere inches from yours. You could see he was surprised, his hands shooting out to grab at your wrists to steady himself but Zaros had known you too long — he knew you, and there was not a hint of fear in his expression, only a hint of something slily victorious. How he loved to get under your skin. 

“Listen here you Leech,” you snapped, nearly growling in his face. The way he could rile you up was unfathomable. You needed him gone, out of the castle, out of Serulla, out of your life. He knew exactly which buttons to push, he knew exactly how to unravel you, make you act out even in front of a crowd, and that was a weakness no future ruler could tolerate. “I don’t know what you think you know, but you’re wrong. I didn’t cheat. I didn’t cheat!”

He scoffed, trying to push your hands away, but you held firm. “I know she told you about the results. Why do you insist on lying to me? You can’t be so naive to think that we’re contestants on common ground. You’re the favorite, it’s so obvious it’s sickening.” 

“You’re sickening!” You pushed him towards the door. “This is your mess! None of this would have happened if you hadn’t contested and you can’t tell me that you’re — what? — suddenly so patriotic that you want ‘the best for Serulla’ when you’ve never cared about this Kingdom in the first place. Get out. Get out of my sight and choke on your wine!”

Zaros broke into a bitter smile, finally succeeding in yanking himself out of your grasp. “This is exactly why you’d be a terrible heir,” he spat. “Look at how easily you lose your cool. Do you think the stress will lessen once you ascend?” 

“At least I can get through the night without drowning in alcohol,” you said, pouring every ounce of your self-restraint into sounding calm. 

His eyes flashed with contempt at that, but you did not wait to hear what Zaros would spit next, instead opening the door to your bedroom — calmly — and pushing him out with a single firm shove. Zaros stumbled, but he caught himself on the opposite side of the hallway. He pushed himself up, his hands falling away from the wall of stone to brush loose strands of hair out of his face. 

You saw him open his mouth — baring his teeth like a cornered animal. 

“Goodnight,” you said before he had a chance to speak, tone carefully blank. And then you closed your bedroom door. It fell shut with a soft click, sealing your relationship with your adversary. 

[litmot-archived]

Since you’ve already done The earis humiliating Zaros could you do zaros humiliating the earis? I hope this isn’t too much to ask for! 🥹

Tables Turned

Zaros Atha'lin x Reader

“Mind if I join you?” Zaros asked, not waiting for a reply as he slid into the seat before you. A few strands of his long blond hair loosened from where he’d tied them back, falling into his face. He tucked them behind his ear elegantly, flashing you a sly smile.

You glared at him. “Do you truly want to grace me with your company when your mother is sitting over there, all alone?” you asked, raising an eyebrow at him and taking another mouthful of your food.

Your daily schedule was packed already — the trials and the necessary preparations took up most of your hours awake — and lunchtime was perhaps the only time you could enjoy the quiet and be alone with your thoughts. 

The other nobles did not tend to bother you. Seeing the Earis sitting alone at their table, while Queen Roena ate in the front, overlooking the dining hall, had never stirred them to seek out your company. 

Zaros was an exception, of course. He was in so many things.

“She will manage,” he said, his lips twisting into his signature grin that reeked of a feeling of superiority. It made your blood boil, but you were damned if you let Zaros ruin the little peacefulness you had or spoil the delicious taste of the food in your mouth. 

“What do you want?”

“My Earis,” he said, dragging his fork through the food on his plate. He did not seem to like it much. Zaros always had a particular taste. It made you recall an instance where you had to sneak into the kitchen with precise instructions for a meal you had meticulously composed for him. “Is it so hard to imagine I simply crave the pleasure of your company?”

You did not grace him with a reply. His words were dripping with sarcasm. You ignored him, drowning out his triumphant smirk at your lack of retort and instead focusing on your lunch. 

The cook outdid herself once again. The flavors mixed beautifully, and you closed your eyes to savor the taste. 

The clinking of cutlery snapped you out of your trance. Zaros had set down his fork. The smile had faded from his lips, replaced with a tight-lipped look of disapproval. His brows were furrowed, and you were not sure if you saw distaste or rage twinkle in his eyes. 

You wondered faintly if the food truly could have upset him this much.

“I had a conversation today that made my head spin,” he said, resting his elbows on the table and raising his eyes to bore into you. 

He leaned forward, his gaze hardening. For a moment you feared he would take your plate and smash it to the ground. He reached for the wine instead, pouring himself a generous amount before asking you wordlessly if he should pour you some as well. You declined. He downed half the glass. 

“A— a little birdie told me something very interesting. Can you imagine what it was? I’ll give you three little hints,” he spat, gripping the glass until his knuckles turned white. “Ready? It’s got something to do with you, the Queen, and the trials. Does anything come to mind, my Earis?”

You froze with the fork raised midway up to your mouth. How did he know? Who told him you cheated in the trials?

You blinked, continuing to eat. That was not true. It was not! Technically, it was your mother. Technically, she did not leave you a choice when she told you about having won the first trial. It should not matter anyway, it did not impact the following ones — although you suspected your mother might bend the rules until they broke for giving you a headstart. 

You had not cheated. You had not! Zaros was a sore loser, evidently. This is why he was bringing this up, ruining a perfectly peaceful lunch.

“Do you not have anything to say for yourself?”

“What do you want from me?” you asked dismissively, eyeing Zaros pouring himself another glass of wine in contempt. He looked furious enough to drink himself into a stupor. “You should really go easy on the sweet wi—”

His eyes flashed with a wrath you had never seen before. You expected him to slam his glass on the table, but he set it down gently instead, keeping up his crumbling facade of calmness. 

“You scheming, lying traitor,” he growled low enough only for you to hear. “Time and time again she told me ‘the Ilves will never play fair’ and time and time again I told her they would — you would — because I thought that somewhere within you there was a speck of dignity and honor left. Do you know how much it hurts being proven wrong about someone you thought you knew! This is all the proof I need to know that the person I once lo— knew is gone, and only this— this spoiled palace brat sitting before me remains in their stead.”

It took all the self-control you had not to leap to your feet in anger. Your hold on the fork tightened, your jaw clenched, and the dark look in Zaro’s eyes could not rival the storm brewing in yours. 

He had ruined a perfectly peaceful meal.

“Do not talk to me like this,” you said, keeping a tight hold on your emotions and breathing, breathing — breathe, Earis. 

Take a deep breath when you get angry. Yes, just like this. Try to take your mind off the situation and just breathe. Close your eyes if you need to. Very good. Now breathe in. One. Two. Three. Four. Hold. One. Two. Three. Four. Breathe out. One. Two. Three. Four. Repeat. 

“You’re a husk of a person,” he continued, cutting through the voice you heard when the anger got overwhelming. Zaros was fueling the fire, and the gleam in his eyes — the one he always got when he knew he was pushing you to your limits — was proof enough that he was doing it on purpose. 

You did not want to give him the satisfaction of seeing you snap. 

“Serulla deserves better than you — better than you and your manipulative mother, abusing her power to give her brat an advantage you don’t deserve. You have never deserved all of your privileges — all the respect your name commanded because people feared displeasing your mother. I wonder if they would feel the same way if they knew Roenna was just as much a despicable person as her child is!”

Earis! No, Earis, listen. Breathe. Breathe! One. Two—

“Get her name out of your mouth!” you screamed, springing to your feet with enough force to knock your chair back. It tumbled to the ground, echoing loudly in the dining hall. Conversations stopped, and you were surrounded by eerie silence as every pair of eyes was trained on you.

Zaros leaned back in his chair, swirling the wine in his glass. He looked shocked, but you knew that was simply the facade he put up for your newfound audience. There was contentment in his eyes, the same kind of twisted satisfaction at revenge justly served you had spotted in your own gaze on many occasions. 

“Why, Earis,” he said calmly, keeping his eyes fixed on you as he continued the little show he had pulled you into. There was no need for him to speak up, his voice could be heard clearly in every corner of the large dining room. “If I knew you were so hot-headed, I never would have agreed to discuss this with you. It does make me wonder how you’d do in negotiations with the other kingdoms, though. I suppose storming out in a rage would not do well for Serulla.” 

A hollowness swam in your chest, dousing the rage boiling inside you and replacing it with the icy certainty that Zaros had manipulated you. It should not hurt as much as it did, given that you were both contesting for the same throne, literally fighting against each other in trials. 

Still, he was your oldest friend. 

Still, he had exploited the weakness you struggled with most to humiliate you in front of the nobles. 

You cleared your throat, straightening your back to look more composed and salvage what you could of the mess he had dragged you into. “Apologies everyone,” you said, keeping your voice light, and head high. Elegantly, you bent down to pick up the chair, dragging it across the floor to put it neatly back in its place in front of the table. “Please, resume your meals. Excuse me.” 

You did not spear Zaros another glance as you walked out of the dining hall. But you turned your head and caught your mother’s gaze as you left. Seeing the bitter disappointment in her eyes made your stomach twist, ice running through your veins at the reality of what had just happened. 

Winning the trials would be a whole lot harder than you anticipated. 

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i desperately NEED a fic of xanthus helping love through a panic attack and breakdown (◞‸ ◟")

My Love? II

Xanthus Claiborne x Reader

Part I

You broke off with a sob, burying your face in the pillow you had been clutching. It was all too much. You felt so untethered, so lost, so detached from your own emotions and life and mind. 

It felt like a part of yourself was taken from you, snatched away by some mystery of a world that was not your own. Vampires? That had never been your issue to deal with. Why had Xanthus prayed on you that evening? Why did he have to drag you into this mess?

“No, it’s not fair,” you wailed, emerging from the pillow to use it to swat the hands away halfheartedly that had settled on your shoulders. “It’s not— not fair!” 

Xanthus winced, a look of pain flashing across his face he did not feel the need to hide. Your face was buried in your hands, the pillow lying beside him as his hands hovered in the air between you, unsure if he should touch, unsure if his touch was welcome. 

“My—” love. “My dear,” he said instead, the word tasting foreign on his tongue. “Take some deep breaths. It’s all going to be alright. We can figure this out together, yes? I promise you’re not alone in this.”

You only shook your head, continuing to cry. Your shoulders shook from the force of your sobs, the broken gasps escaping you tearing on his heart. Tentatively, Xanthus reached out, lightly placing his hands over yours. To his relief, you let him, allowing him to guide them away from your face. 

“Look at me, please,” he requested, his voice nothing more than a whisper. You wiped your eyes, raising your head to look at him. “There you are,” he said, a small smile crossing his face. You felt his fingers intertwined with yours. “It’s going to be alright now, I promise.”

“You don’t know that,” you said stubbornly, suddenly feeling very drained. 

A wave of exhaustion seemed to overtake you, all the anger and doubt and despair slipping away to leave nothing but an aching sadness behind, and bone-deep exhaustion. You were tired of all of this, and it was a mystery to you how Xanthus did not seem to care about the logistics of your situation at all. 

“How do you do this?” you asked. There was no accusation in your voice. You were genuinely curious. “You say you love me. Do you truly believe it?”

“I do,” he said with no hesitation. “It’s as easy as breathing, loving you. Even if our meeting was fate, and our connection transcends the norm with our very souls being connected, I could imagine no universe where I didn’t love you. You are everything to me,” he said, raising your hand to his lips and placing a lingering kiss against it. “The bond is only an extra.” 

You shook your head. “No, without it, we wouldn’t have— this wouldn’t have happened. We wouldn’t have met again and had this— this interest in one another.”

“My love, I fall in love with you anew every day,” he said, willing you to understand. “The depth of my devotion to you goes deeper than fate, or whatever the bond would have allowed for. Can’t you feel how completely I love you? Can’t you see how lost I am without you?”

“I— Xanthus, that’s not the issue,” you said, looking down at him. 

He was kneeling on the floor before you, your hands still held firmly between both of his. His gaze was searching yours, trying to understand what had made you so upset, trying to find a way to comfort you and soothe the doubts swirling around your head. 

“What is it then?”

“I just— why do you love me? How do you love me and how do you know it’s fully you? I mean— I mean where is our free will in all of this? And what if it was the bond, only the bond I mean, that brought us together? Do you think you’d love me if there was no bond? Do you—?” 

“Does it matter?” he frowned. “I love you now, I know I do. Why think about forever? How this came about doesn’t matter, where this will go is less important than the present moment and I know, I am certain that right now, there is nobody I would rather share my time with than you, nobody I would rather give all my love. My love, eternity is such a grand thing to desire. Is the present not enough for you?”

[litmot-archived]

a fic of xanthus and love having a fight, and love crying and breaking down in the middle of it.. angst, then comfort and fluff, pretty please (ㅅ´ ˘ `)

My Love? I

Xanthus Claiborne x Reader

Xanthus stilled, the page of the book he had been reading slipping from his fingers. For a moment, he did not breathe, staring at the black ink in front of him unseeing before he slowly raised his head, eyes settling on your form in the doorway. Your arms were wrapped around your middle, hugging yourself in search of some comfort. 

The words you had uttered hung heavy in the air, seeping through the silence that remained and settling around you both like soft snow on the frozen ground in winter. Xanthus could feel the chill. 

He remained calm, despite his heart hammering in his chest, trying to crawl its way out of his throat. He shut the book softly, carefully playing it on the coffee table next to him, making sure that his hands did not shake. Motioning to the couch opposite him, he waited for you to sit. 

You approached hesitatingly, biting your bottom lip and fiddling with your hands. Your nerves made you feel nauseous, a primal need to run, to hide away until the world faded into something distant nearly too strong to ignore. Still, your feet carried you to the couch, and you sat down slowly, avoiding Xantus’ searching gaze. 

Neither of you said anything. Sitting in front of him, feeling his gaze on you was nearly too much to bear. Your hand reached for one of the pillows, clutching it to your chest tightly as you sat there, waiting. It brought you little comfort.

“Say that again,” he spoke slowly, voice carefully blank. You wanted to look at him, search for an emotion in his eyes but you knew that as soon as you did, it would turn out to be impossible to keep the storm raging inside you in check. 

You swallowed, fiddling with a loose strand of the pillow. “I— I said—” you began, staring down at the soft gray. “I said I don’t know if I love you anymore.”

This time you were close enough to hear his sharp intake of breath. Your grip tightened on the pillow, willing the conversation to be over so you could disappear again, slip away into solitude so you could think, back away from this whole mess of powers beyond your control and ancient magic that refused to make sense. 

“That is a lie,” Xanthus said flatly. 

Stunned, you raised your head, forgetting the turmoil inside you for a moment as you looked at him with wide eyes. Your eyes met for the first time since you entered the room, but they were not the same gentle ones you had looked at first thing in the morning, now his eyes were hard, cold. You could see a sliver of pain in them, barely concealed panic at the edge of this impassive facade. 

“You’re lying. Why are you lying to me?” He did not sound angry, merely disappointed.

His tone was carefully lacking the emotions you had seen in his eyes. But his words cut deeper than you had expected, and as the initial shock wore off, you found a new feeling lodging in your chest, settling beside the fear, desperation, and sadness: anger.

“I’m not,” you said, fists clenching against the pillow. “I said what I’m feeling. I don’t know if I love you anymore. It’s the truth.”

Xanthus scoffed, turning away from you sharply to look out the window instead. His hands were clasped in his lap, fingers squeezing so tight his knuckles turned white. His gaze remained trained on the tree right before the window, its leaves rustling in the wind that had picked up.

He opened his mouth to reply, then thought better of it. Wetting his lips, he said softly, “You don’t know what you’re feeling.” 

It was a simple observation that cut to the very heart of your doubts. It was the quintessence of the struggle you had gone through continuously since meeting Isis. The dismissive comment he had made was right, and that was the problem. You did not know what you were feeling. And how could you? 

The bond was a complicated thing. Were your feelings truly your own? What was this connection, what were these feelings you had for Xanthus? Was it love? Was it truly? How did you feel about him before the bond had been awakened? Did you feel a pull towards him even then? Would you have stayed with him? Would you have fallen in love with him?

Was this fate? And if it was — if this magic bound you together — could you ever truly love him? Was it your love you were giving him, and did it even matter when he did not fall in love with you for you, but because the universe willed it into existence — willed your relationship and planted these feelings in both of you like seeds in a garden that had no choice but to flourish?

The questions were clawing at you, making you doubt your every move, every feeling, every moment shared between you and Xanthus. You could not do this anymore, living this lie. 

“And you do?” you snapped, your desperation turning to anger at how unbothered he seemed with all of this, how readily he accepted the bond. “Tell me, look me in the eye, and tell me that you know exactly how you feel when neither of us— no one can explain this bond between us! You can’t know this thing between us is real. You can’t— you—”

Part II

[litmot-archived]

A Debt Repaid part 2 where Xanthus, Dontis and love get to Dontis home safely. Xanthus immediately starts hugging Love so tight, kissing them all over and not letting them go. Dontis watching the two of them and they all hug together by the end and stay hugging each other on the floor for hours

A Debt Repaid, continued

Xanthus Claiborne x love!Reader

The door clicked shut softly behind you, and you did not even have the time to heave a sigh of relief before Xanthus was on you. His arms snuck around you, pulling you impossibly close. You did not mind the blood on his hands. It was a welcome reminder that Audric was dead, unable to hurt you anymore, unable to make his threats become reality. 

You felt him shake against you, his breath coming in short little puffs that made you lift your chin from his chest to look into his eyes. “I’m alright,” you said, raising a hand to cup his cheeks, willing your feeling of love to flood through your side of the bond to put him at ease. “We’re all fine. It’s over. It’s alright.”

Well, that was not really true. 

You remembered someone lying on the ground, shot by Audric. Xanthus did not seem to care about them, and Dontis had merely spared them a glance before rushing to untie you. Thoughts of them — wherever Audric’s nameless last victim was — did not linger in your mind as Xanthus placed a soft kiss on your forehead. His eyes were filled with unshed tears, and you were having trouble keeping yours at bay as well. 

It felt almost too good to be true. After that waking hell all of you had endured, to be back in Dontis’ mansion, to have Xanthus in your arms, unharmed. The relief was too great, and you swayed, holding onto Xanthus as your knees buckled. He held you up with no issue, his arms tightening around you.

“You are safe now, my love,” he murmured into the crook of your neck. “You are safe. Nothing will hurt you again, nothing ever again, my love.”

A loud thump made you both jump. Xantus’ arms tightened around you instinctively, and both your heads whipped around to look behind you, in the direction of the couch. 

A weak ‘sorry’ came from the ground in front of it, Dontis having crumbled to the ground. His head was leaned back, resting against the cushions as he took deep breaths, the relief of escaping the tumultuous affair alive finally catching up to him as well. 

“I’m fine, please continue,” he said, “don’t worry about me. I just— I just need a moment.”

You shared a look with Xanthus before slowly untangling yourself from him. Together, you approached Dontis, coming to keep him company on the ground. Xanthus was seated next to him, one arm wrapped around his waist to have him lean into his side. Dontis chuckled appreciatively, resting his head on top of Xanthus’. You leaned your head on his shoulder, your fingers intertwining with Xanthus’.

“What a sight we make,” you said, pleased as Dontis chuckled again. Xanthus merely hummed, his eyelids dropping shut now that he knew everything would be alright. Everything was fine as he had his love back — and his best friend.

[litmot-archived]

A Debt Repaid

Xanthus Claiborne x mythic!Reader

You break them out of the cell.

Warnings: gun, character death

You had not expected to end up here, and you silently cursed yourself for choosing exactly that bar — certainly the only one in New Orleans in which a drunk hunter, full of sorrow, brawled loudly about their Icubus’ suicide mission and how worried they were about him and his vampire friend — to lounge in for the evening to calm your racing mind from the increasingly dangerous times you lived in.

Xanthus was infamous now. They did not need to say his name for you to know Dontis’ ‘vampire friend’ was the very same who had been your savior long ago. The Trimedian were on the rise again, or so you heard. In New Orleans. In the States. In the world. 

You had already packed your suitcase, and booked a ticket to get the hell out of there, find a remote location in the countryside — France perhaps, or the east of Romania — but of course you had to ditch your flight into safety to sneak into the lion’s den instead. 

Honestly, you couldn't care less about Xanthus being bonded. You were happy such a curse had not befallen you (the weakness it brought only a thorn in your side with the fast-paced life you lived), but you sympathized with him and his anguished state as you heard him sobbing against the door of his cell with a broken heart.

The facility was surprisingly easy to get into despite being supposed to be such a top-notch security fortress. You sighed, wrinkling your nose at the smell of the suit you had torn off that guard to mask your natural scent. He had been a vampire, and you were a little startled at uncovering vampires working for the Trimedian now. 

You had not followed politics for a long time, and although this change in approach was surprising — and a little concerning — it did not stray too far from the path of reason. Stranger things had happened. 

Such as walking into a bar unsuspectingly and being reminded of a centuries-old debt that the opportunity presented itself to finally repay. With a few nudges in the right direction, the hunter had spilled all they knew to you, and with a few inquiries through your vast circle of acquaintances, you managed to find out all you needed to know — down to the fact that Xanthus & co.’s plan had failed terribly and they were now locked up by the Trimedian in their impressive, dangerous hideout. 

You scoffed. Fortresses were no longer what they used to be, and the security system of this ruin was several decades behind as if the person responsible had a tough time adapting to modernity. 

At first, you had feared finding Xanthus would present an impossible task. The place was a maze, with locked doors and empty hallways branching off until you were no longer sure which way to turn. Your fears were quickly dissuaded, however. As you closed your eyes to gather your bearing, you heard the unmistakable sound of a heart shattering, someone — Xanthus, you would recognize the voice anywhere — sobbing his heart out as if he had suffered a thousand deaths. 

You simply followed the sound, leading you straight to an iron door, thrice enforced and kept in place by… an enormous latch. You blinked, staring at the rusty metal for a few seconds while genuinely wondering if this was all a dream. You discarded the thought. Something quite so absurd was not within your imagination. There were not even wires attached to an alarm system, for god’s sake!

Pathetic. Whoever ran this organization must still be stuck in the sixteenth century. 

Gripping the latch, you pulled it to the side, careful to keep it quiet. The door slid open, the hinges creaking slightly despite your best efforts. Xanthus’ head shot up, bloodshot eyes staring at you unseeing — but you could not observe him for long as you felt someone knock you to the ground, slamming you down with their entire body weight and knocking the breath out of you. 

You did not even have the breath to curse — or warn them to be quiet, damnit. Fucking amateurs — as horns flashed in your vision, a rough hand on your throat keeping you from drawing in a breath and uttering a sound. You glared at Dontis, and his dark eyes glared back, squeezing harder.

Granted, he did not know you. Reputation preceded him, and you had listened to half an hour’s worth of his Hunter’s little rambling to get a good idea of his character. This did not seem like the Incubus, but you supposed dire circumstances called for darker characters. 

Instead of fighting him, you stared back, raising a hand to tap his hand choking you a little impatiently, but mostly annoyed. He frowned, blinking at you in confusion. 

Xanthus was useless, still kneeling on the floor of his cell, shaking in fear or agony, you did not know. His eyes were fixed on you both uncomprehendingly, and you knew his emotions had carried him away. It was to be expected with a Bond — and knowing the heightened intensity with which feelings normally so cutting turned to stealing your breath and tainting your very essence after you had been turned, you understood all too well why it was important to put up layers around one's heart. His had been ground to dust. 

Dontis did not let up, and you were losing your patience. You hoped nobody had heard you, nor noticed you infiltrating the fortress — and you thought nobody did, the latch on the door with no guards stationed for the prime, top-prise prisoners speaking volumes about the unprofessionalism of this place. 

Seriously, who ran it? They were either insanely arrogant, thinking they had turned untouchable, understaffed, or simply plain stupid!

You reached into your pocket, pulling out the family emblem you had snatched off the Hunter, waving it in his vision. Dontis froze, letting go of you hesitatingly. 

You cleared your throat, wasting no time in sitting up. “Best regards from your friend,” you told him, placing it in his hands before darting into the cell. You did not see Dontis clutch it tightly, storing it close to his heart. “Hey, a debt repaid, won’t you say?” you told Xanthus, kneeling before him. When he did not reply, you took hold of his shoulders, shaking him roughly to snap him out of whatever well he had sunk into. “We’re even, yeah?”

His eyes cleared gradually, and he groaned, swatting your hands away. “We’re even when we’re safely out of here,” he said, voice cracking. You supposed he had torn his throat to shreds with his ceaseless wailing. 

“I know the way. If you’d follow me, then, gentlemen.”

“I won’t go anywhere without my Love,” he snapped, glaring at you with such vigor that felt very unfitting given the fact you had risked your life coming here to break them out. 

“Glad to know you’re still the arrogant brat I met two centuries ago.”

“Glad to know you’re still the selfish prick who cares for nobody but themself. Coward.”

You bit your cheek, choosing not to argue. But you raised a single eyebrow, motioning around you. Xanthus was smart, he could figure out that you kneeling before him in this filth was the perfect antithesis to his opinion of you. 

It did not matter. As you walked through the twisting corridors, you wondered again and again what on earth had possessed you to give up a lonely castle in Transylvania for this. A promise, you supposed. A debt. A debt that by all means should have been repaid the moment you opened that door for both of them, but you supposed this added little extra mission was the interest chart that had accumulated over the centuries. 

Fine. You sighed, halting before another rusty door that did not even have the grace to have a latch this time. There was not even a lock!

“They’re in there,” Xanthus said breathlessly, already trying to barge in before Dontis held him back. They both looked at you, and you shot them a glare back as you stepped to the door. 

Fine. What could possibly be on the other side? 

You expected a person tied to a chair, perhaps. A table, with a bit of outdated equipment on it. You expected a startled man, whirling around and looking at you with wide eyes as you tore open his throat, relieved to finally have this over with. If this was the extent the Trimedians were organized, there was no need for you to leave at all. They were no threat. Still, the sound of a remote castle of a decent size somewhere in Romania sounded appealing. Maybe you would compel someone at the airport to change your flight. 

You pushed open the door. You were right about the person in the chair, but the barrel of the gun facing you was a surprise. For a long moment that could not have been more than a split second, you wondered if you felt lucky. 

What were the chances that these idiots had laced the bullet with something that could harm you? Aimed at the heart, if it was poisonous it would kill you. But what were the odds? What were the chances?

The graying man before you, narrowing his eyes as he kept the gun steady — was he human or mythic? Did he have quick enough reflexes to pull the trigger if you raised your hand to swat it out of his? Would the bullet fly past you, and lodge into the chest of one of your companions behind you? What were the odds? 

Did you feel lucky? Coward. You did not.

“A mouse in a trap,” he said, sounding vaguely familiar. “Have we met?” 

You wracked your brain. “I think so,” you said, trying to remember why he sounded familiar, trying to stall, stall, stall — what were you going to do now? Quick. Think fast.

There is a gun with possibly a deadly bullet in it pointed straight at your heart. The man holding it may or may not have supernatural abilities like yourself, making his reflexes on par with yours (if you recognized him, odds were that he was some type of mythic. Vampire if the blood on his teeth was anything to go by). 

The person — the bane of your existence, the reason you were in this mess — was passed out on the chair, bound by their wrists. They could not get up alone, so somebody had to snatch them. Dontis and Xanthus stood behind you, seen by the man, but not addressed yet. They were likely frozen in shock, trying to figure out how to proceed, trying not to alarm the man with sudden movements least he should shoot—

Vaguely, you saw a figure lunge past you — a noticeable absence of horns telling you Xanthus had bolted, tackling the man to the ground with his fingers pushing in his chest, scratching at it until he exposed the heart, cracking open the ribcage and plunging into his chest to grip it tightly before finally ripping it out in an act of revenge and with a scream of rage that felt so satisfying, part of him was disappointed at the quick death he had granted Audric. 

His frenzy had blocked out the gunshot, but you heard it clearly. It still echoed in your ears, the hole torn into your chest its painful counterpart. Xanthus glanced behind him, hearing your strained grunt as you collapsed to the ground, Dontis’ arms missing you by a second. 

“Was a good distraction, in the end,” you choked, the poison working through your body as your vision swam with black dots. Shit. There was not enough time to panic, darkness pulling you under like a wave crashing against the shore. “We—’re e— even?” 

Coward. Afraid to shuffle off the mortal coil without repaying your debts?

You had granted him more than the debt that you owed.

“Yes,” Xanthus said, his eyes carrying a heaviness you could not see clearly anymore. You were a sacrifice for his Love, a sacrifice to end the Trimedian. Wrong place, wrong time for you — and he would push you off the earth again and again if it meant keeping his Love safe. “We’re even.”

[litmot-archived]

desperately need one of pickle coming home injured after going outside and isaac treats their injuries and stuff, preferably also nsfw

Thorns

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

Warnings: talk of blood, Reader has scratches on their forearms

You let the front door fall shut behind you, not bothering to stay quiet as you walked straight to the bathroom on the ground floor. As you passed the office — the door always ajar now — Isaac raised his head. “You’re done early,” he began, but you didn’t stop, instead continuing your walk to the bathroom with buried steps. 

“Sorry, just— I don’t want to get blood on the ground,” you said. 

Before you could think too much about your words, there came the sound of a chair dragging across the ground, panicked footsteps all but running towards you. “Blood?” Isaac asked incredulously, his eyes wide as he followed you with bated breath. “What do you mean, blood? Where? Are you hurt? What happened? Talk to me, are you alright? Do you need— what do you need?”

“I’m fine, it’s nothing,” you said, putting your forearms under the running water in the sink. “It’s the rose bushes. Nothing serious, really. My gloves were a little short and when I cut them, the thorns were more stubborn than I anticipated. It’s not deep at all, look. It won’t even scar.”

Isaac hovered beside you, looking down at your arm. You were right, it was a scratch, really. A few droplets of blood had filled the cut, but it was hardly bleeding anymore. You wouldn’t even need bandages. But as he looked at your skin a sudden feeling of utter helplessness overcame him. His knees buckled, and he had to grip the edge of the sink tightly as a wave of dizziness hit him. 

His aversion to blood was a hindrance to his work on the rare occasions he had to deal with it — somehow the sight of it was enough to unsteady him — but seeing it on you, seeing you hurt, even as trivially as you were now, was nearly too much for him. 

“You should,” he began, swallowing audibly as his eyes remained on the traces the thorns had left, “you should clean this with disinfectant. Let me— let me get it.” He took a step forward, freezing in the doorway while he clung to the wood. For a moment he closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and tried to push away the lightheadedness that had overwhelmed him. 

“Isaac? Are you alright?” you asked in concern. The water of the tab stopped running, and he heard shuffling for a moment before you stepped up to him, your hands on his shoulders. “You know the disinfectant is under the sink, yes?”

He did know that, but it was somehow hard to think with the sight of your blood still in his mind. “I’ll get it,” he said, voice oddly strangled, but as he turned towards the sink again you stepped into his way. 

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t like seeing you hurt,” he said, slipping around you to kneel before the sink. “And I’m fine. There’s no need to be worried about me when you’re the one who’s bleeding.”

“I’m not badly hurt, Isaac. Relax,” you said, placing your hands on his shoulders. “I’m fine, promise. I mean sure, I’m a little offended that the rose bushes were that aggressive considering I only wanted to help, but my wounded pride aside, this really is nothing to worry about.” 

He sighed, shaking his head slightly to fight off the sudden lightheadedness that rushed back to him as he stood, looking at your arms again. “Stick to tulips next time,” he said, “or basil.”

You rolled your eyes, hissing as Isaac began wiping down your arms. “Right, but you like roses,” you said. “And I like them too, and the garden always smells amazing because of them and when we open the bedroom window their scent rushes in and it's my favorite thing in the morning. This is a small price to pay for this slice of bliss.”

Isaac hummed, unconvinced. As soon as he was done, he gathered your hands in his, placing a kiss on either of them. “An even smaller price to pay would be longer gloves,” he said. “And I will pay that immediately.”

[litmot-archived]

(Some) Sakuverse Characters as Songs

These thoughts have been fermenting in my mind for a while. Originally I wanted to turn this into something similar to my Sakuverse Characters as Paintings-Post, but I lacked both the time and motivation. So have this drastically watered down version of my original idea instead.

Isaac Rhoades -- Heavy In Your Arms, Florence + The Machine

I think Isaac would view his love as a heavy love ("My love has concrete feet / My love's an iron ball"). He views himself that way, considering the emotional baggage he brings into the relationship. Also, musically these somber but strangely soft tones together with the vulnerability of the lyrics create an ensemble that reminds me of Isaac's character.

Alex -- Gold, Sir Sly

Perhaps my characterisation of Alex is a bit off here, given the way his series ended. However, his ambition is an integral part of his character in my eyes. His self-worth is tied to his accomplishments, which is why I settled on this angsty-melancholic song. "Pocket full of gold and I hope you find / I hope you find your dream / And darling, never settle, settle, settle / Chasing down the devil, devil / Chasing down the gods and I hope you find / I hope you find your dream // I got a million ways of losing / But nothing in my life worth proving / Chasing, all my time is wasted" is fitting for his character in this regard, comprising how his ambition both destroys him and is simultaneously what gives him, in his own eyes, meaning while also leaving him unfulfilled.

Zaros Atha'lin -- Bridges, ALIKA

I think this works on two levels. First of all Zaros' political ideas quite literally being a policy of bridges, to bring Serulla together and reduce the cliff between the nobles and the people. "Now I see myself / Building up a world of bridges" feels like his whole policy.

Second, I think the longing in this song, together with both the vulnerability it expresses both in the lyrics ("Realized that all the lies I've told myself have died / Bring me to the place / Where I belong / Filled with all the memories and dreams I have ignored // I remember all the things that I went through / All the lies and blurry lines and city lights I knew / Now I'm strong enough to see what lays inside / And I can feel it all") and in the instrumental, as well as the overall power it gains especially around the 2:41-mark reflect both his ambition and the conflicting emotions he has in regards to the Earis.

Dontis -- Man a Express, Mellow Mood

I just think he would like Reggae. This song I believe is about living life to the fullest and to embrace all the experiences it brings. It feels like a message that aligns with Dontis' personality and his views in general. "And yuh laugh and yuh cry and yuh smile ever more" especially is a line that reflects this, considering that Dontis has suffered greatly in his past but remains kind and positive throughout his long life.

Asirel Cain -- The Mephistopheles of Los Angeles, Marilyn Manson

Thought of this as a sort of title-track to my Asirel novella.

This is largely based on the ominous and empowering vibe of the song. But I also think that the motif of Mephistopheles is fitting for Asirel. "Lazarus has got no dirt on me / And I'll rise every danger // I was fated, faithful, fatal" I think characterises Asirel's tremendous power and the person it has inadvertently turned him into.

Alternatively Blood Sport by Sleep Token is also very Asirel-coded to me.

Elias -- Are You Ready?, Maneskin

This is very based on the vibes of this song. The deep notes during the first chorus ("Ride a benzo, get your bands up" 0:41-048) sound dangerous while the high notes during the second chorus (1:34-1:53) have something wistful about them. The combination suits both Elias role as Warden's son and heir-apparent for the Wraiths as well as his more vulnerable side, his trauma and the fact that this was a life that was thrust upon him and which at least part of him fundamentally resents.

Rowan -- Je Veux, ZAZ

The lighthearted, feel-good vibe of this song similarly states to live life according to ones wishes and not mind the opinions and expectations of others expressed in the lyrics. "Je veux d'l'amour, d'la joie, de la bonne humeur / C'n'est pas votre argent qui f'ra mon bonheur" feels like something that suits Rowan both in the way he views life and how he wants to live it.

Cevyk -- Call Me, Blondie

[insert joke about summoning a demon here]

I think this song has something unhinged about it, and that makes me think of Cevyk. "Call me my love / Call me, call me any, anytime" feels like something he'd say to Iqsus just to mess with them.

Niall -- What Difference Does It Make?, The Smiths

The whole song sounds melancholic to me, plagued by some distant ache that still hurts even though it has scarred over. "So what difference does it make? / It makes none" is the resignation that can be found in Niall at the beginning of his series. "But I'm still fond of you" is the paradox he finds himself in regarding SB and their relationship, both as being someone who hurt him in the past as well as the object of his affections in the present.

Xanthus Claiborne -- Prelude, Op. 28: No. 4 in E Minor, Frédéric Chopin

Xanthus, out of all the characters, is the only one I think suits a classical piece. He has an emotional complexity to him that I feel is best expressed without words. I think the mixture of quiet sadness, longing, despair and resignation this piece goes through as it progresses tells the story of Xanthus life fittingly.

Thanks for reading! Let me know your thoughts on this.

[litmot-archived]

If you do not mind me asking, why is it that you have stopped taking requests permanently? And, does this imply you will never write for the Sakuverse Fandom again?

That is very much it. I’ve simply lost interest in the Sakuverse, the characters no longer entice me as they once did. With Saku shelving most of his established cast and sort of beginning a new chapter on his channel (that’s the way I view it at least) I feel like now is the appropriate time for me to retire. As I said, the stories don’t interest me anymore and the asmr-y storytelling as a whole genre has lost its appeal to me.

[litmot-archived]

Please can you write an Andrew fic where he comforts darling about an exam they got an A on instead of an A* or something of that sort (yes this did happen to me and I’m upset, I also miss Andrew 😔😔)

Yes understandable and I can relate, I hope you feel better soon.

Unfortunately my request are very much sealed shut forever. I have a handful of fic requests that I have had shelved for too long and feel too guilty not to write so I’m simply going through them currently before I, too, retire back into the void.

If anyone would like to write this I’d be delighted. Apologies again that I can’t be of service.

[litmot-archived]

Imagine Pet's reaction if Asirel were to return to his habit of calling on escorts. I don't think they'd like that very much.

[litmot-archived]

self-indulgent but isaac and pickle have an argument and because pickle has a strong fear of getting yelled at, they start crying in the middle of it

It Doesn't Matter

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

Warnings: dissociation/panic attack

“That’s a dead end. We shouldn’t follow up on it.”

You frowned, glancing down at the papers in your hand again. It certainly wasn't. The case had become tangled quickly, leaving a garbled mess behind that you could only work through with difficulty. 

The stack of paper on your desk had steadily grown over the last two weeks — ever since the gentleman with the dead brother and missing wife had walked in, requesting your services — and the stress of making no headway and spinning in circles had begun creeping up on both you and Isaac. The air had been laden with tension for a while now, and it seemed his simple dismissal was suddenly the spark that brought the walls around you down.

“And how would you know that?” you snapped, slamming the papers on your desk. You turned to glare at him, annoyance getting the better of you. “This could very well be something. The brother-in-law never liked him, so what if—?”

“It’s a waste of time,” he said briskly, not looking up from where he was scribbling furiously on one of the pages. “Listen to me for once. You don’t have the experience I have, so just do as I say and we’ll wrap this up quicker.”

You gaped at him for a moment. Finally, he raised his head to look at you, surprised by the sudden silence. 

“What?” Isaac asked, his eyebrows furrowing at your stunned expression. 

It felt like a storm cloud rolled over you. Your gaze darkened, your anger spiked and for a moment the thought that this truly wasn’t such a big deal, that he did have more experience than you and his many years of working in this field had to amount in his rarely deceiving instincts all vanished at the height of your frustration. 

“You’re not always right, you know!” you said, “just because you’ve been doing this longer than I have doesn’t mean that you know everything.”

“Pickle!” he yelled, slamming his hand on the desk as he rose to his feet. “Stop being difficult!”

His voice cut through the air sharply, and although his voice did not echo, you felt it ring in your ears long after the silence had swallowed the room once more. There was a rising tide somewhere inside you, making your ears ring with his enraged scream. Isaac still stood behind his desk, but you could not make out more than his silhouette. The office was blurry, and it took you a moment to realize that it was not reality slowly melting away, but your own eyes that had filled with tears.

Distantly, you thought you heard something that vaguely resembled your name. It was hard to make out, and you felt strangely detached from yourself, your body. It all felt distant, like you were suspended in midair or submerged in the weightlessness of water. 

The chair under you did not feel like more than a distant echo. Something so far away could not hold you up. No, you were about to fall. You were going to fall any moment now, and once you did, there was nothing that could break it anymore. You would fall forever, for eternity in this strange space of weightless infinity.

Your hands moved sluggishly, fingers curling around the first thing they grasped, but it was surprisingly pliable. Not your desk, not the armrest. It moved, guiding your arms to some other place, taking your body with it until you were leaning sideways, resting against something. Your grip tightened, fingers grasping what you slowly realized to be fabric. 

You felt something against the top of your head, a brief pressure. You tried to focus on it, tried to grasp at the feeling of the things around you, and the longer you did, the more you started to actually feel them. They got closer, no longer distant. 

There was a gentle but tight pressure around you. Arms, you realized, holding you tightly. You were leaning against something warm, solid, and as you pressed your cheek against it more — to make sure it would not give, would not disappear once you pressed against it — you could make out a faint beating. It was a little too fast to be soothing. 

“Hey,” a voice said, your brain putting the pieces together in a sudden flash of enlightenment. Isaac. Yes, you were in Isaac’s arms. “Are you with me again? It’s alright, I’ve got you.”

You hummed, too exhausted for words. You still felt a little shaky, a little too fragile to escape Isaac’s grounding embrace, but thankfully he did not seem to be pulling away. 

“I’m sorry I yelled,” he said quietly, placing another kiss on the top of your head, pulling you a little closer. “You’re safe with me. We’ll talk about this tomorrow, yeah? The rest of today is about you— about us.” 

[litmot-archived]

Hi Vic! Can please we get a fic of Isaac comforting pickle after they got too overstimulated and used the safe word? Like a soft comforting fic?

Everyone misses Isaac so much, it's been 8 MONTHS!!!!

Too Much

Isaac Rhoades x Reader

Warnings: heavily implied sexual content

“Red! Red!” you cried, gripping the sheets so tightly a distant part of your mind worried they would tear. 

Isaac stilled immediately, raising his head from between your shaking thighs to search your gaze. His grip softened, his thumbs soothingly caressing your skin. “Are you alright?” he asked, shifting to kneel beside you. He reached out a hand to brush your tears away, the other gently cupping your cheek as he looked at you. “Too much?”

You nodded weakly, still trying to catch your breath. Your body was still twitching, faintly shaking from being worked so thoroughly by Isaac. “‘M fine,” you gasped, wishing to reassure him. His forehead was creased, eyebrows drawn together in concern as he looked at you, no doubt wondering if he had overdone it. That would be a conversation for later. “Was— was good, ‘saac. Just can’t— can’t take any more.”

“Of course,” he said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “It’s alright. I’ll run a bath. What do you need?”

“Please,” you sighed, trying to relax. A bath sounded nice, and it would certainly help the strain on your muscles. You closed your eyes, the fog in your mind gradually lifting as you took stock of your body. You were exhausted, the pull of sleep all but impossible to resist. The bed dipped.

“Can you walk?” Isaac asked, his hands already resting on your upper arm. “I’ve got you, I’ll help you. Can you sit up?” 

You groaned, weighing your exhaustion against the prospect of a warm bath. Isaac did not give you much of a choice however, already helping you sit up and making your head spin. You gripped his arm to steady yourself, groaning again. “Slow down,” you said, “I’m a bit— a bit dizzy.”

“Sorry,” he apologized, keeping an arm around you as you felt him shifting around. Tentatively you opened your eyes, pleased to find the world no longer tilting. “Here,” he said, raising a glass to your lips. “Juice, my heart. It’ll make you feel better, trust me.” 

You sipped it slowly, humming in gratitude as Isaac set the glass back on the bedside table. 

“Ready?”

“Yeah,” you said, rising unsteadily to your feet. The warmth of the water really was a balm for your aching body as you sank into the tub. With Isaac behind you, and his arms securely wrapped around you while his hands carefully worked to clean you, massaging soaps into your skin, the temptation to fall asleep was too great to resist.

It was short lived, however. Soft lips pressed against the side of your head, the arms around you tightened, squeezing you gently. “Love, the water is getting cold,” he whispered, pressing another kiss to your temple. 

Begrudgingly, you sat up, allowing Isaac to slip out of the water. He wrapped himself in a towel, retrieving a second one before holding out his hands to help you up. As soon as you were dry — only your hair still a little damp — you collapsed back into bed, waving away Isaac’s offer for food to instead pat the mattress beside you and curling into his side as soon as he laid down. 

He chuckled, wrapping an arm around you again, holding you tight. “I’m sorry if I was too rough, or too eager,” he said, brushing your hair back and looking down at your tired expression. 

This was not the right time to talk, he could tell. But he needed to get the words out, they were weighing his heart with guilt — misplaced, the logical part of his brain supplied. That’s why you had a safeword, that’s why it was there, but still, he felt uneasy about the fact that you actually had to use it. 

You did not quite catch his words, eyelids drooping as you cuddled. “You’re good,” you mumbled, catching only the ‘sorry’ he had said, missing the implications, the guilt, the deeper meaning behind his words that you would have to unpack and talk about properly come tomorrow. For now, however, you simply basked in the aftercare he gave you, clinging to him in the way you both needed and muttering a soft ‘I love you’ into the silence to put his mind at ease.

[litmot-archived]

Can I get another Isis X reader. I need her….

Missing Sources

Isis x Reader

“This is wrong, you know.”

You looked up from the book you had been engrossed in for the better part of the day to glance curiously at Isis. She was sitting in the red velvet armchair opposite you, holding a cup of tea — part of a vintage set, complete with the saucer — in her hand, her pinky elegantly positioned.

“What is, darling?” you asked in confusion, marking the page and setting aside the book. You rubbed your eyes gently, soothing the slight ache from a day of reading. Isis did not mind, preoccupied with her own reading — something about a bond, but it was vampire business and you did not want to pry too much — so you had spent the day in amenable silence only occasionally interrupted by the soft rustling of paper. 

“The ‘brief history’ you are reading,” she said, her voice carrying a melancholy note. “The sources for the time are very limited, and you can only base so much on papyri found in Alexandria. It was far from my favorite city during that time.”

You pursed your lips, glancing at the thick monograph beside you. “I think it’s rather well researched,” you said, “given the limited sources available. The author paints a very concise picture, it’s clear she knows what she’s talking about.” 

“Yes. Sadly the fraction of the reality that has remained, and which she is forced to reassemble, creates a picture far removed from the truth. It’s quite tragic,” she took a sip of her tea, humming as the sweet taste of the added honey hit her tongue. She smirked, “I thought about becoming a historian, simply to pass the time and clear up some misconceptions, but I quickly realized that I could never be. I cannot prove my knowledge.”

You hummed, sinking against the cushions of the sofa. Absentmindedly, you thumbed through the pages of the book. The question struck you suddenly if it was worth reading at all. It was not true, after all. But you had no way of knowing what was and what wasn’t. You could ask Isis, of course, but listening to her explain the south-eastern provinces of the Roman Empire would certainly lead to a whole other picture than the one your esteemed historian painted on the pages of the book she had dedicated years of her life to. Was the past worth studying at all, if everything that remained of it was a mere shard of a shattered mirror — and the reassembled pieces hardly resembled the original? 

You sighed, putting the book aside. Enough of this for today, this reflection was making you melancholy. 

“Have you tried historical fiction?” you asked, leaning forward to snatch a chocolate cookie from the plate on the coffee table between you. Isaac had returned with a box filled with them, something about a thank-you gift from her latest star-crossed lovers. “You could write without the need of proof. It’s fiction, after all, and not a scientific article. Or” — you made an aborted gesture towards your monograph.

Isis hummed. “I have. Some have even turned into classics.” She laughed at your genuine surprise. “I’ve had many pen names, dear. But tell me, are you upset that the past is unknowable? I know my accounts only offer one perspective, but you’ll find me to be a very special source with excellent memory.”

“Is this your way of urging me to ask you questions about your past?” you tease. “Because I’m interested in you beyond the insight you may or may not give in to the questions scholars have been debating for decades.”

“Well,” she said, setting down her tea, “maybe I just want your undivided attention.” 

You clicked your tongue. “As if you don’t have that already.”

“You’ve been rather busy with your book today, dear.” 

“Jealous?” you asked, meaning to be teasing. As you leaned forward to grab another cookie, Isis’ hand shot out, fingers gently taking hold of your chin.

“What if I am?” she asked, a tinge of something darker colouring her voice. Possessiveness. “After all, I was left gazing at your lovely figure for a good half an hour after finishing my own reading with little more than passing acknowledgements from your side. And I have been” — she leaned closer, inhaling your scent for a moment before licking her lips — “rather starved for a kiss.”

Your pulse quickened at her words, eyes trained on hers. “Well, we can’t have that,” you said, voice thick. “I couldn’t stand the thought of you going hungry for me, dearest.”

Isis did not lunge forward, she was too elegant for that. Her movements were precise, quick, her lips on yours before you could fully react, her fingers tangling in your hair before you could fully wrap your arms around her. And if you heard the coffee table scrape against the hardwood floor — the tee thankfully not spilling onto the rich, purple tablecloth — it could not be because Isis was desperate to kiss you, feel you, taste you. No, it must have been your frail equilibrium.

“Are you satiated?” you murmured breathlessly as she broke the kiss, shooting a displeased look at the coffee table. 

“You’re overdoing it,” she said, licking her lips. She frowned, picking up one of the chocolate cookies. “I must say, these taste rather good,” she said before taking a bite. Then she smirked. “Or maybe that was just you.”

[litmot-archived]

Smile For The Camera

Dontis x Reader

You are having a bad day and seek out Dontis for comfort.

You felt wretched. The day had dragged on forever and the people you had encountered were all less than friendly. Today simply felt like one of those days where the universe seemed to have aligned itself to make everything go wrong, pushing you to the very edge of your endurance. 

From the snappy cashier — underpaid and stressed themselves, no doubt — to the elderly man on the sidewalk who had rudely told you to ‘get out of his way’ and your normally friendly neighbour all but ignoring you as you bid her good morning, slamming the front door behind her with more force than necessary. It was all you could do not to cry as you found yourself waiting impatiently for Dontis to open the door. He was taking unusually long and the thought dawned on you that perhaps he was not home at all. 

It had been an impulse decision, a detour from your way back to the store because his house was close by and he never failed to cheer you up. And you were in desperate need of some cheer now, a distraction, some comfort — anything but this rising tide of stress, sadness, and the feeling of inadequacy that had been steadily rising within you for a while now and was slowly tainting your thoughts. 

You knocked again, louder this time. Curse this mansion for not having a doorbell. Dontis had a rather extravagant taste, the golden knocker in shape of an open-mouthed lion was all but proof of that. You hoped he was not sleeping. You hoped he was not with someone, or otherwise preoccupied. You hoped he was home at all, but that possibility seemed less likely with every passing moment the mansion remained eerily quiet. 

Sighing, defeated, you turned, raising your head to look at the sky and blink away the tears that stubbornly came to your eyes, despite your best efforts. It was not that bad, right? 

The day could have gone worse. You were overreacting. It was just a dozen little things that had piled up into this monstrosity slowly draining away your joy, but it was fine. It would be. Maybe you just needed to sleep and let this day pass away. Tomorrow would be better. Probably. Most likely. 

The sky was bathed in gold, and you were sure you would have seen some smidges of red and orange as well, if not for your tears blending the colours together. You wiped your eyes furiously. What were you even crying about? You were just frustrated, that was all. Why had you allowed yourself to come bother Dontis in the first place? Nothing was wrong you just needed— you needed— 

“What a pleasant surprise!” came a gentle voice from somewhere behind you. 

Decidedly, you did not look at him, trying to dry your tears discreetly. What a mess, crying on his doorstep because what, people were rude today? 

“I’m sorry. If you knocked I didn’t hear you, dear hunter. Perhaps I should have left a note. I spent the day in the garden, my rose bushes needed trimming,” he said with a chuckle, pausing at your lack of response. “Is everything alright?”

You cleared your throat, hoping that your eyes were not as red as you thought they were. “Fine,” you lied. “I was just— just in the area, you know. Thought I’d come and say hi.” Tentatively, you turned around to glance at him, meeting his eyes briefly, before looking away again. 

Dontis was quiet for a moment. “I don’t mean to pry,” he said slowly, stepping closer until he was right beside you, trying to catch your gaze. You turned away, keeping your eyes on the sunset. To your horror, you felt tears gathering again. “But you don’t seem fine. What happened?”

You shook your head, heaving a deep sigh. “Nothing,” you croaked. You felt something tug on your arm, glancing down to see Dontis gently taking the grocery bag you held in a vice grip. 

“Why don’t we go inside? Stay for dinner, hm, and you can tell me all about this ‘nothing,’” he said, placing a hand on your arm to guide you towards the door. 

“It really is nothing,” you said, giving up the pretense and wiping your eyes with your sleeves. “Today was just difficult for no reason, well, sort of for different reasons but they’re all so inconsequential and— I don’t even know why this is affecting me at all. It shouldn’t matter but— but—” — you choked up again — “it all just piles up, you know.”

Dontis hummed, setting your grocery bag on the counter before turning back towards you. In an instant, you felt his arms wrap around you tightly, his scent washing over you like a tide of warmth and comfort. You could not fight the sob bubbling up inside you, leaning further into the embrace and clinging to him as you buried your face against his shoulder. 

“It’s alright,” he soothed, moving his hand to thread his fingers through your hair. “And it’s alright to cry too. I know things can be tough sometimes. You don’t need an excuse to cry or feel sad or frustrated. I’ve got you. I’m always here if you need me, my dear.”

You nodded weakly against his shoulder, taking a shuddering breath. Dontis was making you feel marginally better. Sometimes a hug could make all the difference.