#<- anyone who follows this tag has my heart. do you exist?

[avimaka]

...what? you didn't do that?

this is my second try posting this because i accidentally made this canvas like. 5.5k pixels wide. and naturally tumblr could not handle that. it's 3.5k now that's normaler (please work)

anyways! i haven't been able to stop thinking about this comic that @shimmershy did, and therefore, i had to draw my take on that scene. the amalgamate was very fun to draw. i also don't think i've ever drawn frisk so here is how i picture them

heres the unrendered version as well. i forgot to save it with the amalgamate's flat colours. just assume it was a bunch of grey (it was)

close up on them for the sake of better quality

[no alt text still; concussion, i cant focus on describing things without causing pain]

[bluberryfields]

This is what happens when you're raised by TV and trained in literary analysis

Beyond the crushing heartbreak of that finale, one thing in particular has stuck with me when I look at it in the context of S2 as a whole.

He lays out their relationship, "We're a team, a group. A group of the two of us. And we've spent our existence pretending that we aren't."

He then turns his head away and says, "I mean, the last few years, not really."

He pauses here, facing the interior of the bookshop. Really looks it up and down.

Turns back, "And I would like to spend" before choking on his words and looks toward the window. He can't finish saying something like "And I would like to spend eternity with you" because that's too much, too fast, for both of them.

But it's that "last few years" bit that has firmly lodged itself in my very broken brain.

According to Gaiman, it's been "a few years" since the end of Season 1. Armageddon has been averted. Heaven and Hell have reluctantly retreated. Crowley and Aziraphale have been effectively cut loose from their "sides," leaving them to form their own side.

So at the start of Season 2, we get a glimpse of the “fragile existence” they have carved out for themselves. To me, the biggest difference that we see is how they exist together in front of others. Going to the coffee shop, the pub, and the other shops along the street that Aziraphale has lived on for over 200 years. And don’t forget how they act in front of Nina, Maggie, and sweet, dim Muriel.

At the coffee shop, Aziraphale stammers a bit when Nina asks who Crowley is, but he still seems to have affection in his voice when he says, "We go back a long time."

Compared to Shakespearian "He's not my friend! We've never met before. We don't know each other!" panic, this is an incredible difference.

Of course, each time, Crowley is cool and cheeky and does nothing to indicate that they aren't a pair. Though, of course, he does deny it when Nina asks about Aziraphale being his side piece. “He’s not my bit on the side! He’s far too pure of heart to be anyone’s bit on the side.” And refers to him as an “Angel [swallows]I know.”

When they go the pub, Crowley's joy at doing something together in public that they do not normally do is super cute, including his cheeky order for Aziraphale's sherry. Then, when bringing the drinks over to the socially trapped Aziraphale, he greets Mr. Brown with a truly adorable, "Hello" and a signature DT smile. Then upon hearing how “excited” Mr. Fell is to host the meeting, he looks down and says, “Oh? You astonish me.” while Aziraphale sips his sherry and squirms.

We also watch as Crowley follows Aziraphale as he goes to each shop and talks to the owners about the meeting/secret ball. In theory, Crowley has no reason to tag along, and he certainly doesn’t help sway anyone who doesn’t want to/can’t go. He goofs around at the magic shop. He splays out on the bench, chin on hand, looking for all the world a husband waiting for his wife to pick out a dress at the department store. They are so married it’s ridiculous.

Finally, their behavior in front of Muriel while inside their sanctuary. Crowley sits on the arm of Aziraphale’s chair, somehow looking supremely comfortable on the old-fashioned furniture. He folds up those gloriously long limbs and presses himself as close as possible.

He smiles and plays along with Aziraphale’s coaching of Muriel in her disguise. Calls him Angel and asks to speak in private. And at the end, during the awful wait while Aziraphale talks with The Metatron, Crowley cleans up the shop and tells Muriel that he and Aziraphale will need some “us” time after all this. No beating around the bush. 

Without oversight, they can be openly together and happy. But Heaven just can’t let that happen. 

[luna-lovegreat]

Wait...

It's November. It's November first. Yesterday was October 31st, so October is over. ...it's over. Is it over?

Inktober, artober, whumptober, flufftober, linktober, every tag ending with -tober that's been circulating for the past month... is it over? I don't know why it's just hit me but...

This matters. So I will try to get the message across, even though I'm not the best at it sometimes

Fanartists, fan writers, artists, fic writers, people making comics, every single one of you that has created art for the past month...

Thank you

This is my first October on tumblr. When I started seeing the "tober" tags, seeing the posts from artists with wips, saying they were going to make something every day to a prompt, making masterposts to update with each day, I thought "cool"

But every day this month, I have gotten on here and smiled.

And I don't mean smiled. I mean I smiled at least 20 times every time I got on the app because I saw all the art and fics. I got to see artists/writers connect stories through different day prompts. I saw people having the most brilliant ideas and creativity, flowing from their hands into their posts. I saw artists responding to continuous asks, telling them how amazing they are. I saw artists getting behind, and keeping going.

I saw Free. Beautiful. Emotional. Amazing. Original. Creative. Art.

Every day

I haven't committed to anything of this before, so I can't directly relate to what you guys were thinking and feeling. But I'm willing to guess; I think you probably enjoyed it, because most won't do such a huge project unless they enjoy it. I think you probably saw it as a challenge you were willing to fulfill, and an opportunity to grow and develop your skills.

... but I'm also willing to bet you did it for us. For people like me, who love art, but don't do this specific type, who are in fandoms, who love tracking and watching you art and sending you compliments, who take joy in your work. For the other artists (and writers!) who admire each others styles and love to learn from each other.

If anyone ever tries to tell me that humans are inherently evil again, I will strap them to a chair, pull up these posts and say look. Look at what these people did. Look me in the eyes and tell me these sorts of actions don't come from the most loving hearts. Tell me these people don't want to make others happy, that they aren't inherently good. And I will tell you you're wrong.

I have so much going on, yet somehow it slipped into my life that I was constantly looking at your art for the joy of it without me even noticing.

And how is it possible. That we have such a beautiful community of people here that we will share. And communicate. And exchange compliments. And literally do things and send asks solely for the purpose of making someone smile.

I'm almost crying by now. God I can't express it well enough! But I am so. So. Grateful

You guys brought me a month of joy! You gave headcanons, and art, and stories!

Even yesterday, Halloween, I was blown away. Because I had expected... I didn't expect anything. And then I log on and see people sending happy halloween asks, exchanging doodles of candy, and headcanons and gifs.

And some are still catching up to the schedule or whatever, and that's ok! But at the beginning of this post, when I was simply realizing it was November, I asked myself "is it over?"

Is it over?

... I don't think so. I've seen artists say they're going to continue and expand on a piece they made and especially liked this month. Some people are still continuing, catching up to a voluntary deadline. All those masterposts with your whump/fluff/link/ink tober art? I know many as well as myself will be going through, looking over your posts with smiles, catching up on some things they missed this month... it will continue in the people and artists I didn't know existed before, but now follow. In the skills and growth in creativity! In the community we've grown, and art you've made, and the art to come, at a normal rate like every other month, even if it's not October anymore!

But my artists, writers... thank you so much. I don't know if you guys know how valuable and amazing you are. How incredible it is that you exist! People say it's amazing we exist under a sky of such stars, but how incredible is it that you made a stranger on the internet smile every day! Your life is so. So. Valuable. I can't even express how grateful I am that you exist, that you somehow are selfless enough to share the most beautiful parts of yourself simply to create, and to create joy. Thank you so so much.

(And this applies to all artists, in any fandoms, not just mine. And I'm just as grateful to people who couldn't do something every day, or only one day! You still share your art, you're just as... incredible. You are incredible.)

Okay.

So I'm gonna do this, and if others want to do it in the reblogs that's great! I do not care at all about reblogging or likes, but I want to make the people that have brought me such joy some appreciation- I hope I can bring you even a smidgen of the light you have brought into my life. So I'm gonna tag all the artists/writers I know of/can think of that have done any sort of October challenge, all of you creators that have made me smile. If people wanna want to tag others in the reblogs or replies to spread love that's cool.

(Basically I don't know social customs or anything at all, so if you don't want me to tag or if I was supposed to do something different or something let me know I have no idea what I'm supposed to do)(if I like accidentally tagged someone who isn't an artist/writer or forgot someone I follow... sorry)

@skyward-floored @kikker-oma @adrift-in-thyme @blueskittlesart @zeldaseyebrows @smilesrobotlover @bahbahhh @soso-dedeck @lennsart @arecaceae175 @illcamp @breannasfluff @solarfire-art @26kabeuchi @cathianemelian @truffeart @scribbly-z-raid @uniquevoidflowers

To all the artists and writers out there: thank you so much!!! You are amazing and I'm glad you exist. Your life is precious, and you matter. Thank you so much for sharing your beauty with us, we love you too!!!!!

... yeah. Just want yall to feel loved... because you are. Again, thank you. Thank you so so much to my beautiful creators who create joy as well as art, who keep storytelling alive. Just... thank you.

:)

[thelov3lybookworm]

Can I request a cardan x reader fic? Anything you want to write! Just gimmi my baby there isnt much of him on this app.🥺

Weeping heart

Summary: Y/n has seen cardan go through lovers like they're wrappers of chocolates. One in his hand before the previous is even in the dustbin.

Now he has found Jude, and she does not know what to do.

•○●⛦●○•

A/n: anon thank you so much for this request! i love you so much for this. It was such a good writing exercise honestly. This is mainly pining, maybe angst.

Also, this marks the beginning of me writing for characters outside of the acotar universe, so I'm very excited

also I didnt tag anyone because the general taglist i have was for acotar.

(i might be down to write a part 2 👀)

(not proofread)

Enjoy!

•○🌑○•

She bit her lip as she stared up at her best friend, trying to contain the smile that threatened to overtake her features.

"Let me see that smile, beautiful." He grinned lazily at her, his dark eyes twinkling under the rays of sunlight that penetrated the thick canopy of leaves above their head. They were currently seated under a weeping willow, hidden away from the whole world outside. Where only the two of them existed, and nothing else mattered.

The place was special to Y/n and Cardan. This was where the two of them would meet all the time, just the two of them, away from their friends and family. In here, they didn't have to pretend, didn't have to act like everything was okay. They could be themselves, and not care about getting hurt.

He leaned closer to her, searching her eyes, his eyes and features softer than Y/n had ever seen before.

"Shut up." She mumbled, but that action had her lips splitting into that smile she was trying so hard to supress.

His grin widened. "There we go."

His hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb absently brushing her lower lip, his gaze following it with a hungry look. Then his eyes lifted to hers, a question in them.

She dipped her chin almost imperceptibly.

That was enough for him, and he leaned forward, his lips getting closer and closer to hers.

She let her eyes fall shut.

But the kiss never came.

•○🌑○•

She opened her eyes, wondering why he hadn't yet kissed her, and found herself staring at the ceiling of her room.

She blinked blearily, wondering what the hell happened, and then she realised.

It had been a dream.

She closed her eyes again, heaving a sigh as she willed herself to go back to sleep, back to that dream, hoping he'd kiss her before she woke up again.

Of course, that was very nearly impossible.

Because someone decided in that moment that it would be a good idea to knock on her door.

She was certain she knew who it was.

Still she called out, demanding the identity of the knocker.

The answer was immediate. Cardan.

She groaned lowly, dragging her hands down her face.

He didn't wait for her to let him in. The permission wasn't ever needed between the two. That hadn't changed. Yet.

The next moment, he had barged in through the doors, a grin on his stupid face.

She sat up, trying to look anywhere but his face. Heavy emphasis on trying.

"Y/n, guess what happened."

"I am not in the mood, Cardan."

She winced internally. She was being cruel. He had done nothing wrong. It was not his fault he didn't know of her feelings. She had no right to be rude to him, especially when he was so excited about something.

He wasn't bothered by her lack of enthusiasm. He simply plopped down on her bed as she climbed out of it, getting ready for the day as he launched into a story of how after last night's revel, Jude had told him to wait in their bedchambers while she walked into the closet, her skirts swishing around her legs.

How she had retuned without it.

Y/n tried not to pay attention to the details, but she couldn't help it. She had never been able to ignore what Cardan said, never been able to let anything he said go unheard. He had spent nearly all his years being unheard because no one considered him worthy of their time.

She had long ago decided that she was not going to be one of those people.

She heard everything, and her torturous brain created all the images Cardan's words conjured. Her traitor of a heart clenched, but she ignored it.

"That's great Cardan." She said when he finished speaking, and when she looked at him, he was practically glowing with happiness.

Y/n felt guilty for being jealous of the mortal who had everything Y/n ever wanted, but she couldn't bring herself to care when her heart was breaking into pieces everyday.

"It feels like I've waited for this an eternity. Never thought I would get to have Jude in my arms."

She gave him a smile. "I need to meet up with some generals this morning. I need to leave."

He nodded happily, straightening from where he'd been lying on her bed. She watched him walk out of her room, a knot forming in her throat, her resolve hardening.

She needed... she knew what she needed.

•○🌑○•

Jude had her eyebrow raised, and it concerned Y/n how a mere mortal's judgement could make her nervous.

"Tell me again why you want to go on this mission?"

Y/n reigned in a frustrated sigh. "There is no real reason. I just wish to explore the Elfhame more."

The look Jude gave her told her she saw right through the act. But she didn't push the mater.

"There has been rumours of a rebellion on the other side of Elfhame. If you really want to go on this mission, then you need to know that this is an incredibly long and dangerous mission. You'll not only have to investigate the place, but also squash any hint of rebellion you find."

Y/n gave Jude a smile. "Sounds amazing."

"Sure it does." Jude's eyes narrowed as she continued. "If you need more time away to, as you say, to explore, then after you finish this quest, have a tour around Elfhame and meet up with people who have associated with Madoc before. Make sure they are not plotting something behind our backs."

Y/n dipped her chin in a nod. "When can I leave?"

"Before the week ends."

"So does that mean I can leave right now too?"

If possible, Jude's eyes narrowed further and she stood. At that moment, the door behind Y/n opened, and she stiffened as the smell of his perfume reached her.

"Y/n! I thought you were in the meeting with the generals. What are you doing here?"

Y/n smiled stiffly, turning to look at Cardan.

"I had something important to discuss with Jude." She gestured with her hand.

Cardan nodded, as if that was the most understandable thing in the world.

"What were you talking about?"

"Nothing-"

"She is leaving on a long mission-"

Jude and Y/n spoke up at the same time, and Y/n had to resist the urge to smack her forehead.

Cardan's head swung towards Y/n, and he stared at her with wide eyes, his mouth opening and closing, but no words came out.

Y/n turned to Jude, letting some of the fury at her secret being revealed show in her eyes. And then she smiled tightly. "Could you send that list of people and areas where the rebellion is rumoured to be to my room? I need to begin packing."

Jude's eyebrows were high, but she nodded. Y/n bowed, then turned on her heel and strode away, ignoring Cardan and the way he was trying to gain her attention.

As she left the room, she heard him following and calling for her, but she ignored that too.

Just the way she had always ignored her weeping heart, the one that beat solely for Cardan.

The one that was broken beyond repair now.

•○🌑○•

[spotsandsocks]

Fuck it Friday!

@tizniz @diazsdimples

As they say I did not mean for this to exist and yet here we are 1.3k later. Will put on ao3 later and tag everyone later- in my lunch and running out of time. And I need to set this free so I can know peace.

I got in my Eddie feels - aren’t we all right now, had thought and now… have some pain with a hopeful ending. I’m still sold in eddie being so deep in comphet he has no idea what to do. This is the push he needs. Demi Eddie for the win. No Eddie bashing here! Chris loves his dad and wants to help.

When you walk into your living room and find you parents, your son and your best friend sitting there waiting for you, you know things are bad.

To be honest he should of expected something like this.

Eddie stands frozen, awaiting his fate as his dad speaks first.

“We need to talk son.”

At least that’s true Christopher has barely said a word to him since it happened. Not that he blames him.

“We’re worried about you.”

Buck goes next but those words aren’t new he’s already said that and again Eddie doesn’t blame his friend for his feelings. Like he said last time he’s worried about himself too. It’s hard to get his head around the recent choices he’s made harder to think about the consequences.

It almost like it wasn’t him making the decisions. It’s almost like he doesn’t know who he is anymore but then has he ever?

“I’m going to go to Texas”

The third sentence comes from Christopher and is possibly the worst thing he’s ever had to listen to and Eddie has had to hear heartbreaking words so many times.

“What?”

That’s his voice. the first thing he’s said but it’s a barely a whisper. Surely even with everything that’s happened Chris can’t mean that.

His son looks at him, calm and steady and repeats himself.

“I’m going to Texas with grandma and abuelo.”

Eddie turns to his parents all his hurt and betrayal rushing to the surface, he’d thought… he’d let them back in, trusted them

His voice is louder now, “How could you? Why? Why would you try and take him away from me again. I thought..”

Chris stops him in his tracks

“They didn’t ask me. I asked them.”

There’s no words available to respond to that.

“Dad?”

His heart hurts. His head too, everything hurts. He’s fucked up again. Again, again, again. The worst things he knows he deserved this, he caused this nightmare it’s his fault, his fault every time.

Chris’ voice sounds far away.

“It’s not ‘cos I’m mad.”

Eddie doesn’t even hear him. He’s found words and they sound desperate.

“I’ll come with you.”

If Chris wants to leave he’ll do it. No matter the cost. No matter what he leaves behind.

Then that sacrifice is taken from him too.

“No. I don’t want you to.”

He can’t breathe. He’s dizzy, he can’t think. What has he done?

He can’t hear them when they call him.

“Dad?”

“Eddie?”

“Son? Mijo?”

“Eddie?”

“Dad?!”

He turns from them all and he runs.

An unheard voice chases after him.

“I’ll go.”

*

Standing by his sink trying to breathe like he’s been taught when this happens to him he doesn’t need to know who followed him when the footsteps stop.

Buck. Always Buck.

“He’s not trying to punish you”

He can’t turn around. Can’t look, not yet.

“Feels like it”

Soft and concerned, that’s how he sounds. Buck sounds like that a lot recently.

“He’s not. He wouldn’t. He loves you.”

There’s nothing but bitterness in his own words.

“Does he? Maybe he shouldn’t.”

“Eddie!” There’s censure in that word, Buck obviously disagrees and disapproves of that sentiment.

“He loves you. He’s angry and he’s hurt but he still loves you. You can be upset with someone and still love them. I think you know that better than anyone.”

He does.

“Then why is he going.”

He wishes he didn’t sound as heartbroken as he feels. Wishes he could still manage to hide some of his heart from this man.

“Because you need him to.”

Spinning around he turns on his best friend to challenge the stupidity of those words.

“What? I need him here with me. He has to stay with me.”

“Eddie.” Buck’s face and voice hold nothing but aching sympathy. It’s like a knife cutting him open which isn’t fair he’s already got so many wounds.

Then it gets worse because a new voice enters the kitchen.

“Dad… you always tell me I need to be myself, that that’s good enough.”

Eddie stares at his son standing there, just behind Buck, so tall now, so much older than he is in Eddie’s heart.

“But I don’t think you do that. You should do that if you want me to.”

It’s all to much and even rubbing his face doesn’t stop him feeling tired and defeated.

“Chris what are you talking about?

Buck looks down at Chris who nods. There’s unspoken words flowing between them and it’s obvious they’ve been talking about him.

Chris says “Buck can tell you. He worked it out. And he’s right. I do love you.”

Then he walks away, leaving Eddie staring at his friend and waiting for answers.

“Eddie, its it’s like… well, you were a dad and a solider and a medic and a husband. All before you were 20. Man! That’s a lot!!”

Buck takes a step closer.

“Hell Eddie I was a kid at nineteen, a baby, I had no idea who I was what I wanted, and you had to be all that. And your dad told me you had to “be the man of the house” when you were even younger than that.

So who are you? How can you know?

You’ve been so many things for everyone else. You try so hard to be “normal” I see that and I I know you think you’re broken, but you’re not.

You just haven’t really met you yet. How could you, when did you have the time?

That’s why Chris is going away. Just for the summer. He wants you to have time to be you. Find out who Edmundo Diaz really is.”

Eddie listens stunned and horrified. Are they right? Is that all true. He’s terribly afraid it might be.

Buck smiles soft, eyes still worried.

“It’s ok to go look for him.”

His words get stuck for a moment but this is Buck. He can say this to him.

“What if I don’t like him when I find him? What if he’s … not normal?”

“What’s normal huh? And seems unlikely- I think I know the real Eddie Diaz a little bit at least and he’s pretty great. Always will be.”

Buck’s close enough to touch now. He really wishes he would. He’d like a hug.

“Eddie, your life gave you no room to look for what you truly want for yourself. You have to do that now or I’m scared what might happen to you. You need time and space..”

“I don't want to be alone.”

The words leave his lips scared and true and then he gets something he wants for himself for the first time in a long time as Buck folds him into a hug.

He gets to be held while Buck speaks quietly.

“You won’t be. You got me. You’ll always have me. You told me I could have you back any day, well it’s any day and here I am - I’m not going anywhere.”

It’s a lot to deal with, think about but maybe he can do it with help.

“Promise?”

Buck’s body shakes with a laugh

“Pinky promise and Maddie would kill me if I broke one of those.

“He’ll come back?”

Eddie lets himself be held and given comfort by the only person who could. Which is probably something else he needs to think about.

“Of course he will, this is his home, you’re his Dad.”

He can share his fears with this man, he knows that he has before and he does again now.

“I don’t know if I know how to be anything else.”

Buck’s arms tighten around him.

“I know, but you’ll work it out cos even if you’re not sure who Eddie Diaz is, I am and I know he can do anything.”

Buck sounds so sure, maybe he’s right, maybe with help and time he can work out who he really is and what he really wants and then once he knows that, maybe he can find it.

Buck keeps holding him, keeps believing in him and that he can do anything even find happiness.

Maybe he can and maybe he won’t have to look very far.

[rebelfell]

I love your writing so much it's giving me so much joy. I was close to dropping out of the Eddie fandom because I couldn't enjoy the current trends of writing him but you write him so well I'm falling in love again. Do you have any writers on here that inspire you or that you would recommend to follow if that's ok.

❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

Oh. Oh, anon. The way I wish I could print this out and hang it above my mantle. And I don’t even have a mantle. Thank you so much, truly.

I think I would have to tag every single writer in this fandom to accurately portray who inspires me. There is such a wealth of work about him, there’s something for everyone out there.

Whatever version of Eddie you want to read, he exists, and it’s not a matter of anyone’s version being better/worse, but what speaks to you.

I am gonna list some of my favorites, because I deeply want to give people their flowers, but my brain is also mashed potatoes and I hate for anyone to feel overlooked/left out.

So this is BY NO MEANS a complete list.

My sideblog @madeofmunson has pretty much everything I’ve read and my blathering recs. I’m gonna link this post I made last year, in which I babbled about some of the stories that really impacted me as I entered the Eddie fandom.

A number of them are what I would consider to be modern classics in the fandom, so I doubt you’ve missed them, but just in case 😘

And the rest are going under a cut because I am a loquacious so and so (if you couldn’t already tell)

@aphrogeneias writes such a fun, silly, goofy Eddie, but WATCH OUT because he’ll hit you with the feels out of nowhere. rockstar!eddie and his assistant make my knees weak on the regular.

@bettyfrommars has it out for me, specifically. They ruin me over and over and KEEP GETTING AWAY WITH IT (partly because I keep going back but that’s neither here nor there)

@br0ck-eddie is the undisputed reigning champ of soft, sweet eddie. They put out all of these little vignettes that make me feel so warm and gooey inside like I’m literally butter in the microwave.

@jo-harrington’s mind is WILD. I don’t even know how they come up with some of their concepts and I can only imagine what it’s like to create whole universes in your head from nothing.

@lesservillain fucks my brain up every time they post. I learned a whole lotta stuff I never knew about myself from their omegaverse fics 😳 Namely what the omegaverse was…

Read Red String and thank me later.

@littlexdeaths I want to put in my pocket and carry around with me all the time. They will start with just a little blurb and the next thing you know you’re swept away in the current of a whole saga and desperate to find out what happens next.

@lonelysatellites is a devastatingly good writer. I still think about Safe Hands and Bruises and how they altered my fucking brain chemistry. Actually, now that you mention it…I might need to go re-read them…again…

@mrsjellymunson is a radiant ball of light. They write stories that are just FUN and silly and sexy and they deserve only the best 💖

@somnambulic-thing is…an enigma. They have the capacity to write something so emotionally devastating I have to lie in bed and stare at the ceiling for 10 hours about it. Or they will write something that is so silly and lighthearted it makes your belly ache with joy and love.

And then go and write something that is BOTH.

@the-unforgivenn is literally the sweetest soul who ever lived, I think they were a piece of candy in a past life. They write a great Eddie and a great Corroded Coffin (specifically Gareth) became they really nail that band banter/dialogue.

@trashmouth-richie makes me horny and makes me laugh and makes me horny all over again. They write with a real razor sharp wit and confoundingly good smut 😵‍💫

@urhoneycombwitch is so creative, so skilled. They create the kinds of Eddie’s that burrow under your skin and make their home there. Roomate/neighbor!eddie have my heart.

@word-wytch just received a lot of the brunt of my flailing about one of their chapters, so if you haven’t read Don’t Stand So Close To Me - DO IT.

Seriously there are still so many more 😭 But I gotta stop or I’m never gonna actually post this. If you’re reading this and your name isn’t here, it so would be if I had infinite time ♥️ Yes, you.

I did not even touch on my Steve writers???????? (see @stuffedwithsteve for them)

[flowercrowngods]

knightmærs

love: saying "i love you" even when you're scared written for @steddielovemonth day 20 (@quinns-shadowy-arts)

M | ~3.1k | tags: medieval-ish au, prince!steve, lovers to enemies who are still lovers but it’s intrigue cw: torture (both implied and explicit), past & on-screen brainwashing, manipulation, angst, violence, open ending, mild gore, traditional fairytale imagery

princemær

It is not the sensation of cold steel touching his throat that makes him halt, the blade against his skin a feeling so familiar these days that he barely falters in his steps anymore. Nor is it the clearly spoken threat of, “One wrong move, Kas, and I will paint the soil with your blood so that something good may come of your existence after all.” 

Original, that. Eddie is not loath to admit it. 

And were this valiant knight anyone else, he surely would have worked his clever tongue to make it count, at the very least, that they should have caught him at last. Judging by the determination in the man’s hazel eyes and the absolute calm in his hand, sword unwavering against Eddie’s throat, he would have paid gravely for it. 

As it is, though, Eddie can only stare into the eyes of his imminent captor, frozen to the spot and freezing yet more when he finds no trace of recognition in those eyes. 

What did they do to you? he wonders desperately, so forlorn in the throes of distress he finds no wherewithal to struggle against four men of the Prince’s guard as they roughly disarm and bind him. He doesn’t take his eyes off the Prince, aching for just a hint of recognition, even a glint of betrayal and hatred – but all he can find is cold nothingness as the Prince holds his gaze, looking down at Eddie from his royal mare. It’s not one Eddie recognises, and he is reminded of the years he has gone without those eyes in his life. 

“The King is expecting your return,” says the Prince, sheathing his sword when one of his men binds Eddie to the back of his horse; the first of many tortures, he is sure.

Or rather, the second, with the way the Prince is looking at him, speaking to him without that familiar melody to his voice. It is monotonous now, and Eddie wants to become the monster again that they all make him out to be, if only to rip out the throat of the person who did this to him. The person who took the Prince’s voice, his smile, his memories. 

He would gladly become a monster for him all over again. 

“A sword has been made for your head, after all. And a feast for your demise.” 

And with that, the Prince spurs his mare into a trot, his loyal guardsmen following just behind him, pulling Eddie with them. It is a small miracle that he does not stumble and fall, the floor beneath his feet unsteady as cotton as all feeling leaves his body and the world rewrites itself around him and this very moment. 

Prince Steven wants him publicly executed. That is not what leaves Eddie’s stomach with a wave of nausea he barely manages to swallow down, panting and gasping for air as he is from running after the horses. 

No, what leaves him with a frozen bloodstream and a panicked paralysis of the mind is that Prince Steven recognises him no longer. Remembers not the history that lies between them. The sacrifices made. 

Were the situation any different, allowing for tears and curses cried into the dark of night without threat of detection, Eddie would have wailed. Wept at the realisation that he should have never left Steve to the claws of the King and his advisor. 

What did they do to you? he agonises, staring at the familiar blues that attire the Prince so tragically familiar. And how do I get you back before you spell doom for yourself with my own blood?

*** 

Foolishly, Eddie has spent years of his life thinking he would never be presented with this view again: The palace in all its glory, sandstone nary white and golden, shining and gleaming in ways more sublime than the sun herself. It stole many a night from him, the thought of this vision and the heart it holds inside, a keep more than a palace, and just as out of reach for the hands of a man deemed a traitor to the kingdom. 

But now here he is, stumbling on bleeding feet as the horse drags him into the courtyard of what used to be his home so many winters ago he has lost count. People gave gathered in the streets and alleys and up by the windows, chancing a look at the man condemned, sweat and tears dried and crusted on his cheeks, ripped clothes showing bleeding wounds from falling when the Prince demanded they ride faster. 

He can scarcely hold his own weight anymore, his feet aching and burning, his entire body on fire and dehydrated, the world around him spinning just quickly enough that he takes too long to realise it when the Prince cuts the rope from the horse’s saddle and takes a hold of it instead. Holding Eddie like a mutt on a leash – and he’s panting like one, too. 

Still he catches his breath long enough to lift his chin and look at the Prince, showing defiance in one simple act that in another lifetime counted as devotion. But he wants to look at him. Wants to drink him in, changed though he might be. 

“Will you lead me to death now, Your Majesty?” 

The Prince says nothing as he rebinds Eddie’s wrists, securing them to his chest so he can’t easily break free and the Prince’s neck in the process. A wave of pride washes over him, even as he realises that he must succumb to being a prisoner for now with no means to escape. 

“I am but your humble subject. Where you lead, I will follow,” Eddie says with a wavering voice, just barely resisting to bow before his Prince for dramatic effect and hoping that would conceal the truth to his words. 

“One more word, snake,” he says, cold eyes boring into Eddie’s like a blade of ice and leaving trickles of fear in their wake, “and I will personally see to your death being so slow and painful, you will have forgotten your own name just before I am done, leaving you not enough time to remember. You will spend eternity wandering and finding no peace. Finding not even your name, as all you are has been replaced with pain.”  

Eddie flinches away from him unwittingly, hating the cold smirk that infests that beautiful face. His Prince wouldn’t talk like that. His Prince would not resort to threats of torture, inflicting fear wherever he sets foot. 

He had heard the stories, tales of a Prince changed, accounts of the Golden Prince dimmed and dulled, a tender heart hardened and smooth edges roughened to hurt whoever dared to touch him. The first few years he had heard the tales, and still he had chosen disbelief and doubt. Refusal to believe it. 

His Prince would never. Stevie could never. 

And yet. 

“What happened to you?” he whispers, the words leaving his mouth before he can stop them, and he watches as something shutters behind those familiar eyes. 

“You cut out my heart. All those years ago, when you killed him. I intend to do the same to you.” 

Eddie swallows, the words not making sense. He has killed many a man, those who deserved it and those who did not, but whom could he have killed to elicit such a response from the Prince? 

“Whom?” he dares ask, preparing for a blade in his stomach or a fist in his face, ready for the guards to pull him back and pummel him until he does indeed forget his name and the rest of the world for a while. 

But the Prince stands his ground, his cold gaze nary lifeless even as Eddie’s vision swims. 

“Eddie.” 

And all the blood flees his body in a rush as understanding dawns on him, leaving yet more confusion as he hears his own name fall from the Prince’s lips with such barely concealed grief and sadness that it makes his knees buckle. 

“I intend to repay you for what you have taken from me. Settle the blood debt. Three days from now, it shall be my hand on the sword that will have your head.”

Eddie is too stunned to speak, too exhausted from two days on his feet, dragged on his feet and on his back, and the unfamiliar sensation of fear grips his whole body and intensifies the aches and pains he feels until his legs give out and he lands on his knees in front of his Prince, close to weeping once more. 

A hand comes to rest on his chin, tipping up his face so he can meet those royal eyes, and Eddie finds himself wishing for the blade instead. 

“Good,” Prince Steven says, his voice quiet, only for Eddie to hear. “I want to hear you beg for your life.” 

Eddie cannot keep a hold of the tear that breaks free and rolls down his face, leaving a trace for the Prince to follow as he undoubtedly marvels at having the great Betrayer on his knees and at a loss for words. 

And Eddie knows he will beg. But not for his life.

*** 

Torture does come, but not from his Prince. 

Instead it is Henry, the King’s advisor, who takes great pleasure in taunting him, leaving his body bloodied and bruised before he applies whatever concoction he cooked up that will leave Eddie feeling like his insides have turned to flames, leaving him to grunt and bite down on his screams as Henry weaves tales out of thin air laced with blood, sweat and tears. 

“You were always so gullible, the both of you,” Henry continues, though Eddie must have missed the beginning of his words, as even these ones barely reach him through the pain. 

“What did you do to him?” he asks around a mouthful of blood, spitting at Henry’s feet, revealing in the sick twist of his mouth that Eddie can just barely make out as his vision blurs dangerously. 

“What did we do to him? Oh, even a decade later you are still the same stupid boy you were then, hmm? It is you who did this to him. It is you who betrayed him, killing Eddie Munson and becoming Kas The Betrayer. Do you not recall?” 

His world tilts suddenly as Henry fills his mouth with a bitter liquid, clamping his mouth shut so Eddie has no choice but to swallow it all. 

“Surely you do remember the way you shoved your blade between Munson’s ribs on your way out of this cell all these years ago, cutting out his heart and making it your first feast of your newly-won freedom. Surely you remember betraying the Prince’s trust and then killing his lover and his best friend. You must remember, stupid boy, and know that your execution will bring freedom to the Prince’s mind that is so trapped in its vengefulness.” 

Nausea overcomes him and he retches, but Henry prevents him from throwing up and emptying his bowels to rid himself from whatever the alchemist uses to cloud his senses and reshape the world to his very own liking. 

“Shut up,” Eddie wheezes, earning a well-placed punch for his troubles. “Don’t touch him. Don’t you… Don’t you touch him.” 

A smile fills his vision as Henry comes close to hum as he turns Eddie’s face this way and that, keeping him from shaking it as images of a false history manifest in his mind. 

“Oh, I won’t have to touch him. See, he will realise what he has done on the scaffold. The veil over his eyes will be lifted when your heart stops beating, all the pieces will fall into place, but still he will be blind, for the veil will be replaced with the ghost of you, slowly fading beneath him.” 

Henry is circling him, stalking him like a predator his prey. Eddie has not been prey in so long. He does not know how to suppress the shivers or the horror at the tale woven around him. 

“And then, sword still in hand as it drips with your blood, despair will overcome him and he will follow you. The kingdom will be freed of the King’s pest of an heir, and I will lend his grieving Majesty a helping hand in ruling his kingdom. That is, of course, until he, too, ultimately succumbs to grief for his only son, leaving only myself to rebuild and reshape first the kingdom and then the whole world just the way I want.” 

He comes to a stop in front of him, another dark green flask in his hand. 

“You are but a pawn in this, Kas.” 

More of the bitter liquid flows down his throat and Eddie almost chokes on it, coughing it up and trying to resist, but Henry is stronger than he is. Always has been. 

And with poison in his ears and his bloodstream alike, Henry’s words grow truths inside Kas’s mind; the memory of Eddie Munson dying on his blade, the blood dripping down his fingers as he takes a bite of the man’s heart, and the prince’s screams in his ear at this ultimate betrayal, for that heart belonged to him. 

When he loses his grasp on consciousness, out of breath and out of his mind with pain, he wishes for the scaffold. He wishes for the Prince to take his life and settle the debt. Avenge his love. Avenge what Kas can only ever dream about. 

***

Gradually, over the span of only three days spent in either sensory deprivation or torture, Henry manages to drain the dredges of Eddie’s false identity and replace them with what really happened; replace them with Kas. With guilt, with shame, with a debt so severe it could never be paid back as long as Kas remains alive. 

He forgets about most of Henry’s visits, wakes up with new injuries and new memories, the reserves of water left for him tasting bitter and wrong, but he is always so desperate for it, he has not the luxury of choice. 

The Prince never comes. 

*** 

The third sun rises and finds Kas a broken man. 

They lead him out in chains and shackles, like he poses any risk of escaping. Like he doesn’t welcome what is about to come. Like he doesn’t— 

He… 

Kas falters in his steps the very second he lays eyes on the Prince, hand resting on the hilt of a broadword that looks to be expertly crafted. A sword has been made for your head, after all. He swallows, ignoring the guard that kicks him in the shin and punches him in the neck, telling him to move forward. 

His head aches the longer he watches the Prince, the world around him becoming hazy as guilt and shame wash over him, the feeling that this is right, this is what he deserves. And still, underneath it all, when Prince Steven meets his eyes, there is the nagging feeling that none of this is right at all. That the Prince should not be looking at him like that, should not be holding onto that sword, should not be his own executioner. 

It splits his head, but still he is helpless against the shackles, cannot struggle when the guards pull him along instead. 

The Prince says not a word until Kas the Betrayer kneels before him, and once again there is a wave of familiarity that comes from this action, but he cannot place it. Kas has never knelt for anyone, so it must be wrong. It must be instinct, the last desperate flare of a dying flame, leaving him disoriented, his head flooded with visions of how life could have been. 

The headache mingles with a new wave of fevered need to live, to rip apart these shackles and kill every guardsman and the King himself before he leaves the sandstone castle behind him once more. 

But there is also a strange sensation of calmness that tells him he is willing to let it happen like it must. He is willing to give this to the Prince and repent. He is willing to give it all up and give in to this. 

Kas the Betrayer is ready to die. He is too tired to alter the course of fate any longer. 

But then? Oh, a lone man’s willingness is not force strong enough to defy the will of Fate herself. 

Because when Prince Steven opens his mouth, all the bitterness leaves Eddie’s mouth, all the visions become unveiled at the sound of that voice that for decades now has held him through pain and pleasure alike, the voice that whispered promises of a future together of even just five minutes away from prying eyes. 

When Prince Steven opens his mouth, Kas becomes Eddie once more, coming to life again inside his own tired, exhausted, agonised head. 

“Any last wish?” 

For those to be the words that save him carries a strange sense of irony, and Eddie knows it’s too late. He knows the plan will commence. Maybe it’s for the better. Ten years he has suffered without his heart, ten years spent shunned and banished and labeled a traitor to all kingdoms simply because he dared to love his Prince more than his King. Ten years that have left him tired and worn out, without a purpose to his ways. 

And Steve, subjected to Henry and his alchemy, his poisons and potions, his bitterness that will turn your insides to flames. Steve, tortured and manipulated for ten years without Eddie there to protect him. 

Maybe it’s for the best that it should end now. That it should end like this. He has no strength left in his body, could not free himself or the Prince even if he were foolish enough to try. 

Still he finds himself relieved that he should die inside his own head this time. That small mercies and miracles alike will grant him this. Looking at Steve as he takes his last breaths.

So, does he have any last wish? 

“Yes,” he croaks, daring to look up into those once so beautiful eyes that hold no warmth anymore. 

Tell me what they did to you. A kiss from my Prince. Don’t turn this blade on yourself when this life has left my body. Believe me when I say this is a trap, and I am not who you think I am.

But he says none of that. Wishes for something else. Wishes not for himself.

He swallows, straightening his back. “I wish that you would… That you would just, just listen to me.” Fear overcomes him, and he knows these will be his last words.

The Prince inclines his head, intent at least on listening. Good. That’s good. 

Because now, for the first time in a decade, Eddie will utter these words to ears that will listen. Fear grips his heart, squeezing around it until it stops. And still he speaks. 

“I love you. And I forgive you.” 

tagging: @skiddit @inklessletter @aringofsalt @hellion-child @hotluncheddie @gutterflower77 @auroraplume @steddieonbigboy @n0-1-important @stevesjockstrap @brainvines @puppy-steve @madigoround @izzy2210 @itsall-taken @mangoinacan13 (i have a permanent tag list now, lmk if you want on or off 🤍 these are only the ones who commented on the post) (sorry the first tag should be so fucked up mwah)

note: i posted this last night but then wanted to double check with the lovely lovely mod of steddielovemonth (kith for you!) if this was okay to post, and she said yes, so fever dream round 2! sorry for the inconvenience, thank you for the patience! 🤍

[farfromstrange]

Watching the AMC tv adaptation of Anne Rice’s “Interview With The Vampire”, I got back into the mood of writing for my series ‘Total Eclipse Of The Heart’, but since it’s been a while since I’ve written anything fantasy-related, I decided to practice my vampire writing a bit more with a little One Shot. I’m going to tease it before I post it. I’m too excited not to. This baby will be yours tomorrow, and I will use my Matt Murdock Tag List for this, but if you want to be tagged (and you haven’t filled out my Tag List Form), let me know and I’ll tag you for this! Anyway, without further ado, here is a little sneak peak…

Interview With The Vampire

Pairing: Vampire!Matt Murdock x F!Reader

Warnings: Vampirism, angst, SMUT (18+ MINORS DNI), oral sex, unprotected p in v (but it’s with a vampire, so not sure if that counts as a warning), blood play, biting, marking, scent kink, mentions of suicidal thoughts, violence, age gap, Dom!Matt, long One-Shot (it’s a word-count beast)

Summary: You are the first journalist to interview Hell’s Kitchen’s resident vampire vigilante after he requested you personally to tell his story. He’s offering you a way out of your miserable job—to make your voice be heard. You’re desperate and curious, so you decide to take the risk. Most people only know him as Daredevil, but you are about to learn who’s really behind the mask. How hard can it possibly be? As it turns out, interviewing a vampire is a lot more complex than you expected it to be, and Matthew Michael Murdock has set his mind on ruining you for any other man to come.

ACTUAL SNEAK PEEK UNDER THE CUT

[…]

The sun has long set over the Big Apple. Artificial neon, cars, and ceiling lights burning in the highrises along the riverfront cancel out the darkness that has befallen the country’s east. Noise melts into a flood that rolls over people’s senses, but most in New York City have grown numb to the city that never sleeps.

Sirens follow cacophonies of screams. Teenagers get into clubs with their fake IDs, adults get drunk in bars or go to work the night shift at their underpaid jobs, and the other half cry themselves to sleep, knowing they will have to get up in the morning and go through the same hell all over again.

Life has become a miserable existence, and it leaves human beings wondering, ‘How much longer do we have to endure this before we all finally drop dead?’

The system fails them. The law fails to protect them. All they can do is lie down and wait to die. And they will die sooner or later. That’s inevitable.

In Hell’s Kitchen, in a penthouse with a view of the Hudson through colored windows that gloss over during the day and show the city throughout the night, resides someone who most of the city only knows by an alias—Daredevil.

If anyone crosses him, he will suck them dry. It’s not a metaphor, I’m afraid; his reputation precedes him. Criminals fear the red eyes that come with fists and a sharp set of teeth that will surely run them into the ground. The rest of the city feels a little safer with him around, but so far, no one has dared to question his nature.

Fear is known to work as a paralytic. And this man living in the penthouse by the Hudson is the personification of what one might consider fear-inducing. Without the fear of others, he would not be thriving.

An apex predator like him lives for the thrill of the kill. When the adrenaline spikes, it makes the prey start running and the blood taste so much sweeter. It is to a creature of his kind what a good glass of century-old red wine would be to a human being; he savors every last drop of it.

[…]

[regretmedaisy]

i can see you - tom riddle x fmc/reader

part I

loosely inspired by "i can see you" by taylor swift.

“I've been watchin' you for ages

And I spend my time tryin' not to feel it”

summary: She had always fancied Tom Riddle. It was an infatuation that bordered on love and obsession, that she had secretly grown and cared for, content with indulging in her fantasies and never bold enough to try and make them become reality.

When she meets him again in her adulthood, dormant longings resurface together with a newfound desire to be the object of his own devotion.

As their paths keep crossing, she starts to think he feels the same.

tags: afab mc, use of female pronouns and no descriptors (i tagged it as x reader because i guess it could be read as such if you use the same pronouns), somewhat period-accurate clothing, courtship (just a little because it's still tom riddle), fmc has a crush on tom, very light foreplay (fem!receiving, clothes stay on), a bit of fluff, explicit sexual desire, mention of masturbation.

please note that mc has a crush on tom, therefore the way she refers to him could sound a bit cheesy and exaggerated. i edited this last night and didn't read it again before posting. i'm sorry for any typos or grammar mistakes i missed.

words: 5.9K

More smut in part II

Part I: You brush past me in the hallway

She couldn’t recall when her obsession with Tom Riddle had started. Perhaps she had always felt that way.

She thought about him as she got ready for school, walked to breakfast or sat in the Great Hall to study, her heart fluttering every time his eyes wandered in her direction. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t actually looking at her - the fantasy was enough.

She felt herself blushing every time he walked past her in the corridors, her gaze sometimes daring, sometimes hesitant, careful not to look at him for too long in case he realised her feelings, but enough to not come off as completely indifferent. Just in case he felt the same.

She had become an ever-present shadow, one he could have moulded into whatever he desidered, as her heart, easily-fooled by an irresistible pretence that had shaped her passion and longing, didn’t know any other affection.

She ignored everything there was to know about him, as he only existed in her fantasy, beautiful and clever and mesmerising. She started following him everywhere: watching him as he sat reading in the courtyard, getting detention when he was the one supervising. 

They had once talked and he had smiled at her. Oh, what a moment that had been. She had laid in bed, her face in the pillow, giggling as her roommates asked her what had happened.

But she had never wanted him to know. She liked to dream about him but never expected him to make those dreams come true.

After they graduated school, she felt empty. Her fantasies were vacant of their predominant character and she had spent a few nights crying about never seeing him again, although she didn’t like to wander in that part of her memories that much.

Then, through a series of coincidences she liked to think were fate’s doing, she had gotten a job at the post office. 

She had been on her way to deliver a missive to Flourish and Blotts - a favour she did to the old owner - when he had walked past her.

Time had stopped.

She couldn’t hear or feel anything. Not the wind brushing through her hair and cooling her cheeks nor the jumbled chatter of the street. Everything was muted and still, except for him.

He was dressed in a tasteful black suit, his jacket buttoned, and his stride was long and confident. He stopped in front of the newspaper rack, picked one up, paid and left without a glance to her or anyone else. 

It was only when he had disappeared down the street that she had snapped out of it, realising she had been crumpling the letter in her hands.

Back in the office, she had discreetly asked Will - who had been working there longer than her - about him. He was almost certain Tom had been working in Knockturn Alley for a while and an errand in that part of the city had confirmed his presumption. 

The next day, as she was trying not to shout at a customer that if he wanted his package delivered to France in one day he could’ve delivered it himself, she had seen him walk by through the glass door.

And the next day as she was busy sorting through the deliveries.

And the next one again.

On the fourth day, she had taken her break around the time she had calculated he was going to pass by. She had to suppress her giddiness when she saw him.

Since then, she duly waited for him as he punctually went to buy his newspaper. 

“Isn’t it a bit cold to be outside voluntarily?” Will asked one day, standing up from his seat to return to the storage room as she went back inside. She hung her coat and scarf, fixing the collar of her jumper.

“I like the fresh air.” She sat down at her desk, getting back to her tasks. It had been an unexpectedly slow morning, leaving her time to write the report she usually needed to cram between customers. 

She leaned back against her chair, absent-mindedly twirling her quill between her fingers as her mind went back to the same subject that had filled her younger years.

Since that fortunate day of September, her infatuation with Tom Riddle had returned to burn like a wildfire, but it had also felt different. It wasn’t the childish crush of a teenager anymore, unbridled in her fantasies and hesitant in her action. It was a different type of fixation, more subdued, more restrained, perhaps more mature. He felt familiar and new at the same time, and she was content with watching him, appeased by his mere existence.

But lately she had felt the compelling need to to draw closer, to enter his orbit without actually being pulled in by it.

Those were desires she succumbed to during other times of the day. 

She anxiously drummed her fingers on the desk, her eyes urgently checking the clock as the man in front of her couldn’t bother to fill out his form. If she wasn’t going to do it today she wasn’t sure when she’ll find the courage again.

She hurriedly signed it as he handed it over and retrieved her coat.

“I’m going on break!” She didn’t even wait for Will to answer before stepping out in the street. 

She could feel her heart beating in her chest as she walked, her heels clattering on the cobblestones. Perhaps high heels weren’t a good idea, her legs felt less steady than she had anticipated. She adjusted the silk scarf around her neck and smoothed a hand over her curls as she went straight to the magazine rack.

Alright, she needed to stay calm and look relaxed. Nothing of importance was happening. She was just there to buy a magazine. 

She browsed through a few, incapable of actively reading the headlines since her mental capacity was too occupied waiting with him.

Minutes passed inexorably, her tension growing imposing until it exploded into a million butterflies the moment she noticed him. She didn’t turn, instead subtly moving in front of the stand where they sold his newspaper, pretending to skim, deep in thought. 

She could hear him walking closer until he was right next to her.

He was wearing his coat, his hands in his pockets, his shoulders slightly hunched to read the headlines. His presence was impossible to miss and became even more breathtaking when he scooted closer to her, his arm stretching out to grab a newspaper right in front of her. His side brushed against her arm and she couldn’t stop herself from taking in all she could. His scent, his warmth, the mere occasion of being so close to him. 

Her eyes moved to find his of their own volition. His expression was slightly surprised, like he wasn’t expecting her to consider him. He held her gaze for a second, his blue eyes glinting in her morning light, lively like she had only occasionally seen them.

He pressed his lips together and nodded to her in greeting, folding the newspaper under his arm before entering the store to pay.

She was breathless. The wind had picked up, biting against her cheeks that she knew must have turned flush. She forced herself to divert her attention, deciding on a crossword magazine just as he left the store. 

“Five letters, it starts with an S,” she read, “It can be found at Hogwarts.”

“Stars?” Will attempted, his voice muffled from the thud of some boxes he was moving.

It had been a few weeks since her last encounter (if it could be called that) with Tom. Since then, once a week she would dress more attentively and get to Flourish and Blotts in time to wait for him. She would choose a different magazine or newspaper every time, although crosswords were her favourite to waste her time between customers. 

She had come to the conclusion that one trip a week was enough to satisfy her persistent yearning without drawing too much attention to herself. The rest of the week she spent her break outside, unperturbed by the changing of the seasons and the chilly weather.

“Yes, because stars are a prerogative of Hogwarts,” she jested. She could hear Will grumble something through the open door that separated them.

“I think it’s ‘Squid’,” she said triumphantly, writing the word down. She held up the paper like she was reading it for an entire audience. “Next, it tells you the truth you might not want to hear. Eight letters.”

“Veritaserum!” Will enthusiastically suggested.

“That’s eleven letters. Honestly, did you even go to school?” It was like this every time, he would just throw out the first thing that came to mind. It was still funny, though. 

“Honesty maybe? No, it’s seven letters. Let me get the dictionary.”

Sometimes she wondered how he had managed to run the office alone until they had hired her.

“Synonyms with eight letters, let’s see.” She could hear him quickly turning the pages. Why did he have a dictionary in there she could not say.

“I don’t think it’s an-” She lifted her gaze as the doorbell chimed and her sentence got cut off by a sudden rush of heat that didn’t allow her to think clearly for a few seconds.

Tom Riddle crossed the threshold. He took off his leather gloves and turned down the collar of his jacket.

She was embarrassingly wide-eyed as he approached her desk.

“Hello,” he said.

She blinked a few times, trying to remember the customs of the society she got raised in. 

“Hi, how can I help you?” She gave him her usual bright customer service smile. Thank Merlin habits were stronger than feelings.

“I have a letter to post.” He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out an envelope.

“Sure,” she said, her tone professional and experienced. “Just fill out this form, please.”

She offered him a quill and her eyes lowered on his long slender fingers as he skillfully gripped it. She could have watched him write all day, but instead pretended to be busy sorting through a cabinet.

Will came out of the backroom, holding his beloved dictionary. He gave Tom a tight cordial smile and set the dictionary in front of her, pointing to a specific word. “Morality”. 

She glanced quickly at Tom before focusing on Will.

“What does that have to do with the truth?” Her tone was an aggravated whisper. 

He shrugged. “I don’t know, but it has eight letters,” he whispered back. She held in the laugh that threatened to escape her as she looked at him. 

She gestured for him to leave before Tom reported them as unprofessional and turned to him as he handed her the signed papers.

“Thank you.” Why did her voice suddenly sound so shrilly? She cleared her throat, trying to regain some dignity.

She checked the address and noticed it was in England. “It will be dispatched with the afternoon owls and will probably reach your addressee by tomorrow.” She was not required to give him this information, but she just wanted to keep him there a little longer.

He nodded and smiled warmly at her. Butterflies bloomed again like flowers. “Perfect, thank you.”

“Have a good day,” she said. 

“You too.” He turned but then halted, like he had just changed his mind about something. “It's ‘Prophecy’ by the way.”

She frowned, confused on what he meant, until she remembered the crossword. “Oh, thank you.”

She watched him open the door and leave. And then watched him some more through the window as he returned to Knockturn Alley, something warm diffusing through her.

“I knew it!” Will's exultant voice broke her reverie.

She whipped her head around. “What?” By the way he was looking at her, his eyes gleaming like they had just witnessed the most engaging of gossip, she could guess exactly what he was talking about.

“When you asked all those questions I thought nothing of it, but you spend all your breaks outside, and it’s so windy in this part of Diagon Alley! I knew there was a reason. Especially after you started coming to work looking very lovely.”

“So, since I care about my look and spend my break outside, you deduced that…what exactly?

He leaned against the doors with his arms crossed and raised an eyebrow. His expression was so self-assured she knew she couldn’t deny her way out.

“Are you telling me you don’t fancy Tom Riddle? Because if I liked men I would definitely fancy him.”

“Don’t even start,” she sighed, covering her face.

If someone had told her years ago what would have happened in the next few weeks, she would have thought they had more imagination than her.

Aside from Will forcing her to buy another crossword, since the one she had chosen was part of some sort of divination conspiracy - his words.

“What does it have to do with the ‘truth you don’t want to hear’?” he had said. “Divination is just a scam, let me tell you.”

Tom had been coming and going from the post office. The response to his letter had arrived three days later and he had personally showed up to collect it.

She had always assumed that Riddle and the people he corresponded with had their own owl, but perhaps she had mistakenly presumed who he was exchanging letters with.

In school she had often dreamt of receiving a letter or a simple note from him, something to keep next to her bed and occasionally reread, wishing for things she didn’t have the courage to take for herself.

An insidious thought had crept into her mind after the first letter, instigating jealous feelings she had never felt. In school he had never shown interest in romantic liaisons, but his intentions could have changed since then.

The morning after, checking who he had sent the letter to was the first thing she had done once she had stepped into the office, professionalism be damned.

It was now a gloomy day, kept bearable by the prospect of talking to him.

“Good morning,” he greeted her as came in half an hour later, closing his umbrella and leaving it by the entrance. The sound of pounding rainfall on the street filled the silence. His coat was dampened around the sleeves and shoulders and his curls fell haphazardly on his forehead. “I believe you have something for me.”

She smiled at him. “Let me just get your letter, I think it arrived today.” She got up and reached for one of the shelves next to her. She knew he was coming today, so she had worn her nicest pair of work heels and a flattering skirt. Her curls had also turned out prettier than usual.

She perused the envelopes but didn’t find any addressed to him.

In the backroom, Will was reading a book with his legs crossed on the table. She searched through the newest delivery but couldn’t find it.

“Where is the letter?” she asked under her breath.

Will lifted his eyes from the page and adjusted his glasses. “What letter?”

“His letter, Will,” she hissed. “I saw it earlier.”

“If it isn’t there I don’t know what to tell you. Perhaps he switched up the dates.”

He noticed her accusatory expression and prudently held up his hands. “I’ll send a note to see if the owl got lost. Will that help you relax?”

Her features distended. “Yes, thank you. I’ll tell him to come by later.” 

“Did you ask if he wants tea as well?” 

She rolled her eyes laughing, relieved he wasn’t mad at her - she was feeling guilty for her unfair distrust - and went back to Tom, who was flipping through a brochure.

She threw him an apologetic smile. “I’m afraid we had some troubles with the owl carrying your missive.” 

She couldn’t read his face as he listened to her.

“It’s fine, I’ll return before you close.” He grabbed his umbrella, completely unperturbed.

“We are really sorry,” she said, resisting the urge to start chipping away her nail polish.

His eyes bore into her. “Don’t worry about it, it’s not your fault.”

Lightning struck in that same moment, a blast of wind slamming against the windows as thunder made her swallow her redundant apologies.

“Let’s hope it will stop raining by then,” she mumbled more to herself, watching the raindrops fall quickly and heavily.

After lunch, Will brought her the envelope she had been desperately looking for. The paper was surprisingly pristine, not even a drop of water or a crease on it.

“It just arrived,” he announced with a wink.

“You’re telling me an owl flew with this rain?”

“I always told you I believe those animals have superpowers.” He shrugged and returned to his duties.

She stacked it on top of a pile of papers, smiling involuntary. She was embarrassed by herself.

An hour later, Will stepped out of the office with his coat and scarf on. 

“I’m leaving for today. Do you want me to wait for you?” he asked. Rain was still pounding on the glass. 

“You can go. Hopefully it will stop.” He nodded, retrieved his umbrella and disappeared among the flock of passersby. 

She glanced at the clock, wishing time could just run faster so that she could go home. The light had dimmed over the afternoon, engulfing the office in a dull atmosphere with drowsy undertones. She was drawing a flower on a piece of parchment when the bell chimed. She already knew who it was.

He gave her a small smile and her heart fluttered. 

“Here it is. The poor owl lost his way in this storm,” she said, holding his letter. He grabbed it and signed the usual form. 

"Are you always this accommodating?" he asked casually.

She felt her cheeks heat at the question as she cleared her desk. "It's my job."

"Do you live far from here?" 

She faltered as she was reaching for her coat and cleared her throat. 

"Why do you ask?" She followed his gaze to the empty umbrella stand. 

"Oh."

“I don’t mind escorting you home, if you’d like,” he said promptly. 

Was this actually happening? She was sure she had fantasised about something like this once. 

“I wouldn’t want to impose.” This was what she was supposed to say, right? 

“I insist.”

She surely wasn’t going to let him change his mind. 

“Alright, then.” She smiled coyly as he took her coat from her hands and helped her with it. His hands brushed on her arms in a gesture that was oddly intimate in the fading light of the office. He opened the door for her and waited for her to lock it. 

Around them people hurried to get to their destination, but she was in no rush. He offered her his arm and she took it, a little out of breath. She hid her hand in the crook of his elbow, hoping it would not betray her nervousness and gently guided him in the right direction.

“How was your day?” he asked after a few steps, just as nonchalantly as before.

“It was good, perhaps a little boring.”

“Do you enjoy working at the post office?” He turned his head, watching her with those rich eyes of his.

She shrugged lightly. “It’s better than other jobs, and I like my colleague.”

“I met him the other day. You weren’t there when I went to post my letter,” he explained in response to her surprised look.

“Oh yes, it was my free afternoon.” She couldn’t believe Will hadn’t told her about this.

Tom nodded as if it was a fact he wanted to remember.

“Do you like your job?” she asked, greedy for anything he wanted to share with her.

“It might seem strange but I do.”

“Where do you work exactly?” Not even Will had been able to tell her what it was that he did.

“Borgin and Burkes.”

“The antique shop?”

He chuckled. “If that’s what you want to call it.”

She mirrored his grin. “How would you describe it?”

“You can call it that if you’re into cursed music boxes and a wide selection of skulls.”

“Perhaps I am,” she replied foxily. “I’ll come and take a look one day.”

“Are you?” The inflection in his voice told her he didn’t quite believe her.

“You don’t really know me, Tom.” 

As her words were met with silence, she turned to him. She had never seen him look at her like that, his lips slightly curved and his eyes glinting with intrigue.

“So I gather Diagon Alley wasn’t in your ambitions?” he asked after a while. He must have seen her discomfort at his question because he immediately apologised.

“Don’t, please.” She put her free hand on his arm before registering what she was doing and he followed her motion as she composedly dropped it. 

“You’re right,” she said with a sigh, averting her eyes. “I don’t know what I expected from the future.”

“But?”

“But I suppose it could be worse.” That’s it, that’s all she had to say. No big dream everyone required her to have.

“You could make it better, you have endless possibilities to choose from.” He sounded so sure, but of course he was. He had the world in his palm and he could change the course of existence at every moment.

She wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think that’s true.” 

She steered him to the right to cross the street. They were now out of Diagon Alley, walking through the small inhabited island that separated Muggle London from the commercial area. He rested his arm on her back and respectfully pushed her away from the street, switching their places. She pretended it didn’t affect her.

“You could have had any job after graduation,” she pointed out. 

“I chose the one that I believed would give me more benefits.” 

“Did you choose correctly?”

He smirked. “I did.”

She wanted to ask more but didn’t dare and a comfortable silence fell between them.

She noticed Tom was extremely careful and observant. He tilted the umbrella to the perfect angle to shield her completely and moved to the side every time she needed to sidestep a puddle.

It was the first time she had had the opportunity to be close enough to him. His arm was firm and she could sense his warmth through the layers of his clothes. She thought of how good it would have felt to nestle against him.

It felt like something it wasn’t, an intimate routine, and she soaked in the moment. His body heat, the coarse wool of his coat against her hand, his soft breath, the pumping of her enamoured heart, the swaying movement of their figures as they walked, the raindrops hitting the asphalt.

She wanted to drown in it.

“We are almost there,” she announced, sadly noticing they were nearing her neighbourhood. 

“Do you live alone?” 

She nodded. “I used to have a roommate but then I moved to a smaller apartment. I enjoyed the quiet more.”

“I suppose you don’t have a lot of guests, then.”

“Will comes for lunch sometimes, he’s also alone.”

“And your other friends?” 

She hid her surprise at his question. She didn’t expect him to remember any details about her. 

“I hardly see them nowadays, we kinda lost touch over the years.” There was a soreness that couldn’t quite go away everytime she thought of the companions she drifted away from. No matter how hard she had tried to fight against the currents, there had been an insurmountable wave between them. Everyone said it inevitably happened with age, but no one ever talked about the solitude that it brought with it.

His finger grazed against her wrist, capturing her attention.

“Being alone isn’t always a curse,” he murmured.

“Are you alone?” She couldn’t remember a day when he wasn’t surrounded by his friends or admirers. She had always considered he enjoyed the attention of people hanging from his lips, but perhaps she had judged him wrongly. “Or do you still see your friend sometimes?”

His expression was clever as he answered. “The two things can coexist.”

She looked at him, ardently wishing she could figure him out. It was her torment, never quite managing to step into his field of attraction long enough to decode him, forever relegated to a bystander. Why was he telling her that? Why was he there with her? 

His profound eyes searched for something and the idea of being just as incomprehensible to him made her shiver. 

"Are you cold?" he asked.

She fiddled with the sleeve of her coat. "I'm fine. We are almost there." 

They walked the last few metres to her front door and stopped in front of a set of stairs. 

"Thank you for accompanying me." She didn't mention she could have easily apparated. 

"Don't mention it."

She made to step away from him but he hesitated to let go of her arm, his fingers lingering over her skin. She watched as he raised his hand to her face, tenderly brushing a loose strand away from her face, curling it with his finger. 

"Thank you," she said, her voice breathy.

His hand dropped and he stepped back. She didn't want him to go. 

"Do you want to come in?" 

She only processed what she had said after the words had left her mouth. Was she being improper? It was pouring and he had made her the courtesy of walking her home. The least she could do was to invite him in, it was a display of gracious manners. 

If she was worried he might have misinterpreted, he instead looked unperturbed. 

"I think it is best if I get back. It's getting quite late." 

She didn't show her disappointment. "Of course. Have a good evening." 

He returned her wish and waited until she unlocked her front door before leaving.

Within the cosiness of her home, she spent all night thinking about him. She replayed her whole afternoon while she was sitting in the bathtub, brushing her hair, making dinner. His feathery touch lingered like a phantom hand, the memory of his gaze followed her in everything she did, and, as she laid in bed, the ache of his rejection - that she knew to be insignificant - turned into fear she had ruined everything, a creature threatening to devour her as her mind grew tired and the night grew darker, the ticking of the clock an incessant reminder of everything she could crave but never have.

She looked at the dangling sign, the golden letters carved into dark wood, and entered the shop trying not to look at the stuffed fox by the entrance. 

The interior was just as sinister. She ignored an undoubtedly haunted portrait and passed in front of an array of body parts she was sure had belonged to Frankenstein at one point.

“Those are for the more eccentric customers,” Tom said, coming out of the backroom and spooking her. 

“I’m not going to ask what they need them for,” she replied with a nervous laugh.

He stopped to take something from a shelf and showed it to her. “I think you’ll like this more.” 

It was a wooden cube with a glass surface on the top. Inside there was a simple maze and a small marble. She took it and tilted it to the side, trying to make the ball roll forward. The light reflected on the glass and when she looked again the puzzle was different and the marble was in the opposite angle. She inclined it a few more times and the maze kept shifting repeatedly.

“How am I supposed to finish this?”

“It is designed to create a sequence. You have to understand the pattern to know where the marble will be everytime and move accordingly.”

“If I don’t go mad first.”

Tom pressed his lips in an amused smile as he took the cube back and placed it on a random shelf.

She lost herself in his mesmerising gaze as he drew closer like a shadow. The tension between them was tauter.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you here,” he said, his voice a smooth whisper.

“I told you I was coming to take a look,” she replied, her lips expertly curling into a sweet smile.

“Is that all?” He stretched his arm to remove a speck of dust on the shelf to her right, enclosing her between his body and a ladder leaning against the bare wall.

She tried to remain poised as she took something out of her purse. “This came for you.”

He took the letter with a frown, turning it in his hands to read who sent it.

“Who writes to you?” She already knew there was no name on the envelope. She wondered how the sender had managed to mail it.

“I’m just as clueless as you are.” He carefully ripped the paper as she stared at him wide-eyed. He read the signature at the bottom of the message and folded it back, putting it in the pocket of his jacket.

Of course he knew, it was obvious she wasn’t able to mind her own business.

“Who do you imagine writing to me?” That captivated gleam lit up his eyes again.

“Malfoy looks like a prolific writer.”

“But Malfoy always signs his letters.” 

“Is there someone in your life that prefers to remain a secret?”

She shuddered as he trailed his fingers down her arm, gently holding her wrist. “Like a secret liaison?” he asked.

She swallowed. “Is there anyone?” There was no turning back after this.

His fingers brushed against hers and she let out a small sigh. She didn’t miss his pleased smirk as he stepped forward, her figure moving back until she rested against the wooden rungs of the ladder. They were standing behind a wall that hid them from any peering eyes, concealed by the shadow’s silhouette.

“Perhaps there is,” he murmured, taking her handbag and setting it down. “Perhaps I should reply to her promptly.” He started to slowly unbutton her coat. She could not take her eyes away from him.

“But the fact is, I am not sure what I should tell her.” He locked his eyes with hers and got down on his knees. Her breath hitched in her throat.

She stared down at him, her stomach knotting as a familiar yearning pervaded her. She had thought of him in that position, she had wanted him like this. Her heart was thundering.

“How do I fit in all of this?”

“Perhaps,” he said, holding her calf to push her foot on the first rung, “you could advise me.” She followed his movements until she was propped on the first step and grabbed the ladder, watching him. 

“You could start by writing what you like about her,” she suggested. He started massaging her ankles, his hands slowly drawing over her nylon tights from her heel straps to her calves.

“I like her beauty,” he replied with ease, tracing his finger over her seam on the back of her leg.

“I wouldn’t start like that.”

“How so?” He looked amused as his hands reached below the hem of her skirt and he brushed his lips over her knee.

“You will never win her over if she thinks you only appreciate her for her beauty.” Her lips parted as he looked up at her, strikingly handsome, and she ran her fingers through his hair, feeling the texture of his curls. They were softer than she had expected.

“What should I tell her, then?”

“Do you see her often?”

“Not as often as I’d like.”

“You could mention the small details of her person that you miss.” He languidly pushed up the fabric of her skirt, exposing her tights. 

“Like what?”

“Like the way she does her hair or how she holds her quill as she writes. Or something that made you think of her.”

“You do like the details,” he muttered, more to himself than her, looking transfixed as he hooked his finger into the band of her stockings, giving her the physical contact she had painfully craved.

“What about her intelligence?”

She nodded and tried to swallow but her throat was parched. “That too. Are you impressed by her?”

“I am. She looks remarkable.”

“Could she rival you?”

He smirked and undid her garter, tugging the nylon partially down. “I’m waiting to find out.” He pressed his lips onto her skin, kissing her bare leg. She brought her head back against the hard rung, letting out a whimper she didn’t want to contain.

His lips were slightly chapped from the cold weather but his breath was warm as he left a trail of open-mouthed kisses all over her scorching skin. Her hand found his hair again, pulling it as sweet breathy sounds came from her lips.

He focused his attention on her other thigh, digging his fingers into her flesh like a starving man and pressing his mouth harder into her skin. 

She opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. There was so much she wanted now. It was urging, impossible to ignore. She was looking down the edge of the precipice, unable to tear the gaze away from the looming danger. Someone was behind her threatening to push her. She was sure it was Tom.

As he kissed the inside of her thigh she felt the need to tug his head further up. He was hers for a moment, one secret moment, surrounded by a still silence that could not betray them.

He grazed his teeth over the sensitive spot and bit softly, hiking up her skirt and her suspender belt with an urgent motion. She gripped his hair tighter, ready to lead him where they clearly both wanted to be. 

She shifted her weight, the wetness between her legs so pressing it was becoming uncomfortable. 

“Tom,” she breathed as his hand gripped her waist and his lips reached right under the crease of her tight.

“Tell me what you desire the most,” he murmured, bending her knee and putting her foot one rung up to gain better access.

You.

She couldn’t tell him that. She would have never told him that, yet she was sure he already knew. Perhaps he had always known, and he had savoured each furtive glance and each stolen detail preparing for this moment. 

The thought was less mortifying than expected.

“Right now I just want-”

The bell chimed, followed by the creaking of the door opening. Tom immediately got up, letting go of her leg and concealing her with his figure until she made herself decent again. Then he scurried to assist the new customer.

She collected herself and pretended to scour the shelves for a while, waiting for the flush on her cheeks to fade and for her heart to slow down. Tom’s eyes met hers as she left, carrying anticipation and a promise.

As her hands dipped between her legs that night, she wondered if he was doing the same. 

Afterwards, questions crowded her restless night. Had he always known what their encounters were going to lead up to or was he just as surprised?

He had been hers for one long burning moment. She yearned to touch him again and she knew he desidered the same, to protract those flames until skin glowed and flesh smoked, until he could squeeze her beating organ. But how long was it going to last until he decided to crush it?

sorry for the cockblocking.

[the-monkey-ruler]

According to your opinion, what do you think would be SWK's best written romance or what would they be as for the adaptations? You know, not only does the romance appear and that's it, but does it develop or at least seem good to you?

Not to say there are bad romances, but I just wanted to ask.

Honestly, it depends on what you think is romantic.

There is a reason that the Chinese Odyssey is such a cult classic and it's not because they get together at the end, but rather because it explores the idea of self-expression and restricted freedom in the view of romance. Sun Wukong cannot exist unless Joker becomes him, and Joker cannot become Sun Wukong if he falls in love. He had the chance to love and he lost it, being forced to change who he is, knowing what he could have had. Chinese Odyssey became so popular because it explores what it means to sacrifice your own individuality and conform to societal expectations while still having slapstick humor.

And I won't lie and say that has also changed my view of romance with Wukong in that I do not think there can be a Retelling of Wukong where he gets with an SO. There can be great Reimangings or Alternative Universes (and there are) but if someone wants a faithful adaption of the story there can be additions such as adding a romantic subplot but in no circumstances can they end up together. And that could still be a good romantic story.

The quality of romance does not have to depend on a happy ending but one that relates to people and touches their hearts. I think the key to any romance is that connection to the audience, showing a level of genuine yearning and the struggle with that yearning that anyone can relate to when it comes to connecting to another person, romance or not.

Personally, I haven't seen a romance story done it better showing that desire for connection like Chinese Odessey since...

But I would say a close runner-up is the 1996 Journey to the West subplot within the show. As I think as far as relating to a character this is one that I found personally touched by.

In the 1996 Journey to the West is also not a one-to-one with the book as it follows more like a drama than an adventure story with deep character elements but still a wonderful adventure. This probably has the best tv live-action versions of the characters with just how in-depth they go with each character and we actively see them have their individual character arcs as they go from quarreling journeymates to a close-knit found family.

On one of these adventures they meet the Spider Sisters, but not all evil as one of the Sisters, Shishi, is trying to find her lost love from her past life. The gang helps her and Wukong RELUCTANTLY helps as well though he is distrustful of demons and sees no point in trying to find lost love. Shishi's sister, Enen, tags along as well and defends her sister's desire to find her lost love when to her, love is the most important thing in the world. But to Wukong he believes that learning Buddhism and teaching is what is most important. The more Enen and Wukong work together the more Enen falls in love with Wukong's compassion, heroism, and diligence, seeing him as someone to be admired and someone she wishes to impress as well.

The reason I adore this love story is that it is one-sided completely and I think that the narration does such a fantastic job of showing how much Wukong loves Enen has a friend and someone he cares about deeply but he just doesn't have romantic feelings for. I thought that the build-up of their relationship was fascinating in that Wukong comes to terms with seeing Enen as a good friend and someone who has changed his worldview that not all demons are after power, some are just living their lives, and just that knowing her platonically has made him a more compassionate person. But that is the issue in that Wukong's love for Enen is purely platonic and how he even refuses to compromise on his morals and lie to her that he feels the same when he loves her only as a friend.

Enen falls for Wukong because he is her friend and someone that she admires as well. She tries to become more like him by giving up meat and eating fruit and even trying to study Buddhism with him. She didn't do these acts because SHE wanted to, but rather so she could be closer to Wukong. But in the end (Enen loses her cultivation from a demon and asks Wukong to at least say 'I love you' before she turns back into her original form) she isn't able to make Wukong feel the same THOUGH NO FAULT OF HER OWN.

In my personal experience, I have felt this many times, when friends try to admit their feelings, and that soul-crushing burden of having to let them down gently. When you care about someone and are willing to support them or fight for them but the one thing you can't do is reciprocate their feelings. Wukong in this series is being hounded by both Bajie and Wujing to at least pretend for Enen's sake (she does uncultivated and returns to spider form but isn't dead) and when Wukong tells her that he does care for her but not in that way he is seen as the bad guy.

Enen did nothing wrong in falling for Wukong, but she wasn't able to accept that he just couldn't feel the same. And Wukong did nothing wrong in not feeling the same as he cares for his friend greatly but he cannot lie to himself or her how he feels because he respects her too much to lie. Bajie and Wujing both call him heartless but moreso that they feel so bad for Enen but Wukong is the one that has to carry the burden of her feelings for the rest of his life.

Some people might not see this as a love story at all but I think this is a type of love story that is very common and that people on both the receiving and the giving end can relate to. That dejection from rejection and opening your heart and thinking maybe if you change, or something is wrong with you, or that you are not good enough. That horrible feeling of guilt for things out of your control and not being able to give someone you deeply care about what they want and then feeling more guilt that there is something wrong with you for not feeling the same. I thought that the show has an advantage over movies as it gives the characters time and room to grow and change around each other. Wukong becomes more sympathetic to demons and even has a deeper understanding of the importance of love just by knowing Enen before she "died" and rather because she lived (and still lives) he still cares about her and wants her to live the best life she can.

Even in her spider form, even when she wouldn't be able to understand him, Wukong refuses to lie to her about his feelings but expresses that he wants her to live a good life, one that leads her to enlightenment and back to her human form. He cares so much about her but just not in the way that she wants. I think there is something very well done in how the show shows that it wasn't either of their faults and that while they can love one another you can't change people. People can only change if they want to change, and you can't force people to feel the same. There are different forms of love and each is important, and just because someone feels a different kind of love doesn't make it any less real.

To me, a love story is about connection and how the audience can feel themselves in the characters. Love can be scary and you're more often going to face rejection than anything but that doesn't mean it is anyone's fault. Sometimes people just don't feel the same, as much as they do care about you, and learning to accept that and let go is a part of growing up. As such I think that my favorite would be the 1996 subplot as I feel that is it both emotional and that it also still follows the Xiyouji format. Especially love Wukong going to the Red String of Fate guy (Yue Lao) and rewriting people's tragic love stories so they can live happily ever after!

I think that maybe I enjoyed this the most as I feel like it still captured Wukong's character wonderfully as someone who might not feel romantic feelings (following the book) but also someone who learns compassion and what it means to love another person. He knew what it was like for someone to love him and that is not something to be taken lightly. People being vulnerable and expressing their desire can be scary and something to be even admired but can still unavoidable cause pain. It wasn't his fault that he didn't like Enen back but he wanted her and even others to find that kind of love. He wants people to feel free to find comfort in connecting with another person even if it isn't himself.

That is to say, there aren't other romances that I did enjoy that are reciprocated love as well! Funny enough the ones that I really enjoy are all Japanese or based on the Saiyuki series.

Alakazam the Great (1960) 西遊記

Monkey Magic (1998) モンキーマジック

The New Legends of Monkey (2018) 新猴王传奇

I think the common factor of these is that Wukong in all these forms becomes a better person just by knowing their SO and take it upon themselves to become a better person, rather than the SO taking it upon themselves trying to 'fix' Wukong, I feel like that is an issue with a lot more modern romances of Wukong in that they are far too rushed, if Wukong does start off as a jerk then there is no real reason the SO should fall for him, and then Wukong doesn't stop being a jerk until the end when there is no proper resolution. It feels all very rushed and very forced.

I think that I enjoyed these versions mostly because they had the advantage of keeping the SO alive and they play on the trope of "changing for your loved ones" rather than "getting character development because of SO's death." We see Wukong in 1960 slowly relearn what it means to be humble and grateful to his SO Rinrin with her undying (literally) devotion and how this dedication leads to him wanting to be a better person deserving to be by her side. Monkey Magic 1998 is a surprising one but one that I found charming nonetheless as Goku is a hotheaded and impulsive person but everything he does is for his friends one being Fenya. They never confirmed their relationship but she is the only one who never treats Goku differently after he becomes the king and even when he demands her to call him as such she never lets him forget his humble roots which by the end he learns to return to. The last New Legends 2018 is also surprising as I really didn't enjoy the plot of this show and found the pacing painful, but that Monkey and Tripitaka's relationship was something that had a lot of potential. From Monkey's arrogant attitude and Tripitaka's deception of her true identity, I thought that the show handled them slowly but surely coming to trust and rely on each other. I feel like the show could do a lot more with their character development but I doubt we are getting a third season.

I will say a guilty pleasure of mine is Monkey King 2014 just cause it is more of an innocent childhood crush kind of feeling than anything else. I'm sad that she still dies but I feel like out of the Wukong romances I have seen (please note I haven't seen them all) I can see why the SO would fall for Wukong as he was nothing but sweet and kind to her and that I was sad to see her go.

[lilac-5ky]

Roommates from Hell, pt.2 (Toji x Fem!Reader)

Chapter 2: 2912

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Story Masterlist | Masterlist

A/N: Thanks to everyone who read and enjoyed the first part of the story! I'll do my best to update every 1-2 weeks and to keep things interesting. Feedback and suggestions are always welcome, and if anyone wants to be notified for updates, drop your name in the comments and I'll gladly tag your @.

Warning: Flashback, mentions of violence, blood, and sex toys (odd combo, I know)

2…9…1…2

Deft fingers punched in the numbers on the door’s keypad, a practiced crescendo of beeps and bops granting you access to your flat. Hesitant fingers that dropped to the handle, but refused to push forward, instead anchoring you there. Not yet, you mumbled, your eyes squeezing shut as soon as your forehead hit the frame.

Today has been a long day. So long that you barely had a moment to process the line of rapid escalations as it brought you to this very doorstep, with the ghost of your former scarf dangling from your neck. Some people would rather be glued to the little screens of their little phones than discipline their eight-year-old brats who, for some reason, thought playing tug of war with others’ scarves while they busted their gut to make a leaving to be of utmost entertainment.

Some people ought to keep their genes to themselves, you exasperated, untying the fabric from your neck and then balled it inside your bag, zipping the bunny across the seam.

The bunny…

Toji…

It was becoming a habit of yours to follow up his name with a sigh. Sometimes a sigh that meant “What am I going to do with you?” and others coming from a place of deep longing and frustration, meaning “What am I going to do without you?”

He said he’d be home after “snipping some loose ends,” which in his dictionary either referred to him breaking some poor woman’s heart, or quite literally stabbing some equally unfortunate man’s heart out of his body at his job’s demand. Depending on the plausibility of each scenario, you were given a minimum of four and a maximum of six hours to try and make sense of his actions and devise a plan to make this cohabitation work.

You licked your lips for the millionth time that day, gnawing at the chapped flesh with the edge of your teeth. No lip balm could aspire to salvage their sorry-ass state, aggravated by the low temperatures and honed by your continuous munching on them. You’d become so conscious of their existence, that it seemed as if you were trying hard to erase it before he had the chance to realize his goal of kissing them— even when that was a common goal shared by the both of you.

The taste of metal pooled in the hollow of your mouth, your teeth sinking a tad too deep. There wasn’t much reason to keep contemplating that which never happened and that which, perhaps, would never come. You wiped your shoes on the crooked doormat (was it always crooked?) and walked inside, your legs nearly giving out at the sight of two knees dangling from your beloved couch’s armrest.

“Woah, keep it down, won’t ya?”

None other than the voice of Toji reprimanded you as you screamed at the top of your lungs. His body was spilled across your couch, the expanse of muscles barely fitting upon the three azure-colored pillows. A soda —your soda— nested in his palm, while a bag of empty potato chips —your chips— lay on the kotatsu.

“What the hell are you doing here?!?” A trembling hand reached out to where your heart supposedly was, checking whether it was still in its place.

“Watching some travel show about Chikura,” he answered, unfazed and undisturbed. “You like abalone, right? Why don’t we-”

“I’m asking, how the fuck did you get in here?”

“Oh, that,” Toji smirked, lowering the TV’s volume just when the travel host was about to devour a platter full of steaming hot seafood—mouthwatering enough to divert your attention for a second. “Sayaka let me in.”

“Sa-yaka…?”

“Flat hair, narrow eyes— kinda like Izumi Pinko. Walks around with a cane twice her size. Rings a bell?”

“Talking about Ogawa-san?” you asked, a caricature of your crabby landlady taking shape before your very eyes. “She never lets in anyone without a key, though. Last time I forgot mine, she acted as if she didn’t know me and went right past. Had to phone a locksmith,” you sighed, murmuring under your breath about the extravagant sum of money you were forced to pay. “How did you do it? Convince her to open up?”

“How else ya think?” His chin rotated leisurely atop his knuckles.

“You can’t be serious! Y-you fucked her?” Your eyes went wide like saucers, the notion sounding both feasible and surreal.

His smirk sharpened into a sly grin as he stood up, a slight slouch on his shoulders carrying him to your eye level. You couldn’t exactly look away from this proximity, so you began quietly analyzing him. The tight-fitting black tee and baggy training pants that greatly accentuated his hips and shoulders; his work outfit. The overgrown hair that curtained the dark circles of his eyes; evidence of a sleepless night. The absence of scent, not even of dirt, sweat, or struggle. He must’ve actually been working on a bounty, you deduced, your final thought of rationale as he invaded the last bit of personal space you’d left.

“You really think the worst of me, huh?” His tongue circled his lips, prompting yours to do the same as you sheepishly shook your head, the sultry sound of his voice as hypnotizing as his hooded green eyes were.

“You think I go ‘round spreading the legs of everything that moves?” Toji asked again, his tone growing more condescending by the second. “ ‘fraid that ain’t the case, princess. I’m not into goodwill. Don’t do things without merit, either. She asked who I was, got all perky when I said I’m moving in, and then handed me these,” he paused, throwing a bundle of creased envelopes at your feet.

You kneeled awkwardly, seeking the sender’s origin in each logo seal. Water company. Electricity company. Phone company. Insurance company. Even the bills from that one debit card Hinata issued in your name in case of an emergency.

“Could say I paid my way in,” he scoffed, his eyes searching for an inkling of appreciation that he failed to find in your stubborn squint.

“I could’ve handled these myself.”

“Thought you’d say this, that’s why I saved this one,” he tossed another, smaller yellow-tinted paper onto the pile. “Eviction notice. My, you have it quite hard, don’tcha?”

“I don’t need classes on financial handling from someone whose living conditions are entirely dependent on ‘the bimbo of the week’,” you snapped, rising back to your feet with the bills in hand.

Maybe things were a bit tighter these past few months than you’d accounted for, but you weren’t like him. Sooner or later, you paid all expenses through sheer work and effort— a concept foreign to him, who’d rather be thrown into the streets than save a dime.

You weren’t like Toji. Not one bit. You knew that if he hadn’t run into your landlady, you would have definitely paid all your debts off in a month’s time or two, even if that meant devolving your breakfast’s nutritional value to that of instant ramen. You could take care of yourself, just like you’d done for 14 years now. He had no right to interfere because, come next month, you’d—

But the overdue deadlines at the top of each paper spoke louder than your inner thoughts and bravado did. The next month would never come for you. Not in this house, at least.

Defeated, you unfolded the paper, straightening the creases your fingernails had helped create. You hated feeling this way— indebted. The last thing you wanted was for this to turn into just another transactional relationship with an expiration date dependent on the other’s wage.

“Thank you, and,” you mumbled, your stare hiking up his body and stopping at his chest —right about where the difference in your height manifested— “….sorry, I guess. Just thought that with the way you look, and all that-”

“The way I look…?” A winsome smile tugged at his dimples, his left hand weaving through his hair as if he were oblivious to how effortlessly attractive he appeared in his work clothes, every single crevice of his body visible under the little piece of fabric.

“N-never mind.” You tore your eyes away, cheeks flushing bright red at thoughts a friend shouldn’t be having. “How was work?”

“Pretty dead,” he shrugged, using the same hand to rub some of the tension around the crook of his neck. “Don’t see a real challenge rising until that Gojo kid hatches from his egg. Rest die like flies.”

As a regular person with about an average percentage of cursed energy running through your system, you had little understanding of the mystical world of Jujutsu and its sorcerers, all the information you had acquired being bits and pieces that Toji had shared with you over the years. He never went into too much detail about his job but never hid anything either. He killed sorcerers with the same ease he spread butter on his bread.

You really didn’t understand much, and perhaps the keywords “kills for a living” ought to ring an alarm or two, but an outsider like you who didn’t abide by their rules had no right judging those who broke them. Besides, with the way his family had disposed of him as if he were a chewed piece of gum stuck on the back of their sole, things weren’t as black and white as one would assume.

“Gojo, you say,” the name sounding awfully familiar on your tongue. “Is that one of the three big clans?”

Toji nodded, his arms folding over his chest. “Special grade when he ain’t grown any pubes yet,” he scoffed, voice twisting in an unnatural way that could have tricked you into thinking he was jealous of the young boy.

“Are you gonna kill him?”

His brows knitted together, clearly not expecting such bluntness. “Question is, can I? Answer being, for the right price,” the frown he wore subdued into a crooked smile. “maybe. Kid should fetch one good wad of cash. I’m sure many want the six eyes out of the picture.”

Six eyes?

“Just make sure you save some of it,” you mindlessly said, eyes dancing around the room for the first time since you’d entered the house.

There were no real signs of his presence. The duffel bag seemed to be nowhere in sight either. Only his shoes were left by the door right next to yours, a sign you’d completely missed upon entering.

“What happened to your things, by the way? Don’t see ‘em.”

“Took the liberty of sorting them out,” Toji said. “You had a lot more empty space than you made it sound earlier.”

Somehow that statement terrified you— not because you were some overbearing control freak who didn’t want others interfering with their stuff, but because you feared the misplaced items he might have found casually lying around, providing him with all the excuse he needed to tease you to an excruciatingly slow and shameful death.

You went on a parade through the rooms, Toji following in your steps like a well-trained puppy, letting you freely inspect the new “changes”.

In the living room, you spotted a pair of dumbbells lying by the window, heavy enough that when you tried to pick one of them up, it resulted in one loud, unintentional shriek as your feet were nearly crushed, much to Toji’s vile amusement. Then in the bathroom, you found a second toothbrush that shared the exact same color yours did, along with a black fuzzy towel and a men’s deodorant that was missing its lid. You’d have to get another cup for his toothbrush, you noted, and moved along, eventually making it to your apartment’s sole bedroom.

“Where are your clothes?” you asked, Toji nodding in your closet’s direction.

You opened the first door, finding a series of dark-colored shirts, sweaters, and cardigans hanging from the previously vacant racks. You didn’t wear much color yourself, but when comparing the disparity between his almost exclusively black side of the space and the creamier pastels that predominated yours, the clash in taste was indisputable.

Absentmindedly, you run your fingers through his clothes, stopping at the dark blue parka you’d gotten him for his 21st birthday. He wasn’t the type to keep gifts from women, but seeing he’d preserved yours in mint condition filled you with a strange sense of pride.

“Not bad,” you exclaimed, satisfied with how aptly his clothes were displayed until a new worry surfaced. “What about your underwear?”

He glanced toward the bottom drawer, his instep gently kicking against it. You weren’t too sure if that was necessary, and under different circumstances, you’d rather avoid such overt embarrassment, but this was your house first and foremost. Your closet, your drawer, and—

“The bottom drawer…?” The realization struck like a ton of bricks, your pupils widening and then trembling as a breath hitched up your throat, remaining there.

The bottom drawer is where you kept it, perhaps the only thing in this entire household that you’d rather he didn’t see, at the cost of your own life, even. A rabbit, whose little ears tapped in excitement every time it saw you. A rabbit vastly different from the ones that hopped around happily in fields or the one that was weaved through the zipper of your handbag. A rabbit that had kept you company in his place many nights and knew the sound of his name better than Toji himself did.

Sinking to your knees, you felt his shadow loom over you like the shadow of imminent death. You let go of that breath and yanked the drawer open, eyes squinting at the sight of neatly stacked black boxers, their size big enough to make you arch a brow, yet not big enough to completely conceal 6 inches of hot pink. You were safe.

“Looking for this?” A light buzz rang in your ear, your head tilting to meet Toji’s namesake.

“G-give it back!” You dived forward, gracelessly collapsing at his feet when he pulled it out of reach.

“Come and get it,” Toji retorted, wiggling it before your very eyes.

Piecing a loose strand of hair behind your ear, you pounced at him, fingers locking around the silicone and his hand, while he refused to surrender, his thrilled expression revealing just how much he enjoyed the demand in your tone as you bossed him into handing back the vibrator.

“What will I get in return?”

“Wha— why would you get anything?” You gritted your teeth, stumbling forward as he dragged you to him.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he shook his forefinger playfully. “Finders keepers, losers weepers. If ya really want it, better compensate me first. Oh, look, it has multiple speeds, huh….” he said semi-impressed, revving up the rabbit’s switch to its second and third speeds.

“…What do you want?” You practically begged, seeking a way out of this humiliation.

“Now we talking,” Toji smirked, barely restraining himself from ruffling the hair of the ferocious, albeit cute, beast that attacked him. “2912. What do the numbers mean? Tried your birthday first, but seems like you do have a few brain cells in there,” he tapped at your temple with his free hand, frustration pooling in your eyes. “Then your mom’s death anniversary, your sis’ birthday, that brat’s too— even mine, but no good.

“So, what’s 2912 to you? Indulge me, and I’ll let you have it.”

2912, or more accurately, 29/12. It didn’t surprise you that he didn’t remember. After all, it wasn’t an important date, just another winter’s day from many, many years ago. A day that was all but erased under the thick blanket of snow as it engulfed your tender memories.

A heavy sigh parted your lips, and at that moment, you knew you’d already lost.

“You really wanna know?”

It was the 27th of December.

The 27th morning of a month whose sole notable event was the week-long blizzard that’d condemned the entire nation to a period of absolute and unfaltering inertia. Well, as unfaltering as the in-between downpours let it be, snow washing over the streets in a diluted mixture of ice and mud every two days— streets turning into a dangerous minefield, and hospital beds quickly filling up with broken-boned smarty pants who thought wandering out and about in the heart of winter would be as inconsequential as those dull days were.

You were one of those idiots. Not quite, but you were on your way to join their ranks, every step you took across the frozen pavements of Tokyo threatening to leave you with a bad case of a sprained ankle, or worse, a cracked skull. You regretted wearing those worn-out boots today of all days, but then again, your wardrobe choices were limited to whatever clothing you’d grown out of, and the clothes your mother left behind.

This old suede pair was hers, too. A gift from back when your house was still open to crowds and birthday parties— when it wasn’t just an empty carcass of termite-eaten joists and web-infested corners that could barely welcome, let alone host, the final of its residents: yourself.

Returning to the reason why you’d chosen today as the day to stride across Shibuya —a thermos of soothing Butajiru soup gripped tightly between your mitten-clad palms and a backpack full of advertising fliers for your afternoon job attached to your back— and consequentially, the reason why you sported your mother’s beloved shoes: you had a job interview. Your first non-canceled interview in over two months since your personal inertia began when you were suddenly and unjustifiably laid off.

Those were tough times. The entire country was dipped in despair over the biggest economic recession they’d known. Left and right, people had their jobs snatched from within their grasp in the name of meek excuses such as cost reduction, or merging and buyouts, or even staff redundancy, and who could blame those small enterprise owners, really?

In any case, the cost of running your previous employer’s rathole of a convenience store might have been reduced, but your living expenses weren’t, and the supplementary funds the state provided were running dry. No one wanted to hire an inexperienced, uninsured high schooler. It was too much of a gamble, especially when the contenders were overqualified college graduates desperate enough to work menial jobs for the same breadcrumbs a part-timer would.

You were at your wit’s end. Out of luck and starved for something other than vending machine onigiri. Thirsty for a life you’d probably never be able to obtain. But today wasn’t about wallowing in self-pity. No, today was the day you’d take your first step toward normality and dignity. Today, you marched proudly in your mother’s most prized possession, and today you felt her comforting scent linger in the breeze, giving you the much-needed push to achieve what you’d set out to do.

Live. That was the final request that left her lips, and that was exactly what you were planning to do. You’d live. No matter what, against all odds, you would live.

The headlights at the bustling intersection shone a brilliant green as the herd of sharply dressed businessmen and casually dressed students on their day off pushed forward like a troop of toy soldiers, sweeping you past Shibuya River, where the crystallized waters from below its bridge stilled your grimacing reflection.

It’d been so long since the last time you’d genuinely smiled that your facial muscles barely remembered how to. It looked awkward and forced. Foreign. You’d practiced your introduction days ahead, but that damn smile stood in the way. If only there was a “smiles for dummies” playbook, though you doubted it’d help. Those without a reason to smile could only second-guess the happiness of those who were blessed with it.

As if to further test your theory, today’s misfortune came pedaling right in your direction, a hasty biker knocking the thermos off your hands and onto the water with a faint “sorry” echoing in his stead. You ducked over the handrail, spotting the silver shine a couple of meters away from the river’s brink. You sighed in relief, grateful that the impact hadn’t shattered the ice and that you still had about 45 minutes to catch your interview— more than enough time for you to carry out your flask’s impromptu rescue operation.

You walked over to the bridge’s sideline, where, in place of stairs, an overgrown cherry tree cast its shadow. This was far from sensible, but the cliff wasn’t steep enough to dissuade you. You looped your scarf around a leaning branch and began your descent, the non-existent friction between your tattered soles and the slippery cement sending you to meet your maker as you tumbled down the slope and hit the ground. Shit.

Once you were done lamenting your sheer idiocy, your faulty shoes, the tree branch, the weather forecast, and every Shinto deity’s name you could remember off the top of your head, you pushed yourself onto your knees, carefully rotating each ankle around itself. Not broken. Thank those aforementioned gods you cursed, or else you’d never be able to afford the medical bills.

You shook the snow off your clothes and stood up, stretching both arms over your head, only to realize your blunder had become a lonesome spectator’s object of amusement. The man —assuming that the creature behind you was a man and not some wild beast with the way his jacket fluffed over his skull— was bent in half, knees to his chest, and arms coiled around, the sole distinctive trait that of his sparkling green eyes zeroing in on your plainer orbs.

You could have sworn you heard a chuckle, too, but you weren’t about to start a fight with some unhinged bum at the bottom of a bridge— not when you were one missed bill away from sharing his fate.

Deciding to temporarily forsake his presence, you located the now broken branch and attempted to fish your bottle out, moving as close to the ice as you could. Desperate lunges pushed the thermos further in, your hold on the wood relaxing with each failed attempt until you barely had a grip.

“Excuse me!” you turned at your last resort. “Hi, um… could you please help me out here? I dropped this into the water, and it’s really important I get it back, but my arms can’t reach and the ice is so thin and slippery I just might fall.”

An uncomfortable chuckle failed to appease its tough crowd, with the man remaining lost in his thoughts, his eyes blinking slower than traffic lights during rush hours. It seemed like you’d found the worst person to exercise your communication skills with.

“Hello? Can you hear me?”

“Shut up.”

It was your turn to blink in surprise, your jaw dropping at the man’s barking. You were too shocked to be offended and too offended to question if it was you he addressed, but his next sentence left no real room for misunderstanding.

“I said, shut the fuck up and take it elsewhere. You were the one who dropped it. If it was that important to you, then shoulda taken better care of it instead of avalanching your way down here and disturbing my peace.”

Clapping your hands over your agape mouth, you muttered an apology and faced away from him, coming to your senses a minute later when you realized you weren’t in the wrong. Sure, he could be dealing with some lachrymose life-shattering situation you knew nothing about, but that wasn’t an excuse for him to act like a complete jerk to a fellow stranger in need.

You weren’t sure why you held back from flipping him off. Maybe you’d accepted that dealing with douchebags was going to become part of your new reality as a service worker, or maybe it was because you really didn’t want any trouble with a guy who looked this intimidating even while seated. Either way, you whipped out your trusty branch again and neared the brink, this time using it as a cane to help you tread the frozen waters and snatch your thermos.

You didn’t even get a chance at a victorious cheer when you felt the ice shatter beneath your feet, eager to swallow you into the depths of its bottomless abyss. Or that’s what would have happened if the river didn’t cap at 2 meters, and if a hand didn’t yank you by the scruff of your neck, hurling you back to the shore as if you weighed no more than a snowflake.

“The hell you think you are doing? Got a death wish or something?” the brass voice of your savior accused, belonging to a much more pleasant and youthful face than one would have expected.

The boy was more or less your age, about a head taller with broad shoulders and a toned physique his baggy clothes undermined— much stronger than your average high-schooler, judging by the sheer strength he’d flung your body with. Messy raven black hair rained down to his ears, sloppily chopped into shape by their owner himself. Eyes as green as a thousand springs gone by, and as fiery as the blazing fury scorching them. The only discord in his features was that of a scar on the right side of his lips, begrudgingly moving with each profanity he spat.

Your second apology came as a knee-jerk reaction to his outburst, encouraged by the temporal trance his good looks had subjected you to. You wouldn’t say you had a type, and even if you did, you doubted that a no-good, rude bridge inhabitant was it. However, the only way for you to tear your gaze off of him was to physically force yourself away. The guy murmured something under his breath and moved back to his original spot, arms dangling over his spread thighs.

You were unsure of what to do. The time for your interview was closing in, and no one guaranteed he wouldn’t rip the vocal cords off your throat if you tried to verbally thank him. You had a very bad feeling about this guy, and perhaps you should have listened to your gut rather than nullifying the distance with a peace offering.

“Here,” you prodded a spare cup of soup into the empty space between you.

He arched a brow at your gesture, his irritation gradually melting into curiosity and then acceptance as he brought the cup to his lips and took a hesitant sip.

“Hmm,” he hummed, gulping down some more after he’d made sure you weren’t trying to poison him.

You expected something else to follow, but it seemed like his outburst exhausted his vocabulary. You could always ask what he thought of it, but the thought alone was as scary as going for another suicide dive. So you said nothing, and he did the same. Just two strangers who barely tolerated each other sharing a moment of silence in the snowy landscape.

A short while later, the boy shoved the cup toward you and dug his hand in his jacket’s front pocket, dropping about six crumpled ten-thousand yen bills at your feet.

“For the soup,” he explained as if the notion of spending such an extravagant sum on half a cup of pork loin soup made sense.

“Are you outta your mind?” You pushed the bills back at him, lest your greed take over. “How much do you think this cost to make?”

“Dunno,” he shrugged, no real hurry to reclaim his cash.

Your initial impression was completely false. No bum would ever wave ten-thousand bills around as if they were nothing. No, this guy ought to at least be some troubled conglomerate heir that’d run away from his five-bedroom mansion.

“I’m sure you don’t know how dangerous this neighborhood is,” you said, placing your hand against your heart. “But as a born and raised local, allow me to say that if you keep flaunting wads of cash in people’s faces so recklessly, it won’t be long before you get mugged. It’s your lucky day you ran into me and not some sleazy money grabber, but trust me, not every day’s lucky, and not everyone’s as nice.”

Something about what you said must have resonated with him, considering his frown cracked into a simper.

“I’d like to see them try,” he spoke in a cocky tone that reeked of confidence. “How much for seconds then?”

“Not for sale,” you answered, throwing the thermos inside your backpack.

His weight shifted in your direction, chin balancing against his elbow. “Why not?”

“You see, I’m on my way to a job interview. Figured if I don’t cut it, then the soup will,” quickly adding, “It’s my trump card.”

“What a dumb plan,” he sneered. “If ya wanna bribe someone, better make an offer they can’t refuse. Couple of these work like a charm.”

He waved the money again, successfully drawing your interest when you noticed tiny splotches of red on one of the bills. Blood.

Picking up on the change in your expression, he hurriedly stuffed the cash inside his pocket, his thumbs sticking out in a relaxed grip so as to hide his discomfort. The air grew heavy once more, albeit for a different reason.

Every guess you’d made regarding this guy’s identity clashed with the next one. He was rude, but he’d jumped to your rescue. He looked unkempt yet strikingly handsome. He’d taken refuge under a bridge but was damn loaded. A walking (more like seated) contradiction of a man that intrigued you in more ways than he repulsed you.

“So, what are you doing out here? Did you also fall from up there?” You chuckled nervously while pointing upward.

He smiled.

“That’s a pretty old-school pickup line, if ya ask me.”

“That’s not what I meant!” Your chest pounded against your fleece jacket, hands quick to dispute him. “Did something happen? Why did you end up here?”

He shook his head.

“Did you run away from home?”

He shook his head again.

“Did you get into a fight with someone?”

He thought about shaking his head a third time, but instead, he opted for a groan and hissed about how he should have let you drown.

Your tongue embarrassed you yet again, as you mumbled an apology and cowered in your corner. For some reason, you couldn’t stop apologizing to him, and if that was enough to frustrate you, then it was definitely enough to annoy him. Maybe the time to leave had come. You’d done your part in thanking him, and it was really none of your business to pry into his sad character backstory.

“Well then. It was nice knowing you, and all. Hope you have a Happy New Year’s and a nice life, and let’s never see each other again for as long as we-”

“What if I told you I just killed someone?”

The blood in your veins froze for a reason separate from the cold. You were left staring at him with wide-open eyes and a wide-open mouth that refused to form anything other than a soundless “What?!”

“Thought so,” he scoffed as if he expected the outcome, sorrow lingering in his voice. “Go away if ya don’t wanna end up the same way. I’m still getting the hang of it, and I’m afraid it’d hurt more than drowning.”

But you didn’t leave. Even when that little voice of reason thrashed and begged for you to seize the opportunity and get the fuck away from this place, your legs refused to take another step. Instead, you settled back upon the snowy blanket and stilled your gaze on his face, watching a glimmer of something tune in the green of his eyes.

“W-Who was it?” You feigned calmness.

“Does it matter?” he shrugged.

“Why did you kill him?”

“Does it really matter?” he sighed, reconsidering his answer. “Dunno. Money, I guess. Not as if I had a personal grudge or anything. Didn’t even know the dude up until three days ago. Took him out with a single bullet to his brain. T’was instant since he didn’t move. Painless, too.” He tried to humanize his actions.

You weren’t entirely sold on his story, but on the off chance he was telling the truth, that made him a murderer and you a witness to his crime. Worse, if you didn’t rat on him, it made you an accomplice, and as far as you were concerned, neither was less illegal than the other.

Your hands cupped your mouth completely as you pretended to blow hot air, the reality being that you didn’t want to spew anything too backhanded before thinking things through. Oddly, it all made sense. The reason he sat down there like a puppy kicked by his owners. His devil-may-care attitude and rude comments that meant to throw you off. The blood on the bills and the stain on the hem of his jacket that you’d previously overlooked.

That was all the incriminating evidence one needed to possibly sentence him, and yet you sensed no real danger in his presence. Only a deep sadness that stemmed from his lifeless eyes, making you believe that his so-called victim was none other than himself. He looked as if he hadn’t gotten a wink of sleep in God knows how long, the light in his eyes reduced to a murky shade of jade now that everything was laid bare.

There was so much you didn’t know about this boy, his name included. But you knew that look of despair all too well. If it was because of money, then maybe, just this once, you wouldn’t mind giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“How much did you make?” You lowered your palms.

Your question surprised him more than he thought possible, and his stupefied expression was a telltale sign of that. He flipped both pockets inside out and let the money fall onto the snow, revealing twice the amount he’d held before— a total of 120.000 yen.

“Minus a grand. Felt hungry after,” he admitted.

“Must be nice… With that amount of money, I could have rice to last me until the end of the year.”

“You’d kill for rice…?”

Glancing at his face, you couldn’t help yourself from snorting. You were both too deep inside the twilight zone to be questioning each other’s motives.

“Why act surprised? People like us do all sorts of things to get out of our predicaments, don’t we?” you asked, deciding there were more things you had in common than things that divided you. “Is ‘just money’ a better reason than rice?”

“Nah,” he shook his head. “But if I were you, I’d get myself a pair of boots that ain’t a death trap of its own. Gotta be a special kind of idiot to wear crappy shoes in the snow.”

“These were my mother’s!” you objected, and he smirked. “What about you? Where do you plan on spending all that money?”

“Roppongi probably. Or Kabukicho. Heard the right price fetches you the right type of fun there.”

He couldn’t be serious. Those were two of the most renowned bad districts in the history of bad districts. Drugs, gambling, prostitution— you name it.

“How old are you again?”

“Older than you,” he childishly retorted.

“What’s your name?”

“So you can snitch?” His tongue wet the scar below his bottom lip. “Toji.”

“Last name?”

He contemplated his answer for a bit before proudly stating that he didn’t have one —that he didn’t need one— and then he asked you the same.

“Y/N.” You smiled faintly. “I do have a last name, but doubt the one who gave it wants me to have it. Would’ve asked it back if it had any real value.”

“So we are two fuck-ups,” he— Toji, declared.

“I suppose we are.”

The two of you shared a quiet laugh, the kind that wasn’t heard but felt through the eyes of two kindred spirits entirely content with each other’s presence. Ever since your mother passed, you lived in a sphere separate from other people. Your classmates and those who tried to be your friends could afford the luxury of sharing takoyaki on a school day and going karaoke singing the next. They could attend field trips and leave memories on a string of Polaroid frames.

You didn’t. You couldn’t. There wasn’t a single moment in your life when you hadn’t thought about the cost of milk and the value of one-plus-one deals you convinced yourself you didn’t need. Such were the concerns you had at seventeen. Not boys, no friendships, no university entrance exams, no nothing. You couldn’t afford the price tag of a dream, let alone a tomorrow. You lived for today and for making ends meet, so how could someone like you ever aspire to be understood? How could you ever view yourself as something other than the zeros at the bottom of your meager paycheck?

Your self-exile had no room for others, yet somehow, this foul-mouthed stranger had barged his way in and given you a moment that you couldn’t price. A moment that neither loan sharks nor the bank could ever steal. A moment of your youth.

The thick fingers of a calloused hand came to tap at your knee softly, making you wonder whether you’d missed something during your short period of contemplation.

“When’s the interview?” Toji asked.

“Uhm.” You rolled your sleeve to check your watch. “Ten minutes? There’s still time; the place’s right around the corner.”

“Somethin’ tells me getting your ass over there will take longer than that.” Suddenly, the hand that was on your leg hovered above your head, prompting you to grab it as Toji towered over you. “Let’s go.”

“You coming with?”

“You think I’d rather sit down here like some bridge troll that reels in defenseless damsels in distress?”

You were tempted to answer “yes” to see his reaction, but he resumed talking before you could utter a word. “Won’t say it again. Let’s go.”

And with that, you followed Toji to the other end of the bridge, where the stairs you previously failed to locate mocked you with every little squeak your heels produced, until you stood back at the top of civilization, finding it, unsurprisingly, the same as you’d left it. Thoroughly white and eerily quiet.

Just as you thought your ways would part, Toji took your hand in his rather forcefully and picked up a steady gait that you were made to keep up with, your shoes leaving deep imprints in the snow.

He held your hand all the way to the diner, and although you were truly curious as to why he did that, you didn’t dare ask. You walked side by side in silence, occasional fleeting gazes catching his warm breath clashing with the cold. It was then that you realized how warm his palm felt, despite it being all bare. Warm, strong, and certain. So this is what holding a guy’s hand feels like, you giddily mused.

By the time you reached the front door, you were more reluctant to let go than you’d been to grab his hand, thinking that this was the first and last time the two of you were saying goodbye. Sweat made your fingers slippery. You were anxious. You slid your mittens off your fingers and, on a whim, pressed them tight against his palms, making him the recipient of the first gift you’d ever given. He shot the pink-colored wool a funny look —maybe because the prospect of him accepting such a girly-looking accessory puzzled him— and then lingered for a moment or two before he turned around and waved at you over his shoulder.

“Aren’t you gonna wish me good luck?” You asked when the distance between you began to increase.

“You won’t need it,” you heard him say. “The soup will do.”

And with those final words exchanged, you traded the frigid cold for the diner’s artificial heat and the presence of a prospective friend for that of your boss-to-be.

Just like Toji predicted, you didn’t need luck, and you didn’t need that lukewarm soup either. The man hired you almost as fast as he saw you, sternly announcing that you start come Monday. You thanked him from the bottom of your heart and ran back outside, searching through the various white-painted buildings for that stubborn hint of black you’d not too long ago parted with— which you quickly spotted a couple of alleyways ahead.

“I got the job! You hear me, Toji?” You yelled in utter glee, sensibility alone keeping you from springing upward like a jack-in-the-box. “I’m not a fuck-up anymore; I got it! I got the job!”

You weren’t even sure whether that shadow really belonged to him and whether he’d actually made sense of all your frantic cries, but maybe if you’d hushed a little, then you could have heard a distant voice chiming, “I knew you would.”

It was the 27th of December when we first met, but it was on the 29th that I fell in love with you— the scruffy boy with the snow-laced hair and emptied pockets who ordered the cheapest fries off the menu as my company’s fee.

You had your answer locked and loaded— a trigger waiting to be pulled. A clear shot. One bullet was all it’d take to end it. One word, and the farce you called friendship would fizzle right then and there. A sadistic impulse uncoiled deep within your stomach, hitching up your throat like a vile serpent of temptation spurring your chaste tongue to commit the greatest sin imaginable.

I hate being your friend. I don’t want to do this anymore. Do you have any idea how hard it is?

All synonyms for the same emotion. A gut-wrenching, soul-crushing, and above all, self-destructive unrequited love that made your heart clench at the mere sight of him, pound at the sound of his voice, and hammer at the ghost of his touch. If you could reach deep within your chest and cut that useless thing off the strings that held it in its cavity, you certainly would. You’d hand it over to him and gladly watch him stomp on it with the biggest smile contorting the final expression on your face. You wanted to rid yourself of this pointless emotion, but you knew very well that to destroy yourself meant to destroy him.

The 18-year-old Toji that held your hand on a cold winter’s day as if it were the most precious thing to him. The 20-year-old Toji that came along to meet the sister and nephew you didn’t know you had. The 22-year-old Toji that said he was proud of you when you paid off your parents’ house’s mortgage. The 24-year-old Toji that came to your graduation from state college with blood-stained lilies in his hand, again letting slip how proud he was. The 26-year-old Toji that didn’t hesitate to knock the teeth right out of a handsy prick’s jaw, spending his first and last night in a holding cell. The Toji from the last ten years of your life that never strayed too far away from your sight and always managed to return in time for lunch.

Standing in front of the 28-year-old Toji, you felt more apologetic than ever, wishing that you wouldn’t have let your love for him fester into something so selfish and consuming. Because if Toji left, then you’d still have your sister and her family, but if you left, Toji would have none.

And that was why you could never tell him what that day meant. It was impossible to speak of it with any less fondness than the one depicted in your memories, and as dense as Toji could be at times, he was no idiot. So rather than giving him the answer he thought himself to seek, you retracted your hand and took a step back, forcing the meekest smile your guilty conscience could muster.

“How about an offer you’d never refuse?”

tags: @absoluteindulgence

[tearsonthemoons]

Skinny dipping daydream

+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*━━━*+:★:+*

Warning: MATURE CONTENT!! Major smut, skinny dipping, PinV activities, slight dirty talk, mild angst.

Paring: Coriolanus snow x reader smut

Prompt: you go swimming at your favorite swimming hole late at night, you end up finding a young boy you recognize from school, the night takes a turn you didn’t expect.

I had known Snow since we were kids. We grew up together in the same small town, the same district, where everyone knew everyone. But we never really hung out together, I could only see him mess around at school and gather garden supplies from our local market, I always admired him from afar. Other than that, we never even talked, until one summer day when we both found ourselves at the same lake, our towns popular swimming hole, it was always occupied, unless it was dark, which is when decide to sneak off there.

It was a late night and the cool water of the lake was calling to me.

As I followed down the path towards the lake, I couldn't help but feel butterflies in my stomach. I thought about snow all the way down. He is charming, always has a mischievous glint in his eye. I was excited to spend the night at the lake, but little did I know, things were about to take an unexpected turn.

As I reached the edge of the sparkling blue water, I noticed someone already sitting at the dock facing the water. It was him, the boy I thought about all the way here. Snow.

as I was slowly approaching pretending I didn't notice him sitting there, or pretend I didn't know who he was. I hesitated for a moment, unsure of whether I should say something or not. I had always been too shy to talk to anyone I liked, and the thought of striking up a conversation with snow, now made my heart race. But something inside me pushed me forward, and before I knew it, I was next to him on the dock.

'Hey,' I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Snow looked up, looking like I startled him, his eyes meeting mine, and a small smile formed on his lips. 'Hey,' he replied, his voice was warm and friendly.

I took a seat next to him on the dock, almost like taking a leap of faith. the cool wood beneath me sending a shiver up my spine. We sat in silence for a few moments, both of us gazing out at the peaceful lake. I couldn't help but steal glances at snow, admiring the way the moonlight danced over his features.

'Isn't it beautiful here?' snow finally spoke, breaking the comfortable silence between us.

I nodded, unable to find the right words to express how I felt. Being here with him made this place even more intriguing. His eyes were studying my face as I reacted to his recent words.

"You're y/n right?" he said turning a little bit making his dog tag move in the wind, immediately causing me to have to remove my eyes from his chest.

"Correct. We've had the same class since pre years." I said letting out a slight laugh. “hm” he said looking surprised he could remember I even existed. "What brings you here, mrs y/n?" "It is late." he said locking with my eyes again.

"I always come here at dark, It's what I consider fun." I said letting out a soft chuckle and softly kicking my feet around the cold water. the conversation lasted a while, dragging itself on.

As the night went on, I found myself talking about a lot of things to snow. I noticed hes listened intently, His eyes never leaving mine, making me feel seen and understood in a way.

Snow suddenly turned to me. 'How about we actually have a little fun today?' he said, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.

My heart skipped a beat, wondering what kind of fun he had in mind. 'Sure, what do you have in mind?' I asked, trying to play it cool. But i was truly nervous. me and snow, alone, at dark. I truly was only a teenage girl, next to a attractive boy.

“Well,”Snow began, “i was thinking we could play a game of strip tease.”

My cheeks flushed with heat at the suggestion. I had always been a bit shy when it came to my body, but the thought of undressing in front of Snow sent a thrill through me, I didn't want him to not like what he saw, but he truly only saw this as an innocent game. I can't seem weak.

'Come on, it'll be fun.' Snow urged, sensing my hesitation.

With a deep breath, I nodded my head and agreed to his proposal. he walked me to a secluded spot on the shore and laid out what looked to be a towel, ready to begin our game. he's clearly done this before, I was clearly just another pawn in his game. But I couldn't resist the urges. the air was blowing my hair, I know he would have smelled my peachy shampoo. I couldn't help but steal glances at Snow as we both removed our clothes, the moon shining down enough to where I couldn't hide myself. He wasn't exactly waiting to get started. He came up close to me and gave me a fast kiss with his hands going from my neck gently to grasping my waist with desire.

"Shall I get us started?" he said in a joking manner, he made me laugh, which was his goal. As he reached for the back of my dress tie I ran off fastly with a laugh teasing him. He ran after me with a following laugh that echoed through the night time trees. "It is a strip and tease aint it?" I yelled as I nearly reached the water.

Before I could run anymore he came up on me and lifted me In a frenzied laugh we both shared. As he slowly put me down we had a remain smile, though my feet were now on the ground, he was still holding me. He placed his lips on mine, he tasted as I felt about him, this was a perfect distraction for him to pull the tie from the back of my dress, making it be nearly fully off of me, just barely resting on my shoulders for support. his eyes were glued to me.

I couldn't deny the chemistry between us. I felt a rush of adrenaline as I slowly revealed more of my body to Snow, his eyes never leaving my moonlite skin. His touch was electric as we moved closer and closer to each other, the game nearly forgotten as our bodies pressed together.

As we kissed under the dark moon, our bodies intertwined, I couldn't imagine a more perfect touch than his. Who would have thought that a simple game of strip tease would lead to such a passionate moment. I slowly lifted him shirt from his body, my dress falling behind. by this time, everything was off our bodies, admiring everything about him, he was admiring me with his hands, caressing everything on me.

His hands and feet were walking us into the water, my feet reaching the cold water, his hands caressing every spot of my body he could reach on me. Kissing him here and there as we made our way deeper. at this point we were swimming. I looked at him, admiring him. His hair was slicked back from the water, his body dripping in water, a smile looking back at me. I couldn't resist my urge to wrap my legs around him, despite being naked.

and the feeling of being so exposed on top of Snow was exhilarating.

As we treaded water, Snow finally pulled me in for a kiss. me on top of him, feeling him nearly go into me, our lips locked in a passionate embrace. The water was the perfect temperature, and the sounds of crickets singing for us only added to the moment. Feeling the weightlessness and the coolness of the water against our skin. It was a liberating and exhilarating experience,

We kissed for what felt like hours, our bodies pressed close together in the water. I could feel his hands exploring my body, tracing the curves of my back and hips, before he pulled away. "Can i?" he said looking me up and down. I knew what he was asking, I wasn't going to say no.

"Yes" I said removing from of the pressure my legs had on his back so he could out me where I he wanted. slowly his hands moved me to where he was finally inside.

The water was teasing our bodies as we he slowly moved me up and down, adding to the sensation of being completely immersed in each other. We started to move together in a slow, passionate rhythm, It was a feeling unlike anything I had ever experienced before. The coolness of the water mixed with the heat of our bodies, creating an electrifying sensation.

I had to press my head into his shoulder almost leaving a soft bite to try and contain the noise I wanted to make. "Can I keep going" he said with his hand holding me tightly so I didn't drift away seeing that my legs were shaking unstable.

"Please." I said in a shaky whisper in his ear.

this was what changed everything, he started moving much faster and using his hands harshly to keep me in place, the pleasure was uncontrollable, He was leaving out soft groans into my ear only spreading my chance of climax up. He was getting faster and Faster, making the water splash around us, I needed something stronger for support, the feeling sent me over, I reached for his back digging my nails into his broad back as I let my final moan out. I had reached my climax.

But he was still using my body, "Im almost there, Just a little longer okay?" he said In a heavy whisper almost out of breath. This feeling was indescribable, he moaned as his hands squeezed me the hardest they had all night let me know he was finished.

For the few minutes of soft kisses and catching our breaths, he broke our heaving breathing by saying "I barely even know you." "That was the greatest I've ever had Y/N."

my heart flutters before I kiss him one last time. "come back tomorrow?" I said ending our night.

[whoiwanttoday]

When I was younger I used to have to actually call in to work but the advent of voicemail in the office made my life a lot easier. I would wait until about 4 or 5 AM, call when I knew there would be no one to answer, put on my weakest voice and try to sound sick to make sure that no one could question that I was too unwell to come in to work. About 90% of the time I called in it was because of my depression, which early on was undiagnosed, then diagnosed and poorly managed, but I would fluctuate between being unable to sleep for days or being unable to do anything other than sleep. Either way, it gave me great anxiety that I would be caught because in those days you couldn't actually call in for depression, it wasn't a real illness, not like a cold, so I had to be vague while sounding like maybe I had a cold. Once we could start emailing in, a thing that existed but no one thought to do until we were able to easily access work email from home, it became that much easier. I still had the fear that they would think maybe I was out partying all night and just getting home and faking it but I didn't have very many other options so the emails still came in at 5 AM. It was one of life's many stupid ironies that I was in bed wanting to die and convinced no one thought of me but if they did they thought I was a pathetic loser but also they might think I was a lying party animal loser who was out living things up and skipping work because my life was too awesome.

Anyway, that's a long way of mentioning I am playing hooky today but my life is so much more privileged than it once was because I have been struggling with a pretty rough depressive episode for two weeks now and at the start of this week decided I couldn't do it anymore but if i gave myself a shred of hope maybe I could. So I am technically on vacation today, a thing younger me didn't get, actual leave for vacation, or really the ability to ask for, time off a few days in advance. My head being a mess still fucking sucks, it's not cheery to start singing in the shower and realize you've changed all the lyrics to be about wanting to die, though it is technically sort of funny, like the least marketable Weird Al anyone can imagine, but it's amazing how much easier it is if you have things like money and actual benefits. All of this is a long way of saying I have 10:30 AM tickets to see Longlegs, a thing I was supposed to see last week on Thursday but when the time came I canceled my tickets and took a credit because I was curled up in bed and could not make myself get out of it no matter how hard I tried. So I am posting Maika Monroe because she has long been dear to my horror addled heart due to the fact that she starred in what is one of my all time favorite horror movies, It Follows. She was also in the Guest which is frankly, pretty top notch as well but not on the all time greats list. I realize I am putting the cart before the horse a little bit here, given I haven't seen Longlegs yet but I both have faith and also the horse can absolutely go fuck himself. I am sick of worrying about the horse, who has, I might point out, done fuck and all for me. I haven't even used glue since like 3rd grade so the horse can just fucking rot for all I care. Anyway, when I first posted Maika Monroe she was still mainly coming up in tags on tumblr as a Surfer, which is kind of wild because I don't think that's how anyone thinks of her now. Either way, I enjoy her work, I think today will be good, today I want to fuck Maika Monroe.

[fishedeyelenz]

ANNOUNCEMENT FOR THE BLACK CHRISTMAS FANDOM

Hello everyone who's been following my writing and art and OC's!! Your support has warmed my heart, and got me through some thought times. Thank you very much for sticking by me, commenting, sending me kudos and asks regarding Dilf Billy and my oc-verse I made around him!

However... I have come to realize I have made Billy, at least the older 45-50 year old version of him my own. Very much my own. I think there's a discrepancy between my characterization of him, and how he is portrayed in the movie/novel/commentary. Another thing is that I love him too much. I want to make him my own, not an interpretation of a pre-existing character...

So that's exactly what I am going to do! I'm taking him and making him an OC. Currently I am in the process if changing up his backstory to make him distinct from Billy Lenz, though the Dilf version we see in Rats in the shadows and partially in So give me coffee and tv will stay similar.

My goal is to create a group of ocs consisting of the character formerly known as Billy, Camille, Bean and other side characters who will exist in a story about an ex serial killer father. I'm still early in the rework, but I feel like I don't have change too much.

What this means I will effectively be distancing myself at least partially from the Black Christmas fandom, at least in terms of my content creation though these past few months I have been in a rut given college preoccupying most of my time. I still love Black Christmas, it will remain one of my favorite movies forever. I cherish the friends I made and the experiences I had, but I want to move on to more original creations, uninhibited by primary existing source materials.

I will still interact with fan works in terms of reblogging art and writing , and I will most likely draw more of Billy Lenz and the other characters from the movie in the future. Anything regarding Camille, Bean, "dilf Billy" though, will be something divorced from Black Christmas, entirely its own thing, though obviously inspired by it.

Will I return to writing for Black Christmas? At this point I am uncertain. I have a WIP of a priest!au thing for Dilf Billy, which if I ever get around to finishing I would post under the pretense that it's a Black Christmas fanwork. However, I am not sure if I will finish it, given that I don't really have the time, and at the moment motivation to really work on it. Another story idea exists too, one which would better fit into the Black Christmas ethos with is very dark tone and heavy subject matter (while still remaining a smut work) which I would gladly have exist as a fanwork.... But once again I am lacking the time and want to do it. It would be a very big project, all things considered.

So what now? I will keep all my Billy Lenz/Dilf Billy content up on my blog, my AO3 will stay intact (though I will forward this announcement onto there), and I won't change my tags on Dilf Billy related posts. Moving forward, though, everything created for my oc inspired by Billy Lenz/Dilf Billy Lenz will be tagged as that. I need to come up with a new name for him first...

I will also make a post regarding how the plot of Rits/Sgmcatv would have went if I'd finished them, to give you guys some sort of conclusion. Though the new oc story with Bean, Camille and the new Billy oc in it will very closely follow Rits original storyline. Most of the events of Rits are canon still in regards to Camille's and Bean's backstory, with of course some caveats (no Brahms, Camille and "Billy" meet differently etc.). But the large majority of the plot points and story beats are the same.

I will be happy to answer any further questions, as my inbox is open. I'm sorry to disappoint anyone, but I've felt the need to move on, to elevate this story. I hope I can be forgiven. Now I bid farewell to this part of my life and creative era, and look forward to the new.

[ohsunnyboy]

i insist | kim taerae ˚₊‧⁺˖

when there's moments like this, it's hard not to fall in love with kim taerae all over again

TAGS: drabble, gn!reader, kissing but cute <3, full throttle fluff, cuddles galore, established relationship

A/N: taerae is the softest man i have ever seen and i will die on this hill :) as always, purely self-indulgent

WORDS: ~900

Battling against a fever for the past week doesn’t turn you – or anyone! – into the prettiest person.

In fact, you were entirely against Taerae even coming over to look after you in your horrid state: your three-blanket wrap, two ramyeon a day diet and maybe one sick retch every other hour. But whatever Taerae insists, Taerae gets. And it takes a week of constant mothering, cleaning and cooking, for someone like you to go insane under him – or rather, for him. It's actually infuriating how good Taerae is at this.

However, sometimes you want to hold him in place and demand, "who have you done this for before?!" because this type of mothering takes years of practice to perfect. Though, can you really expect anything less of your Kim Taerae.

Content to be bundled up in bed for the rest of your life – it really is a lovely life.

Sun streams through the crack in the curtains splashing your room in a dull yellow glow. The spring sun brings a chill that no one likes to admit exists. With your duvets woven around you like shields, the warmth seeps into you like a slow rambling fire. It takes a moment to blink halfway awake, to only just notice the arm slung around your waist and the feel the kisses peppering your nape.

"G'morning," you mumble into the bed. Voice all scratchy and dry, but noticeably smoother than it has been for the past week.

You can feel Taerae bury into your neck with another flurry of kisses now that you've woken up. Without a doubt shy, but eager to see you awake. “Do you feel better today?" he asks softly. His already deep voice rolls especially low and heavy in the morning wake. A tender blush climbs to your face as he hums into your neck – the steady thrum tempting you back to sleep.

"Did you fall back asleep already?" Taerae flicks the back of your head, and you kick him in the shins for revenge.

His laughter rumbles behind you, and your soft amusement follows suit. "Not when you’re such a morning menace." Smiling, you turn over to face him, tangling your legs back up with his and burying just a little more under the covers.

His blush stretches across his cheeks and to his ears – both cherry red. Taerae’s grin is abashed, and all you want to do is hold him by the face and kiss him stupid. Entwined in your sheets like this, it's a mess of limbs: his arm around your waist, your leg now hitched around his, and hands toying through hair. It's impossible to say where each other ends and the other begins.

"I feel much better," you answer. "All thanks to you and your kisses." You cup his face now, loving the way his smile stretches across it. It’s an unbearable warmth that spreads across your cheeks at seeing his wide smile and easy heart.

You could spend the day in bed doing nothing but trace his gorgeous smile, listen to the roll of his voice and tasting love on his tongue. It would feel as natural as a spring day to sleep in and do nothing – especially after the past week doing exactly that. Though, draped in this golden light, it’s hard to forget how stunning Taerae looks when he holds you. When you hold each other.

Frame by frame, second by second, you drink it in.

"… I'm glad.” He hesitates, for a second – one moment. If you were any less awake you would have never caught it.

You’re both close enough that all you have to do is tilt your head forward a bit to catch his lips. Maybe lean just a bit more to plant a kiss to each of his dimples and stretch an inch for one blessed kiss to his forehead. So close, all you can do is look to find the light tension about his eyes and little pinch to his lips.

It takes a moment to realise what the problem is.

"My breath stinks, doesn't it,” you deadpan. Entirely aware of how the little distance between you two doesn’t help and how he twists his nose is enough of an answer.

"It does,” he relents, and all you can do is whine. You two know that leaving the bed to go brush will only invite the spring chill but alas, one must make sacrifices for a relationship.

Brave and bold, you start to move to get up. The least you can do is get the day started between you two. “I’ll go brush my teeth then.” Fate accepted and doom foretold, you begin to lift your duvet.

But Taerae pulls you back down and keeps you where you were. “Nope! You stay in bed, it’s still early and cold.” He tucks your head back under his chin to silence you. The enveloping warmth traps you and wow do you not want to get up – stupidly effective. “You go back to sleep, and I’ll wake you up with breakfast later, okay?” he murmurs into your hair.

“I feel better though!”

Taerae shifts under you and presses you further into him. “And? Let me do this for you, I insist.” Then and there, you melt into him. It’s inevitable that you blush; head filled with nothing but fuzzy thoughts and mush.

Head hidden in the crook of Taerae’s neck, you can feel how his voice thrums and pulse beats along to a steady melody. Some ballad song that can have you both fully belting in the car but dreamy when going to bed. One that swings you away to sleep, bundled in warmth and kissed with joy.

thanks so much for reading!! a like and reblog would be wonderful if you enjoyed :) ⭒ masterlist

[christinesficrecs]

I might be drowning in lost fic requests. 🤦🏻‍♀️ If you can help I would REALLY appreciate it. ❤️

Stiles started dating this really abusive guy, he cut off all contact with the pack, his dad Etc and the guy moves them away (maybe Chicago). Stiles eventually leaves him and goes back home and it turns out the pack and his dad have been trying to find him.

Lost River (never reached the sea) by scribespirare | 13.2K | Mature Three years Stiles has been gone. Three years, and then out of the blue he shows up on Derek's front porch, bloody and bruised and in need.

I am looking for a fic where there's the monster of the week (it's maybe an incubus?) and it shifts to look like stiles. It convinces derek to not turn him into the rest of the pack. Derek agrees just to be able to be with 'stiles.' scott i think figures it out? And tells derek that it would have slowly killed him.

Derek hates touch because of Kate and flinches whenever someone touches him. But Stiles does this thing where he never touches Derek, instead he lets his hand hover around him, allowing for Derek to initiate the contact if he wants to. Oh! And Cora’s alive and I’m pretty sure the one who notices this. She ends up confronting Stiles about it at some point. I know it’s pretty short, just one chapter/ a one-shot, and around 5,000 words. I think, I could be wrong.

i see that you've come so far [just like them old stars] by crossroadswrite | 2.3K But her big brother’s unwillingness to touch anyone, like he thinks he doesn’t deserve it isn’t the only thing she notices. She also notices how Stiles doesn’t touch him. Everyone reaches for Derek in some form or another, but Stiles- Stiles is something different altogether because he reaches for Derek but he never makes contact.

Hi! Could you please help me find this fic where Derek is an alpha but of like the whole town I think? Or something. Stiles keeps getting into trouble or losing control (or something) and he goes to stay with Derek for a few weeks to help him behave/get focused because hes the alpha. Derek helps him focus better on his homework and runs exercises with him to burn off excess energy and misses him when he goes back to his dad's. That's all I remember, sorry its so vague.

Do you know of a fixk where derek and Stiles kill Gerard together but when chris ask them about it they act surprised he did? I dont know anything other than this so sorry

Basically it's young Derek x Stiles, Derek is part of the basketball team and they end up going on like a trip for a basketball game. Stiles tags along and they end up staying at a motel (they share a room). At some point it's Stiles’ Mothers death anniversary and Derek brings him fast food back from his jog. And I'm like 90% certain that there's like a bonfire at the back of the motel and Derek brings out his guitar infront of everyone and starts singing abt his crush on Stiles.

Okay sooo, young Derek x Stiles but the hale family are still alive. There's this whole thing about them both promising to have a starwars marathon. Derek also draws a lot in this sketchbook thing, he's like rlly private abt it but stiles ends up looking in it and finding a drawing of both him and Derek. Then Derek kind of wolfs out? He like loses control a bit and is afraid of hurting Stiles. OH! And then there's another bit where theyre playfighting in the Hales' kitchen and Derek pins Stiles down and stiles gets really embarrassed abt it. And then at the end there's like a really cute line abt their hearts beating as one 🥺🥺

Hey! I hope you or your followers can help me out but I've been wracking my brain on this one for awhile trying to remember this fic where everyone loses their memory of Stiles' existence but this is where I get fuzzy on the details. All I can remember is that Stiles returns to his house and his dad threatens him because he doesn't recognize him and so he ends up at Derek's. IIRC, Derek doesn't actually recognize him either (he might reveal this right away or later?) but helps him anyhow?

Hi! Ive been trying to find this fic, it was a amnesia type fic and I believe Derek went to visit his family who live out of state, he planned on finally telling them about Stiles but hes in an accident, loses his memories, and his family starts trying to set him up on dates(?). I think some of his family were wellknown or famous or someone told Stiles about Derek going out and Stiles just assumes he'd wanted out of the relationship but didnt want to tell him. Its mostly the summary I remember😅

Hi, I'm looking for a fic where young Stiles meets Derek in the woods as a werewolf, helps him get back home, to thank Stiles he writes him a letter and Derek replies that they become pen pals. That's what I remember that's how it starts. thank you!