#I have some thoughts on how I’d like to organize books once I move out again that will also ruffle the ‘ew organized by color’ people

[bereft-of-frogs]

I’m slowly getting back some of my start-of-year getting-my-life-together energy back and I reorganized my bookshelf to be in a color gradient because that inspires people to such heights of rage. I think it looks nice. (Definitely made easier by the fact this is a small fraction of the books I actually own and that the bottom shelf of this bookcase is a bit more chaotic.)

Anyway, time to fold some laundry. And water plants. Then take another rest.

[springgirlshowers]

You’re A Dream, A Burning Star

Summary: A small musician at a venue in Berlin catches Joosts eye, after speaking to her, neither would never expect the next few months to be so intense.

Pairing: Joost Klein x Fem!Reader

WC: 8016

CW: drinking, shitty boyfriends, kissing, yelling, arguing, actually proofread for once, tbh this whole fic is a rollercoaster of emotions…strap in

A/N: THANK YOU SO MUCH ANON WHO REQUESTED THIS!!! this has probably been the most fun one to write n my longest fic yet, hope it breaks your heart and mends it all at the same time <3 *songfic heavily inspired by this evil ass song*

Sometimes while traveling, Joost would like to go out to smaller venues and watch other live shows of performers he’s never heard of.

The one he was going to tonight, he had already had a show booked there tomorrow night.

He just wanted to get an idea of what it would be like inside, sure he saw the photos of it, but he always preferred seeing things in real life.

The line up tonight was two opening acts, then the main one at a small venue and bar.

The first opening act was your name. He thought it was pretty. As he stood to the side, beer in hand. He watched you enter the stage, obviously nervous.

A pretty face to match a pretty name.

You talked kindly yet a bit frightened into the microphone. You were a bundle of nerves, apologizing for your awkward and nervous behavior, and explained that you were still getting used to these crowds.

He thought it was cute in a way, it reminded of himself when he was just starting out as well.

You talked to the crowd in between your songs. Asking how everyone was feeling and how their night was going, earning cheers from the crowd.

Joost watched as your eyes darted around the crowd as you sang, not in a way of you were trying to let everyone have your attention, but in a way of you were searching for someone.

Eventually your eyes gave up looking and you closed them instead, staring at the crowd for too long would make you even more nervous.

Joost felt like you casted a spell on him the way he couldn’t take his eyes off you. The way your lips moved as you sang sweetly into the mic, the way your hands moved so smoothly across the strings on your guitar, the way you swayed back and forth, how your eyes glistened in the light.

You had him in a trance.

After your short set was done, you exited the stage in such a polite manner. Thanking the crowd repeatedly before grabbing your guitar and case in an organized manner.

Joost would spend the next twenty minutes trying to find you. He knew it seemed a little weird to see you on stage and spend the rest of the night looking for you, like some obsessed fan.

But something in him was aching for him to talk to you.

When he found you, you were leaning against a back wall, watching the end of the second opening act.

Joost came up to you and suddenly he felt as nervous as you looked on stage.

You squinted your eyes at the blonde man for a split second. You had seen him from somewhere.

“I just wanted to say you did amazing on stage. It’s like you casted a spell on the crowd.” The validation made you smile.

“I’m not sure if they were really there for me, I was just the opening act.” You gave him a small shrug in response, too nervous to keep eye contact for long.

“A good amount of people seemed interested. Me included.” He nodded reassuringly.

“That’s very sweet of you to say, but I need to work on my stage presence, I’m moderately good at it.” You let out a nervous laugh.

“I wouldn’t say that.” He said blankly.

“What would you say then?” You questioned, tapping your fingers on your glass.

“I’d say you're exceptional.” A grin slowly took up your face, making your eyes shut and cheeks blush, you looked away.

“That’s a bit of overstatement. I messed up on my third song.” You shrugged, looking down at the cup in your hands. You’ve never gotten so many compliments in a single minute, in your mind you had to double down and keep yourself humbled.

“I didn’t even notice. I thought you sounded perfect.” He said blankly, unbothered.

“That’s very sweet of you…uh, you haven’t told me your name yet.”

“I’m Joost.” He looked puzzled as your jaw dropped, eyes lighting up.

“Now I know where I recognized you from! I’ve heard of you!” You pointed at him.

“You have?” Joost looked at you with wide eyes.

“Yeah, I heard your little song that you did with that guy with the goggles.” You giggled and made a gesture to your eyes.

You were so nice. Joost was praying that was the only song you heard by him and not any of his other popular ones with…suggestive lyrics.

“Yeah, it’s getting pretty popular isn’t it?” He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. God, you were so sweet. He didn’t want to mess this up.

You looked at your phone again, seeing if there were any new notifications for a text from your boyfriend. There was nothing. You let out a dissatisfied breath and turned it off.

“Are you alright? Are you waiting for someone?” Joost asked as you shoved your phone into your pocket.

“Uh, yeah. My boyfriend said he would show up tonight but I haven’t seen him. I’m wondering if he even bothered to show up at all.” You muttered your last sentence out, still looking around to see if he was there.

Joosts heart fell to his stomach. Of course a pretty girl like you would have a boyfriend. You were talented, kind, and gorgeous. Who wouldn’t fall in love with you?

He stayed silent, giving you a sympathetic frown.

“Anyways, is that why you’re here in Berlin? Your song?” You pipped, changing the subject in hopes to get rid of the knot in your stomach.

“How do you know I’m not from Berlin?” He teased, narrowing his eyes.

“You have a different accent. You pronounce words differently. Plus, we’re talking in Dutch. I’m guessing either you’re from Belgium or the Netherlands.” You shrugged.

“Netherlands.” He nodded, your eyes lit up.

“I knew it! I’ll be there in a few months actually!” You exclaimed happily.

“Really? For tour?”

“Oh not for that. It’ll be over by then.” You waved your hand. “A label in Amsterdam reached out to me and I think I’m gonna take the offer.”

“That’s amazing!” He exclaimed, his face filling up with joy, then he cleared his throat. “Is your boyfriend moving with you?”

Your happy expression faltered, looking down at your drink nervously.

“Um, well he doesn’t think he can. With work and all, but we’re just gonna do long distance.” You pipped, though you tried your best to put on a mask of happiness, the hesitation in your voice was obvious.

Before Joost could get a word out, a male voice was calling your name from the crowd.

A slender man appeared, black hair and tall but shorter than Joost. He ran over to you, placing a hand on your shoulder.

Speak of the devil Joost thought to himself, assuming this was your boyfriend with the way you looked at him.

“Hi sweetheart, I’m so sorry I got caught up with…stuff.” He attempted to give you a kiss on the lips, you accidentally moved your head in time for it to land on your cheek. “When do you go on?” He nodded to the stage.

“My set ended twenty minutes ago, Leon.” You said softly, the hurt and gloom prominent in your voice with your pouty face.

“Really? I thought you didn’t go on til later?” He said surprised, Joost could see through his act.

“I texted you the time I would be going on.” You trailed off, rubbing your arm for comfort.

“Are you sure? I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to leave you stranded.”

“It’s fine.” You said sadly, “I’ve already made a friend, this is Joost!” You gestured to Joost. Leon quickly took a protective stance, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you close to him.

He was oblivious to the way you tensed up, Joost wasn’t however.

“Hi.” Joost gave a tight lipped smile, feeling the tension in the air.

“Joost makes music as well! He’s been doing it longer than me though.” You pipped, trying to continue on the conversation, slightly leaning away from Leon’s touch.

“Yeah, that’s great. I’m gonna go get a drink, do you wanna come with me?” Leon looked down at you.

“Oh, I’m fine right here. I already have one anyway.” You said happily, unbothered. Leon let out an annoyed breath.

“Why don’t you just come with me.” He spoke, more of a demand than a suggestion. You repeated your first previous sentence and shook your head. Leon removed his arm from around you, grabbing onto your upper arm with his hand, attempting to pull you with him.

“Come on, lets go.” He sounded like an angry father.

“I said I didn’t want to! I’m fine right here, Leon.” You shouted, wriggling your arm out of his grasp.

“Fine, whatever.” He muttered something else as he walked away. You rubbed your upper arm, ignoring the red fingerprints from how rough he was.

“He seems like a jerk.” The words were leaving Joosts mouth before he could realize. “Sorry, I shouldn’t be judging your relationship.” He blinked repeatedly and shook his head, as if he was trying to shake away what he said.

“No, it’s fine. He’s just a bit stubborn and short-tempered sometimes.” You sighed. “So what brought you to this place?” You changed the subject again, wanting to move on.

“Oh, um, I'm performing here tomorrow night, so I’m just getting an idea of what it’s like here tonight.” He shrugged.

“That’s so cool! Maybe I’ll show up and see you.” You suggested, Joost felt anxiety fill him up. His music was the complete opposite to yours.

“Oh no, you don’t have to, I don’t think you’d like mine. It doesn’t seem your style.”

“How do you know? I like trying new things.” You narrowed your eyes at him, playful look on your face.

“Fine. You know what, I’ll get you a backstage pass too so you’re not stuck with the sweaty crowd.”

“I’d like that a lot.” You laughed, the butterflies in Joosts stomach started fluttering again.

Noticing that Leon was taking a bit long to simply order a drink, you craned your head towards the bar, he wasn’t there. You pulled out your phone to text him.

Where’d you go??

Went back to my place. I got to work early tomorrow.

“What happened?” Joost asked, looking at the frown that appeared on your face.

“My boyfriend left. He was supposed to be my ride home.” You scoffed and shook your head in disbelief. “I’ll just take an uber or something, that’s how I got here.” You sighed.

“I could drive you.” Joost blurted out. “I’m not drunk at all, I promise. I’ll walk in a straight line if you need me to.” You chuckled at his offer.

“I’d really appreciate that. I’ll give you some money for the gas you waste on me.” You half jokingly said, already reaching for your wallet. Joost waved a dismissive hand.

“No, no. You don’t have to. You won’t be wasting anything. You can pay me back by showing up tomorrow.” He cut off your protests.

“Deal.” You smiled.

Joost made you let him hold your guitar case as you left the bar, he put it in the backseat of his car. He opened the door on the passengers side for you, which was much more than Leon ever did for you.

The drive to your house was awkward, a bit silent, the only noise being the robotic voice telling the directions to your place on the GPS.

When you reached the parking lot, before opening the door you stopped and turned towards Joost.

“Do you want my number?” Joost nearly choked on his spit at your question.

“W-what?” He sputtered out.

“Do you want my phone number? So you can text me when you’re going on.” You suggested, “Plus, I’d like to be friends too.” You nervously mumbled.

“Are we not already?”

“I just wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.” You shrugged playfully. He grinned and grabbed his phone, opening messages and letting you type your number in, sending a text so you got the notification on your phone.

“Alright, sweet!” You said happily, stepping out the car, then leaning down a bit to look at him in the driver's seat.

“Thank you, a lot. For being so nice to me tonight.” You said, eyes looking around nervously.

“Yeah, yeah of course. You deserve it.” He praised, your cheeks went red and you looked down. He was giving you all the validation no one really ever did. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“See you tomorrow, Joost.” You smiled and closed the door, waving at him as you walked to your apartment. Joost waited until he saw you enter your place and knew you were safe inside.

He couldn’t wait for tomorrow night.

You were definitely surprised by Joosts music style. You’d only heard one song of his in the past so you didn’t really know what the rest of his would be like.

It was strange seeing him out there, drinking beer on stage and moving around and singing like a madman as you watched from the side. Was this the same sweet guy you were talking to last night?

You didn’t mind however. His songs were catchy and you liked how he didn’t care about how crazy his stage presence was.

It was funny how you both caught your audience's eyes in different ways.

Joosts music was very hyper, fast, danceable. A microphone and a good DJ was what he used. It got the crowd jumping and chanting with him as he ran around on stage.

While yours was the complete opposite. Your music was a bit smoother, softer, flowy. You had your guitar and a sweet voice. The crowd swayed and mouthed along while you sang and stood on stage.

Joost exited the stage after lots of applause and repeated thank yous.

You felt a bit jealous of Joost, he had a bigger and definitely more interacting crowd than yours. You were grateful for what you got, but there was a small wanting inside you for one like his. Interested and excited. You knew it probably took a while for him to get here, as it does with all artists.

Hopefully one day you’d get a crowd as loud as his.

He ran right up to you, covered in a layer of sweat and chest heaving.

“What’d you think?” He asked, still catching his breath.

“I liked it, I think.” You both laughed. “It’s very…loud. Very crazy. But that’s a good thing, you know how to keep everyone entertained.” You complimented him, it was his turn to blush.

“Crazy. I like that.” He nodded proudly.

You walked over together to an empty spot behind the stage. A fold up table, a cooler of beer and different canned drinks sitting next to you.

“Do you want a beer?” Joost offered, you shook your head, telling him you already had a few.

“Well I’m gonna have more.” He laughed and pulled one out the cooler.

“Did it take you a while to get this big? Like with your career?” You spoke out, he looked at you confused.

“Well, kinda. I already had a small social media following before I started making music. So that helped.” He shrugged, taking a sip. “Why do you ask? Are you worried about yours?” It was like he could read your mind.

“Yeah, a bit.” You looked down at your feet. “I’m just scared I’m never gonna get where I want to be. Like I won’t be good enough for this stuff.” You frowned, Joost did too. He set his beer down on the table behind you.

“Hey, don’t say that.” He spoke softly, he brought his hand up to your chin, lifting it with a hooked finger for you to look at him. You breath hitched at the sudden gentle contact.

“You’re good enough. More than good enough. Exceptional. Remember?” You rolled your eyes at his words, he moved his hands to cup your face. “I’m serious! You’ve got an amazing voice. You’re gorgeous, talented, and kind. That’s the type of musician that this world needs.” His words made you smile and blush uncontrollably.

You muttered a small agreement and looked at each other. His eyes were so beautiful, though they were hidden behind his glasses, you could see the gorgeous shade of pale blue they were. It felt hypnotic.

Before you knew it, he was pulling your face to his, kissing you. You were caught off guard, still for a minute. Then you relaxed.

For a moment you pushed back into the kiss. Finding comfort in his lips against yours and his hands holding your face, you rubbed your hands up his chest as you kissed him back. Mouths parting and eloping each other's lips so passionately.

This was wrong. As you draped your arms around his neck Joost knew it was wrong. You had a boyfriend and he kissed you anyways. He couldn’t help it. You were so soft against him. You kissed back. It was pleasurable for the both of you, but it wasn’t right.

Then realization set in of what you were doing, you quickly pulled away.

You looked at each other, both a bit shocked and breathless.

“Oh…Joost. You’re very sweet but I already have someone. You know that.” You admitted as you let out a nervous breathy laugh.

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I got a bit ahead of myself.” He quickly apologized.

“It’s okay. We’re both just drunk and being silly.” You giggled and shook your head.

Joost felt the opposite. He didn’t feel drunk at all, he didn't feel silly. He wanted to do that. Maybe it was a little impulsive, but he wanted to kiss you.

“Yeah, my adrenaline got too high. It was just a..” He let out an embarrassed laugh now too. Looking away and running hand through his already messy hair.

“Heat of the moment type of thing?” Your words were meant to sound like a statement, it ended up sounding like more of a question.

You were both lying. Neither of you were drunk. You both enjoyed it. You both wanted to do it. You both meant to do it. Just guilt and embarrassment got in the way.

“God, I'm sorry. W-we can just act like this never happened.” Joost told you, rubbing a hand down his face.

“Yeah, yeah, we can…” You trailed off, you still hadn’t moved your arms. He caught the way you were still gazing at him, eyes flickering to his lips once again.

You cleared your throat and removed your arms from him, crossing them awkwardly.

“Uh, do you need another ride home tonight?”

“Leon’s picking me up, he should be here soon actually.” You shook your head, the guilt starting to become obvious on your face. “I think I’ll just wait outside for him.” You quietly moved past him, looking at the floor.

“I can wait outside with you, for your safety.” He gulped. You turned to him, the corners of your lips slightly curling.

“Are you trying to be my guard dog now?” You joked.

“You could say that, plus I need my after-show smoke.” He shrugged, you scoffed and rolled your eyes playfully. Then waving a hand for him to come along.

As the night got darker the weather got colder, you stood outside the front entrance of the bar as you waited next to Joost. You took in a shaky breath as another cool gust of wind hit. Crossing your arms over each other, feeling the goosebumps.

“Are you cold?” Joost noticed, tilting his head.

“Just a bit.” You tried your best to act unbothered by the wind and what happened a few minutes ago. Joost took off his zip up jacket without a word, holding it out to you.

“No, no, you keep it. I don’t need it.” You waved a dismissive hand. Joost sighed.

“You’re shivering.” He raised his eyebrows at you. You shook your head once again. “Please. I'm still warm from the performance, I'll be fine.” He reassured you, you gave in, taking it and putting it on.

The jacket smelled slightly of cigarettes covered up by fruity cologne. It smelt like him. You felt so comfortable in it then any other clothes you’ve worn.

Joost finally lit his cigarette that had been hanging from his mouth, praying the taste of tobacco would overpower the taste of you in his mouth. It did, somewhat. The taste was still lingering on his tongue.

He made sure to blow smoke in the opposite direction of you, where the wind was going so you wouldn’t get a cloud of tobacco in your face.

You zipped the jacket up as you continued to wait, rubbing your fingers over the rhinestone skull design on it. Smiling.

Leon’s familiar car soon rolled up, parking by the sidewalk.

“You were really great tonight. You were amazing. Exceptional.” You told Joost as you started to slowly move towards your boyfriend's car.

“Thank you.” He was grinning ear to ear.

“Night Joost.” You gave him that signature sweet smile of yours that made him want to melt onto the concrete. He nodded his head and waved as you stepped in the car.

Leon pretended to not see Joost, even though Leon was staring daggers at him. He said nothing to you once you got in until you stopped at the first intersection.

“Any good acts tonight?” He spoke, turning on the right turn signal.

“Oh, yeah. Great ones.”

“That’s great baby, when did you get that jacket?” He took a quick look at your clothes. You looked down, eyes widening for a second.

You were still wearing Joosts jacket. You were wearing another man’s clothes in your boyfriend's car.

“I just found it in the back of my closet the other day.” You shrugged, acting oblivious.

Trying your best to tell yourself it really wasn’t that big of a deal, Joost only gave you his jacket because you were very obviously cold.

It meant nothing. If he hadn’t kissed you, maybe it would’ve meant nothing.

Leon let out a small hum, turning on the radio and saying nothing for the rest of the drive home.

You ended up not seeing Joost for the next four months. You kept in contact over text and one phone call. But you never saw each other in person after that. You never returned his jacket.

For those four months, there was a strange constant yearning, some ache in your chest. You weren’t sure exactly what. Maybe you did know, but just didn’t want to admit it. You convinced yourself it was Leon who you missed, not the other idea you were scared to admit.

Joost had that ache of yearning as well, he knew exactly what. You. He wanted to hear your laugh again, your singing, your voice. He wanted to see your smile, how your cheeks began to ball and blush and how your eyes squinted every time you began to grin.

God, he wanted nothing more but to see you again.

Once you were all settled in your new apartment, with barely any help from Leon, you began to book performances at local bars as you used to do back in Berlin.

Leon promised you he’d be in Amsterdam tonight, he promised he’d be on time and watch your show.

You peeked at the crowd a few minutes before you went on. Looking all over for him, even just a glimpse of him would make you happy. Glad he made it for once. There was no sign.

You pulled out your phone, texting him.

hey where are you??

i go on in like five minutes

are you running late??

A minute before set you got a response, you quickly checked your phone, an instagram notification.

But not from Leon, from Joost. He’d sent a photo. Just as you were about to see what it was, your name was being announced and you had to go on.

The crowd swayed and nodded along to your music. It was nice, you didn’t mind the peaceful crowd, it was what you were aiming for nowadays.

In the middle of one of your shorter songs, you once again started to look around for Leon. You spotted a taller, blonde, man wearing glasses, and hovering over the rest of the crowd with his height.

Joost.

You never told him directly where you were performing, he must’ve seen your name on the list of performers.

You began to smile and giggled for a moment into the mic. That smile and laugh he’s been waiting for what felt like forever to hear again, it made him feel ten times better than he already was.

After several thanks to the audience and putting away your things backstage, you checked your phone once again for any texts from Leon. Still nothing, he hadn’t even read your messages.

You walked out backstage and back into the bar area disappointedly until you saw Joost standing and waiting for you. Two drinks in his hands.

A smile lit up both your faces as you saw each other, yours was weaker than his however, still upset of Leon not showing up.

“Hey! I got you a drink, your mouth is probably pretty dry after all that singing.” He said happily, holding out the drink that was for you.

“Oh God, thank you. I was just about to get one of these.” You grinned as you took your drink from his hand, taking a sip from your straw and letting out a breath of satisfaction at the taste.

“I remember you said that was your favorite, so..” He shrugged and tilted his head as he smiled again. You hoped the dim light in the bar hid the blush taking over your cheeks, he remembered it was your favorite.

That only led you to another saddening thought. Joost remembered more about you than Leon did. He knew your favorite color, favorite drinks, favorite scents, favorite movies, favorite songs of his and yours. If you asked Leon to name any of those, he’d most likely just stare at you and stutter, not knowing.

The problem wasn’t Joost knowing your favorite things and Leon not. It was the fact that Joost remembered. Joost always remembered the times you told him you’d be going on at, or the places you were going to tour, the stories you told, or even the small little details you had in your conversations, that he would bring up in other conversations.

You couldn’t recall a time where you didn’t have to remind Leon multiple times you had a show and giving him the exact address to where it was, just for him to end up there ten or more minutes after your set, or not show up at all. Leon would never buy you your favorite drinks, or even buy you drinks, or buy you flowers, or take you out on dates.

Maybe it was wrong to compare the two men, they both had different lifestyles. But you’d known Joost for just a few months, much less time than Leon, and yet Joost still treated you better than your own boyfriend.

Because he remembered. He actually listened to you.

“You alright?” Joosts voice brought you out of your thoughts, “You looked really sad for a minute there.”

“Oh, uh yeah, I’m alright.” You waved a dismissive hand, put on your best unbothered expression. It was a weak one.

“You’re not a very good liar. I know somethings bothering you.” He teased, you looked down, deciding if you should try to lie more or tell him the truth, “Did Leon not show up?”

You kept your eyes on the ground and nodded, giving him a sad smile. He let out a coo of sympathy. It made the problem worse since Joost already knew what was wrong, he could read you like a book.

You took in a shaky breath when you tried to speak, you shut your eyes, hoping for the tears building up to subside. You promised yourself you wouldn’t cry in front of Joost, you didn’t want him to see you like that.

“It’s just been so long since I’ve seen him in person, and he promised he’d be here on time tonight. He won’t answer my texts again, I don’t see him anywhere.” You gestured a weak hand to the bar, no signs of your boyfriend being anywhere in there. Joost made a gloomy face as a few stray tears fell from your eyes, he wanted nothing more to hold you in this moment.

“And he promised to take me to that restaurant I keep talking about afterwards and…” You trailed off, shaking your head. “God, I feel so stupid crying about this.” You looked to the side, wiping the tears away, only for them to be followed by more.

“Hey. You’re not stupid, you were excited about tonight, I’d be disappointed too if a date night like that got canceled. You know, I’d say he’s the stupid one for missing out on a night with you.” Joost leaned in, making you let out a weak laugh.

“Yeah, he’s the stupid one.” You sniffled and let out a weak laugh as you patted your eyes. “None of my makeup is smudged right?”

“No, wait actually, there’s like a small streak right here.” He pointed to a spot under his eye, attempting to give you a visual representation of where it was.

You attempted to wipe it away, missing completely. Looking at him for clarification that you got it.

“Uh, no it’s- here, just let me…” He trailed off as he brought his thumb to the mascara streak, gently smudging the stain away.

It was such a simple act of kindness, yet something about it felt so loving, so intimate.

After a few seconds of insanely intense eye contact, Joost cleared his throat and rubbed his hands.

“There. Oh, do you need a ride home tonight?”

“How many drinks have you had?” You half-joked.

“Just this one.” He held up his beer, you narrowed your eyes at him teasingly, which told him you knew he was lying.

“Okay I had another before this, but I’m barely even tipsy.” He held up his hands in defense.

“Fine.” You gave him a teasing smile.

The drive home was quiet as always. Yet there was no awkward tension between the both of you, just a comfortable silence.

Joost offered to walk you to your door for safety reasons of course, you would’ve said he didn’t need to, but he seemed adamant about it.

You let him walk you to the start of the steps instead.

Joost looked at you while you looked at your feet in perfect rhythm, both small smiles on your faces. While looking down, you didn’t realize that your boyfriend was watching from your window, a scowl on his face.

You stopped at the foot of the stairs, finally looking up at the blonde boy next to you.

“I think I’ll be okay from here. Thanks for the ride.”

“Yeah, any time. If you ever need something you can call me.” Joost fidgeted with his thumbs, a nervous habit of his that you noticed and found cute in a way.

Both your eyes flickered to one another’s lips, a secret aching to close that gap between them. You took in a deep breath, coming back to the present moment.

“I’m gonna take a shower and go to bed. I’ll see you later.” You waved and made your way up the stairs, barely halfway up the stairs he called out your name. You turned with raised brows, a bit confused.

“Um, I just wanted to say…goodnight, Y/N.” Joost gulped, that’s not what he wanted to say.

“Goodnight, Joost.” You said softly, before both headed in the opposite directions.

You unlocked your door with that same feeling of butterflies in your stomach, only for them to go away and be replaced with a tight knot when you saw Leon leaning annoyed against your kitchen counter, a single lamp on in the entire place.

“Leon? What are you-“

“What were you doing with him?” He cut you off, standing up straight.

“What?”

“Don’t act dumb. That fucker you met from the bar, John.” Your eyebrows creased together, confused at the name, then realizing he got it wrong.

“Joost?”

“I didn’t ask for you to correct me. Just tell me why you were with him.” He put his hands on his hips, a defensive stance.

“He was giving me a ride home, since somebody decided to not pick up their phone.” You scoffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I had a few work calls I needed to make.” He shrugged, unbothered as he told that shitty excuse he always made.

“Yeah. Of course. Work.” You muttered, turning your back to him to take your jacket off.

“Don’t avoid this, you’re always running around with Joost. Have you been messing around with him?”

“No!” You raised your voice, tone filled with disbelief at the fact he would accuse you of cheating.

“Then why are you constantly hanging around him? I see the way you fucking smile and bat your eyes at him.” He pointed a threatening finger.

“Because it feels like he cares about me more than you!” You snapped.

“Bullshit.” Leon scoffed and rolled his eyes.

“It’s not bullshit, it’s the truth. Joost has shown up to more shows of mine than you have! He's always the one who makes sure I get home safe! He’s done a lot more than you ever have.” You lazily gestured at the man in front of you.

“Then why don’t you go fucking go date him! If you love him so much!” Leon threw his arms up in the air.

“That’s not what I’m saying.” You huffed, “I’m saying it’s unbelievable that a complete stranger I met at a bar has taken better care of me than you.”

“Bullshit, I’ve taken care of you.”

“When? Tell me a time!” You shouted at him, waiting a second for a response. Nothing.

“You’ve never given me a jacket when I’ve told you I’m cold, you barely ever take me out on dates, you’ve left me at the bar and made me walk home alone in the dark several times, you’ve never waited for me after a show!” You continued on with your rant “You’ve rarely even shown up to any of my shows!” You threw your arms in the air as your voice grew louder.

“I’ve told you before I get busy!” Another meaningless excuse.

“Busy with what? You’ve never given me a clear answer! It’s always just work! Yet there's never a clear reason! Why can’t you just take some time out of your day to come and see me? You didn’t even come tonight! And you’re in the goddamn country!” You were nearly screaming at him.

“Because you act like I could give a shit about your dumb fucking shows! You think I wanted to travel seven hours to see one of your boring sets?” He yelled at you, voice full of disgust.

You moved your head back in shock, jaw ajar and trembling as you tried to find the words. He shook his head and looked away, as if he was disappointed that you were upset.

“If you didn’t wanna see me, then why’d you even bother traveling here?” You stared at him with watering eyes, if looks could kill, he’d be dead on the floor. “You know what, if you don’t wanna see me, you can just get out.” You spat out, embarrassing angry tears starting to stream down your face.

“What?” Leon quickly whipped his gaze back to yours.

“Get out of my apartment! Get out! Get the fuck out!” You were shouting at him and pushing at him repeatedly, all the way into the hallway. He stumbled out.

You didn’t really know where all this rage came from, maybe it was the pent up frustration and anger from all the previous months, all the missed shows and ignored messages.

“You know what, fuck you! We’re over!” He pointed a defensive finger at you.

“We are over, asshole!” You yelled back at him, confused when you saw, his jaw clench angrily as he looked behind you.

You turned your head to see what he was staring at, it was Joost. Standing there with his mouth ajar and surprised eyes. Your face dropped.

Joost was shocked, standing there frozen. It was shocking to hear your usually soft and sweet spoken voice shouting and screaming curses at the man, watching your gentle hands shoving Leon harshly into the hallway.

Leon marched past you, muttering something and hitting Joost with his shoulder as he pushed past him, turning the corner and disappearing.

You and Joost stared at each other. He watched as your face crinkled in sadness and you let out a sob before turning and walking back into your apartment.

You were embarrassed that Joost saw you in such an angry and vulnerable state.

Joost was planning to come back, to possibly make that confession he’s been wanting to admit for months.

Instead watched you scream at your now ex boyfriend and saw you cry. Yet he still jogged over to your door, stopping you from closing it.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked worriedly, tilting his chin down to try and make eye contact.

“I think you should go, Joost.” You couldn’t look him in the eyes, you stared at his shoes.

“You shouldn’t be alone tonight.”

“I want to be.”

“But you don’t deserve-“

“Joost. Please just go home.” You begged, finally looking up at him with your teary eyes. “Please.”

Though your eyes were puffy, red, and mascara was smudged and stained down your pouty face. Joost still thought you were the most beautiful girl, the most beautiful thing to exist he’s ever seen.

“Okay.” He breathed out, the word barely audible with how soft he spoke.

You mumbled out a thank you and an apology before you shut the door, he heard the locks click and rubbed his hands down his face.

Joost felt horrible for you. He felt ashamed too, like it was his fault in some way. Seeing you in that moment, seeing you like that, all he wanted to do was hold you. Cradle you. Comfort you as you cried.

You wanted the same. Yet, you had no idea why you turned him away, why you isolated yourself tonight. Was that really what you needed? Or just what you wanted?

It was radio silence from you for the next two days. You holed yourself up in your apartment, smothering yourself in blankets and sleeping.

You didn’t know why you were taking the breakup so hard, you were unhappy in that relationship. You felt liberated now, but the harsh words Leon spat out at you hit you hard.

What made it worse was that Joost saw you in such an vulnerable moment. You just felt ashamed and embarrassed.

Joost was nervous, he had another gig tonight that you planned to go to, you said that you would go to it when you found out about it a few weeks ago.

You hadn’t answered his texts, the most you did was open the photo he sent from your last performance. It was a zoomed in photo of you standing behind the curtain, text over it saying:

i see u ^_^

It was silly enough to get a small smile out of you.

Though you said you would show up before, he couldn’t find your face in the crowd anyways. After his show, he texted you, asking you where you were. You gave him a short response:

I wasn’t able to show up tonight. I’m really sorry, I’ll make it there next time hopefully.

Joost frowned to himself, he couldn’t blame nor be mad at you for it. He knew breakups were a tough process, he’s already had his own in the past.

He wasn’t upset, but he wasn’t gonna let you continue to isolate yourself.

Joost rocked on his heels nervously after he knocked on your door, a bottle of wine and a few flowers in his hand.

He did another smell check on himself again, hoping the quick shower he took was enough to wash off the sweat from his show.

He heard the footsteps dragging closer to the other side of the door, a small pause before he heard the lock on the door click.

You opened the door as far as possible until the chain lock stopped it, a very sleepy and gloomy looking you appearing through the gap.

“Joost? What’re you doing here?” You asked tiredly, yawning after you spoke.

“I thought you’d want a small pick me up.” He gave a sympathetic smile, holding up the wine. You stared for a second then shut the door. His face dropped. At least he tried.

Another click and the door slowly opened fully. You leaned against the doorframe lazily. The tear stains on your cheeks were now fully prominent in the overhead lights of the hallway.

“Is that just for me to drink sad and all alone?” You joked, Joost really couldn’t tell if you were.

“Well, we could always share. I won’t pass on wine.” He shrugged. Then letting out a cough as he realized he had forgotten his other gift.

“Oh, I also grabbed these.” He held up the few flowers he had in his fist, “I picked these from the bushes outside, I hope you don't mind. I just didn’t want to show up with only alcohol.” He cleared his throat, the flowers were drooping slightly.

You let out a weak breathy laugh as you took the weak flowers from his hands carefully. You took in a deep breath before moving to the side, giving him a reassuring nod to come in.

You grabbed two glasses out as well as a corkscrew while Joost placed the bottle on the counter.

You both drank in silence for a few minutes, Joost nervously tapped his fingers against his glass.

“I’m sorry, I don’t mean to be so depressing.” You trailed off, rubbing the side of your face.

“It’s fine. I know the first week is always the worst.”

“Yeah. I feel like I should be happy, he was an…asshole.” You threw a hand up, letting it fall against the counter. “But I dedicated so much of my time to him, for so long, now it just feels like I…”

“Wasted it?” Joost finished your sentence. You nodded, eyes beginning to water again.

“All I ever wanted was just someone to just…just see me.” You breathed out. “Or just love me. God, I sound so pitiful.” You let out a sad laugh, a stray tear escaping from your eye.

“So many people love you.” He reached out his hand, gently holding yours, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand.

“Like who?” You said before taking another sip from your glass. Joost had already finished his.

Me. Joost wanted to say it so badly, but he didn’t know if it was the right way to say it. He didn’t know if it was the right time to admit it, he never knew when the right time

“More than you realize.” He gave you a reassuring smile, then reached behind with his empty hand feeling for the pack in his pockets. “Do you mind if I smoke?” He asked for your approval before pulling the pack out.

“Uh, no. You- we can just go out on the balcony.” You pointed to the sliding doors.

“You smoke?” He raised his brows at you, surprised a shy girl like you would pick up that habit.

“No. No. I just don’t want to send you out there alone. I’d rather not be alone here either.” You mumbled the last sentence out before getting up, moving to the doors, unlocking and sliding one to the side.

Sitting in the balcony chair opposite from yours, Joost lit his cigarette, trying his best to blow the puff of smoke that came out in the opposite direction from you.

The air was colder than ever now that it was the middle of January. You zipped up the jacket you were wearing. That same jacket Joost gave outside the venue all those months ago. He never realized you were wearing it until now.

He wondered how many times you’ve worn it since then.

And you never would tell him you’ve put it on more times then you could count, it had become an item of comfort.

“I’m sorry you had to see me in such an ugly moment. I never wanted you to see me like that.” You sighed out, rubbing your arms. He looked at you, eyebrows knitting together.

“It wasn’t ugly.” Joost spoke softly, smoke exhaling from his mouth. You smiled weakly, taking the compliment but not fully believing it.

“I don’t think anyone has been so kind to me. Not in the way you have.” You looked at him, sniffling. Joosts face fell soft, a sad sympathetic expression on his face.

“Nobody ever kissed me like you did.” You blurted out, mouth moving faster than your brain.

“Do you want me to do it again?” Joost was a bit surprised at his own words, the small amount of alcohol in his system being just enough to give him a confidence boost.

It gave you one as well.

You didn’t give him a verbal response, instead you closed that large space in between you and him. Quickly crashing your lips into his as you held the side of his face.

His mouth tasted of mint toothpaste and tobacco, the taste almost felt addicting.

You pulled away, both shocked by your sudden movement. Joost abandoned his cigarette, not even caring to stomp it out. He wrapped one arm around your back, the other carefully placed on the side of your face as he pulled you onto his lap and closed the gap between your lips.

Your mouths eloped each other, passionate and hungry for one another. Your hands were roaming all over both of your bodies, your hands moving to the back of his head and raking into his hair while his rubbed all around your waist, face, and back.

It was messy, so needy. Yet it wasn’t like any other kiss you’ve had, there was friction but it wasn’t because of the lust you both felt for one another.

It was fueled by love.

After a good moment of your lips being stuck together, you both pulled away, breathless, lips swollen, and amazed.

“This is so silly.” You looked down, giggling to yourself, then calming down and looking back up at him. “But I’m not drunk.” Your voice was breathless.

“I’m not drunk either, I wasn’t last time.” He stared into your eyes, looking like he was enchanted by you. He practically was.

“I wasn’t either.” You admitted, you’ve wanted to admit that for so long. That the first time he kissed you, when you kissed back, it wasn’t in the heat of the moment. It was what you wanted, it was what you wanted when you were sober.

“Is it too early to say I’m in love with you?” He chuckled, his hands still holding the sides of your face.

“It only took you four months, but I’m good with the time being now. You’re a good kisser.” You held your hands over his, your eyes watering not out of sadness, but joy.

You gave him one more kiss before wrapping yourself around him, hiding your grinning face in the crook of his neck.

This is where you stayed for most of the night, intertwined with each other in the moonlight.

Such a cliché scene, but this is both what you’ve been yearning for so so long. And now that ache in your chests is gone.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Fury for the Living (1) | Yandere Ghost Detective

Cypher is a prodigy detective 

Officially on the police force now he’s been a raging force for unraveling piles of cold cases across the country

He was truly a talented man

Alas aspiring detectives and veterans in the field can only speculate what gives him such amazing insight in every case

They’d never guess what the ace up his sleeve is 

One of the sole factors other than his prodigious charm that made him the amazing detective he was

He could see ghosts

Apparitions, yokais, curses—you name it

Thanks to their undead input Cypher’s been able to piece together a case with nothing but a single clue

It’s his thing

It didn’t matter if he wasn’t exactly moved by justice

Or that he often hated that he had to speak with ghosts often

There was nowhere he could really go that didn’t have ghosts and the undead chatting and whining in his ear

Except for one place

An abandoned and rotted mansion in a restricted area in the forest

Or it was 

Until he found you

“Hm, I didn’t know anyone was still coming here.”

He outwardly groaned, facepalming as he prepared for your desperate plea to be help with their ‘unfinished business’

But you didn’t 

You smiled at him before skipping back up the stairs and through the wall

For a while, he’s just glad you didn’t bother him longer going back to reading his book

But then he’s pulling at his hair as the feeling he’s been ignoring hits him full force

“So what happened to you?”

“Huh?”

“Tch, look I’ve been comin’ here every day and you never say a word. I’m tired of you being polite. Just tell me already.”

“I…actually don’t know…”

“What.” 

“I just remember waking up and being….free. I don’t remember much else.”

It isn’t odd that the undead don’t remember

But not caring about it is another

For once he’s intrigued, so after a while he pries a first name out of you 

Then he begins his search 

Finding all the records about your life or death is completely scrubbed

“I don’t know that’s awfully weird ain't it?”

Similar to him, the prodigy police chief has no idea as well

Thus a weird bud of excitement blooms 

“I’m going to solve your case!”

“Uh okay, if that makes you happy.”

So he visits so much more often 

Having to talk to you about your past 

A past you don’t remember

So he elects to bring whatever he thinks might interest you

Along with taking note of what’s in the dilapidated manor

Rotten books, old gaming systems, some form of music, paints and pens

He gets to know you pretty well

“I think Cypher if I were alive again, I’d love to spend time with you.”

“...Really?”

“Yeah, you’re a real good friend.”

You have no idea what you do to him

He thought this newfound investigation would consume his mind like all good detectives had

But instead, he was thinking of you

Standing and walking beside him like you weren’t a ghost

Cutely tilting your head when he makes a joke you don’t understand

It sends blood rushing in places it hadn’t when he found out you could touch him

Casually tapping on his exposed shoulder to reveal a secret passageway

He used to complain to himself about how far he’d have to walk to get to his little place of paradise

But now he was complaining when the station was calling him in

“Hey (Y/n)...have you ever tried leaving the manor?”

“Mmm no.”

“Why not?”

“Never a reason to.”

“Then let’s try something new.”

He’s ecstatic when you can follow him into his car and eventually his apartment

But then he’s reminded of all the annoying nuisances that he was trying to avoid

“Hey everyone! Cypher’s all pooped out maybe we can give him a break?”

As if you were an exorcist all those ghosts seemed to understand 

Letting you organize them in the room over while Cypher locks himself into the bedroom

“You’re….amazing.”

“Oh thank you? I think you’re amazing too Cypher.”

“I don’t think you understand (Y/n)...I desperately want to marry you.”

“But Cypher you know I’m dead, right?”

“I can easily change that to be with you.”

“Cypher don’t!” 

Now he’s got to fight himself about solving this case

If he gets to the bottom of your death, he’d lose you

So he might stall a bit 

At least until he finds a small bit of evidence pointing to your death from a murder

“You were…murdered?!”

“Was I? That sucks.”

You’re right it sucks

And now Cypher’s motivated with one thing

Revenge

How dare some dirtbag kill you before he got to meet you?!

Put you in any amount of pain when you so easily are the light of his?! 

He vows that whosever is the cause of your death will pay greatly 

And he’s willing to put everything on the line to solve your case

I think I smell a series coming out of this 🖤🖤🖤🖤

[holylulusworld]

Best night of your life

Summary: You get the offer of your life. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Plussized!Reader, Implied former Helmut Zemo x Plussized!Reader

Warnings: a lil angst, unrequited feelings (kinda), cocky Bucky, teasing, open ending

“I hope you don’t hold a grudge against me now, Y/N,” he nervously stuffs his hands into the pockets of his slacks. A habit you always hated about him.

You hold back a huff. Of course, you hold a grudge against the man fooling you for months. He pretended to be interested in everything you have to say, only to reveal he wanted your help to get close to your friend.

Or rather frenemy. Margaret and you never got along. She’s a prissy woman, jealous of your wit and spark. Even though she’s beautiful and every man cranes his neck when she walks into a room, she’s jealous of you.

“Why would I hold a grudge against you,” you snap at him. “You never once mentioned that you want to have a relationship with me.” You batt your eyelashes to push the tears away. For once, you had hoped you will be the one getting the attention of the man you like.

It’s not that you are deeply in love with Baron Zemo, but he was smart, eloquent and you loved talking to him about books, and politics. 

“I thought you took it to heart that I asked your friend Margaret out,” Zemo replies, ever the gentleman he offers redemption and to introduce you to one of his friends. He looks a little disappointed as you wave him off.

“I knew that you would go for the pretty face. No man goes for the woman he talks to for hours. You don’t want an equal partner. All you want, Sir, is a pretty little thing on your arm.”

He swallows thickly at your words. “That’s not…true.” 

“Oh? It isn’t,” you chuckle lightly. “Please excuse my words then. Congratulations on your blooming relationship with Margaret.” He releases a shuddery breath as you glare at him. “She’s the right kind of dull. Not smart enough to follow your conversations with your friends, but at least she can walk upright.”

“Y/N!” he gasps audibly. Helmut Zemo is not used to a woman standing their ground. Well, he messed with the wrong woman this time. “How can you say such a thing?” 

“Don’t worry. She’s pretty enough to distract anyone to realize she’s a numb nut.” You turn around and walk toward the bar to get a drink. It takes anything in you to not storm off or make a scene.

“What a woman, huh?” Bucky pats Baron Zemo’s shoulder. “A fiery little thing. So feisty, wild, and damn, look at that plump ass. I’d like to have a taste of that ass.”

“Mr. Barnes,” Zemo clears his throat. He doesn’t want to get into a fight with Bucky Barnes, leader of one of the most dangerous criminal organizations. “How are you today?”

“Better than you are my friend,” Bucky smirks darkly. “Damn it, why did I never see that pretty face before? She has fire in her eyes, and I bet the noises she makes for the right man are more than illegal.”

“Hey sugar plum. Do you come her often?” You roll your eyes at the bad pick-up line. “I saw you talk to Zemo earlier. It seemed like you had a disagreement with him.”

“Why would this be any of your business?”

“This is my party, at my house,” Bucky stands behind you to whisper in your ear. “I can’t let a pretty lady have a bad time at my home. Don’t you think?”

“That so?” You coo. “How do you intend on changing my mood then?”

“I’m a master at giving a woman a good time.” Oh, he gets cocky. “I love giving a dame a good time. How about we start with a drink, and see how the night plays out?”

You look at Zemo and purse your lips. He’s watching you and your host interact with darkened eyes and you decide to have some fun tonight. “I think your guest doesn’t like that you pay so much attention to me.”

“I don’t give a single fuck.” 

“Our watcher does,” you chuckle darkly. “He’s the kind of man going for some other girl only to get jealous when someone else gives the girl he doesn’t want attention.

He moves his hands to your waistline, squeezing your flesh to provoke Zemo even further. Bucky dips his head to look Helmut straight in the eyes as he whispers to you. “Have you ever had the best night of your life?” He rasps.

“I don’t know.” Two can play a game. You stick your ass out a little to brush against his crotch, earning a growl from the man behind you. 

“If you can’t say yes immediately, it means you didn’t have the night of your life yet. But we can fix this,” he presses his prominent erection into your plump ass. “You could have it. With me, doll…”

>> Part 2

Tags in reblog.

[stellayla]

Alhaitham x gn!maid!reader x Kaveh (slow burn? ig)

this is longer than expected but the ideas kept flowing out. i only ended up finishing this because my airpods died while i was at school. i apologize if grammar and capitalization is inconsistent, i wrote this in a span of like three-ish weeks

• Alhaitham was tired of Kaveh complaining and not getting his work done in order to pay rent

• So he hired a cleaning service which just so happens to be you!

• And he offered more money than usual customers so who were you to decline, especially with him as the acting grand sage.

• Your first day on the job wasn’t so bad other than upon entering the shared home, you were met with a tall blond man claiming you were a burglar or, after seeing your uniform, thought you were a stripper.

• After introducing yourself as a CLEANING maid that Alhaitham hired, Kaveh relaxed slightly but then grumbled about the gray haired man not taking responsibility in his simple chores.

• Speak of the devil and he shall appear, said man greeted you and told you of your tasks. After some arguing between the roommates, you were finally set with your chores and started to work.

• Kaveh watched you for a bit while still trying to do some work just to make sure you were doing things correctly and not stealing anything. When you were done organizing a shelf and moving to the other side of the room, he interrupted your humming, “you don’t need to do this, you know? you can run away from him and i can make an excuse for you.”

• You replied, “i appreciate the offer Mr. Kaveh, but i do this job because i like it! no matter who or what im helping, i thoroughly enjoy it! and if i may say, sir, you don’t need to worry so much. i’ll clean until everything is in its right place and spotless! and if there is anything you’d request of me cleaning wise, i’ll do it.”

• Alhaitham heard this and walked in saying, “They’re right, i hired them because they’re one of the best of the best. So go relax a bit and finish your work so you can pay your rent on time.”

• After you were all finished, the cleaning lasting about five hours, you were packing everything up, getting ready to head out. Until the buff gray haired man came out of his study and looked around, his face didn’t show much, but something inside you told you he was impressed.

• “You did a good job. I’d like for you to come by every week, if that’s alright for you.” You agreed and took your paycheck. You didn’t have much other clients so the hours you agreed to do and the pay was exceptional.

• When you came back the next week, kaveh greeted you saying how he was finally able to get more work done than usual and how well you did, thanking you profusely for your work.

• The next few weeks you came to clean the bachelor pad were quiet, rather than the occasional arguing between the roommates but it soon became white noise from you hearing it so much. and plus, after you started working more, the rarer the arguments would be.

• Another change was your chores. now you were sent to grab produce, books, and documents since you didn’t have to clean as much now. and rather than working just once a week, it was multiple days. you hadn’t minded though, you were happy to help the busy men.

• Speaking of said men, they realized how much work they were putting you through and eventually sat you down for a proposal…

• No not a marriage proposal, a business proposal. though you were basically acting as a housewife for these men

• They asked if you’d like to like to work as their personal assistant or go back to cleaning their home once a week.

• Over the past month or two of working for them you honestly started to view them as friends and what type of person would say no to helping their friends?

• So you take up the offer! you stay with them nearly every day, rarely ever going back to your own apartment. which sucked because, rent, but you were getting paid by ur friends well enough.

• But after staying with them for so long you realized how little they eat or sleep so you would always make them meals.

• The first time they woke up to see you in the kitchen making breakfast (it was noon) is when they both started falling for you.

• there was multiple occasions where you crashed on one of their couches. this made them realize they were over working you a bunch and designated specific days you would help either of them.

• One night it was very early in the morning and Kaveh asked you for help on something earlier in the night. You were down to help and was able to get some work done with the best of your ability. However, you didn’t realize how long it’d take and your eyelids started getting heavy you tried to fight it but you noticed Kaveh was too immersed in his work so he won’t notice if you rested your head and surrendered from the fight with your eyelids. The blond man heard your pencil drop from your grasp and your light snores and moved his gaze to you. It softened when it hit your sleeping figure. Kavehs heartstrings pulled at this and sighed. He got up and grabbed a blanket for you and silently told himself he’ll do a little more work until he’ll go to sleep himself. He might even wait for you to get into a deeper sleep to carry you to sleep in his bed in a more comfortable position. But for now, he’ll do his work and steal glances at you, smiling softly and getting distracted by doodling a picture of you in his sketchbook. He made sure to hide it before going to sleep.

• As always, you woke up before both of the men and decided to make breakfast. That was until you saw the scarce groceries they had, so then you were about to leave for the market. “Oh, are you heading out?” said Alhaitham. You responded, “Just going to get you guys some groceries and make you guys breakfast. Do you need me to do anything, sir?” He sighed and said, “I know I’m your employer but we’re friends now, you don’t need to call me sir, Y/n.” You nodded as he continued, “I have to do some of my own errands, though. Would you mind if I accompanied you?” Thus started your date errand running with Alhaitham. You had grabbed the groceries and a few other things for the household with the help of the gray haired man. It didn’t take very long, an hour at least. But you made your way back to the house, carrying bags with Alhaitham and ready to start breakfast. When in front of the stove, that’s when you realized the sage hadn’t done any of his own errands, he only had helped you. You brought this up with him and he said it could wait for another time. In truth, he hadn’t needed to do anything at that moment. He just wanted to spend time with you and help you, he had gotten a warm feeling in his chest when he imagined doing domestic things, such as shopping and cooking, with you.

• They hadn’t realized how much they actually depended on you until you requested a month off to take care of your sick old neighbor. When you came back Kaveh embraced you saying how much he had missed you and he’ll never take you for granted. You said you missed the both of them and apologized for not being able to help for a while. “That’s nonsense, Y/n. You were doing what you do best.” said Alhaitham. “Thank you, Alhaitham.” You said as you hugged him. “How about we go to a restaurant? To celebrate your coming back.” Suggested Kaveh. “As long as your paying.” Alhaitham said as he grabbed your hand to lead you out the door.

• You all walked to Lambad’s Tavern and the boys kaveh were arguing over who would sit next to you. You sat yourself down first and the blonde ran to sit next to you in the booth, lying his arm on the chair behind you and talking about nonsense. Alhaitham, who sat across from you, was a little bummed but reached for your extended hand that was lying on the table, causing you to stutter in your sentence and pink to slightly dust your cheeks. This didnt got unnoticed by Kaveh as he fumed silently, but calmed down as an idea popped in his head. His hand that was behind you snaked down to your waist and his other hand on your knee, his fingers drawing little shapes.

•Your cheeks were very red and hot and you wondered to yourself, ‘how did I get myself in this situation where two very hot men are basically fighting over me?’.

• “Uhm, you guys…” you say.

• Alhaitham was the first to say it out right, “Y/n, I really enjoy the time we spend together. I may not show it much but, I like you.”

• Kaveh was taken aback, “WHAT?!? No, no, no. Y/n, I like you, a lot, in fact. He doesn’t deserve you.”

• As they bickered back and forth, you were conflicted and flattered. You had liked both of the men for a while now, but could you really choose one? No, that’d hurt the other far too much.

• “Alhaitham. Kaveh.” you called their names to get their attention. “I am flattered as much as I’m conflicted. I, too, should confess that I like you too. Both of you, equally. But I can’t just choose between you two. That would hurt me too much. I’m sorry.” You get up to start to leave but a hand softly grabs yours. You look back to see the gray haired man who had held your hand before. “Y/n, please. Stay. There’s no need to be sorry.”

• “Like us, you can’t control your feelings.” says the blonde as he hugs you. Alhaitham continues to hold your hand, rubbing his thumb over your knuckles in a calming way as he says, “I should propose that you don’t choose.” both you and kaveh are confused, “Alhaitham what are you trying to say?” you ask. The sage continues, “Be selfish, for once in your life, Y/n. You do so much for others, and rarely think about yourself. Do yourself a favor, my love.” Kaveh made a face of realization, “Oh, I understand now!” as he clutched your other hand. “Darling, what do you say? Be selfish and choose us both.”

• Once again you blushed furiously. Choose them both? Was that possible? What would others think? Your mind was racing but could only spill out one thing, “Are you sure you two can share?” Kaveh looked offended and Alhaitham chuckled, “Anything for you, my love.” Kaveh agreed, “yeah, yeah what he said, I guess.”

• “Then, of course. It won’t hurt to be a little selfish.”

(at some point when writing this i imagined kaveh as prince gumball and alhaitham as marshall lee and it fits way too well.)

[boldlyvoid]

Where There is Love, There is Life | Chapter 4

Chapter 4: Choice | for @elriel-month 2024

Summary: Elain trains, Azriel Gossips, and Lucien learns the truth.

Warnings: made up Daglan lore, mentions of HOFAS, history of bonds, Helion and Lucien talk

Word Count: 6k | Masterlist

Sitting in Helion’s personal library once again, there is a sheet of paper, an ink well and pen, and a stack of books almost as tall as Elain. And that’s just what Helion has deemed important for todays lesson. The walls are covered in books, well, 3 of them are. The fourth is dedicated to a chalkboard adorned with thoughts, theories and numbers she doesn’t yet understand. 

“Now that we’ve gone over astrology, did you happen to get all the birthdays of your inner circle?” Helion asks, pushing the pen and paper towards her. 

“I thought we were doing numerology today?” Elain asks, realizing she never brought the sheet of paper with the dates on it. 

“We are,” he smiles. Today’s one of the rare hot days in spring, so her eyes dart from his smile to his big muscled arm that he has on show. The shirt he’s wearing can barely be considered a shirt at this point; it just covers his nipples and stomach… but she’s not complaining. 

“Then why—

“Everyone has a life path number, which you get by adding up the numbers of one birth month and day,” he continues. “The easiest way to learn how to calculate the number is through repetition. So, start with your own and then your sisters; we can move on to the bat boys in a moment.” 

The term makes her smile. She straightens her back, grabs the pen, and starts to write. “My birthday is May 16th.” 

“It is?” He lights up. “Well, we’ll have to throw you a party, then!” 

“Oh, no, no, it’s okay,” she waves him off. “I might go home for the day.” 

He nods, “Or we could invite your court here? There is a beautiful plot of land my Pegasus frequents. It’s lush with flowers and fruit trees; I think it would be the perfect spot to celebrate you.” 

She blushes; it sounds magnificent. “If it’s not too much—

“It would never be too much,” he assures her. “Now, May is already a single number. You’ll have to add 1 and 6 together…” 

“So 5 plus 7,” she starts to write. “My number is 12.” 

“It can also be simplified down to 3,” he smiles. “Out of everyone I’ve ever met, you radiate 3 more than I’ve ever thought possible.” 

He pulls a book from the pile, flips through some pages and slides it in front of her. “See here; people with life path number 3 are creative spirits driven by their infinite imagination. Which is why the cauldron must’ve gifted you with sight. It knew you could see the wildest visions and still decode them.” 

She continues to read the pages, absorbing the knowledge— some of it does sound like her. Like not being able to pick a singular hobby but rather jumping back and forth between everything she enjoys. She would go crazy without baking, gardening and cross-stitching. An independent, free spirit, she’s not restrained by others' expectations of her. Yet, she also loves being around people. Having friends outside of her sisters for the first time has truly changed her life. She felt so lost without Nuala and Cerridwen; she misses them so much right now. She’ll have to ensure they come for her birthday and not lift a finger the whole day! They deserve a break.

“Anything sticking out?” Helion asks. 

She nods, “a few things… I’m definitely unable to stay organized. Ask Feyre; my greenhouse is a mess on a good day.” 

“Speaking of the High Lady, what is her birthday?” 

“December 21st,” she starts to write it down. “December is 12, so that becomes 3… the 21st also becomes 3, so her number is 6.” 

“Exactly,” Helion beams. “Were you this good in school, too?” 

“All 7 years that I was able to go,” she says with a sigh. “I learned what was important, my mother said that once I was married I’d only need to focus on keeping a house together. She said I’d never need advanced math.” 

Helion presses his lips together awkwardly, “Well, at least this math isn’t hard.” 

She simply flips the pages, finding the information on the meaning of 6… which is exactly how she would describe her sister. She starts to laugh at it; it’s way too accurate. 

“As a child and young adult, responsibility was always there on your 6 Life Path, but you may have rebelled against it,” she reads. “You will learn a lot about parenting in this life time. But you are also here to create, to learn that creativity has many forms, and is not confined only to creating a biological family.”

Helion smiles. “She did make a son as beautiful as her paintings.” 

“That she did,” Elain sighs, chest full of pride. 

The 6 Life Path teaches you that you are primarily accountable to yourself, that family members and relatives do not own each other, and that love thrives when it is able to flow freely in all directions.

She’s always loved her sisters and always will… however loving them became a lot easier when they weren’t all sharing a bed. Knowing Feyre is on the other side of her massive mansion of a home, knowing she could just walk to her when she needs her, that’s a blessing. Knowing Nesta is just a quick trip to the House of Wind, living her best life with people who love her, that’s all she’s ever wanted for Nesta. 

Being apart somehow brought them closer together. 

“Nesta is April 13th,” she says, starting to write once again. “4 and 4 is 8… she has an 8-pointed star on her back.”

Helion’s eyes widen, “like the lost sword Gwydion.” 

She nods, not allowing her face to change at all. It sure was still lost… it’s totally not in Nesta’s possession.

She turns back a page, finding it interesting that she and her sisters are so close in number and yet such polar opposites of each other. That’s life, though. 

“The path of Empowerment,” she reads, filled with pride, once more… it fades when she starts to read and it gets too real. 

The 8 Life Path signifies a lifetime of investing in yourself and overcoming judgments that stand between you and your strong ambitions. Modern numerology often diminishes 8’s meaning with an almost exclusive focus on material and financial matters. Yes, 8 is the number of power on the physical plain, but it is also the number of true understanding and balance, without which personal power is superficial and material gain is easily lost.

“I love her,” she whispers, trying not to cry. “She struggles in silence and lets it eat at her until that hunger needs to bite at someone else.” 

Helion nods along, “But it’s all about balance. While she may be in her head, thinking she deserves or doesn’t deserve certain aspects of her life… she’s powerful. Not too selfish, she’s able to use her hurt and her experiences to connect. She networks and organizes, and she’s convincing. I heard about her little dance with Eris last year. I saw how she captivated the high lords during the war and managed to change even Berons mind. The bad comes with the good, making her a perfect 8.”

Elain nods along, finding her smile once more. “She is… everything.” 

“Believe me, I know,” he teases. Still hitting on her no matter how long she’s been mated. “Now, do you remember the others?” 

“I believe so… they’re on my desk in my room,” she shares. 

“I’ll have someone bring them to us,” he assures, waving in a servant. 

She writes down Azriel’s. January 27th. An Aquarius, and after her lesson the other day, nothing fits better for him. He lives in his head, thinks outside the box, and has a deep sense of justice. He's an easygoing loner, and he’s an air sign. It’s no wonder he loves to fly. One of a kind with beautiful eyes, they say what they think with great eloquence… that’s her Az. 

His life path number, however, is 1. 

“Ah… of course,” Helion says as he reads over her shoulder. “One typically takes care of themselves, stand on their own two feet and always get what they want.” 

She smirks, blushing again. “He does.” 

Once again, on his page of the book, she reads everything… but it’s not right. “He’s not self-centred or insensitive?” 

“With you,” Helion reminds her. “At work, when he’s the spymaster, the shadowsinger… he has to put himself first; he has to not care because bringing feelings into an interrogation will backfire on him.” 

“I guess,” she continues to read. 

But because 1 is the first number, being at the top – being first – is your natural place. You will gain the maximum satisfaction from this energy when, instead of using it to compete, you use its pioneering vibrations to carve new roads in areas that interest you the most.

“He is the best at what he does,” she can agree with that. “Oh, and it says concentration is one of the splendid gifts a number 1 has. When he’s been given a command, he’s always so focused on getting the job done.” 

“No wonder you’re so happy,” Helion nudges her. 

She shoves him back. “Yes, and It says here: Practice the art of leadership by welcoming and encouraging your ‘following’, while confidently maintaining your position as originator and leader. Others soon realize that you will not be tricked into anything that goes against your grain or best interests.”

“That’s your man,” Helion agrees. Standing from his seat, he meets the servant at the door and takes her note. “The most powerful High Lord was born on the Eve of Samhain… when the veil between worlds is at its thinnest. When magic is at its height.” 

“So his number would be…. October is 10, so that’s a 1, and 31 becomes 4, so he’s a 5,” she says with glee. “He and Feyre are just a number apart.” 

“5s are an interesting breed,” Helion hesitates, sitting back down beside her, he takes a deep breath. “They’re intense, both emotionally and sexually. Their body, mind and emotions are equipped to easily adapt to change… However, they either flourish with the change or are overwhelmed by it. 5s are able to change their inner attitudes and outer appearances to suit different circumstances” 

“That’s my brother-in-law,” Elain laughs. 

The book states: 5 is an active and unpredictable path. It is so filled with sudden and unusual events and opportunities that you sometimes become confused by it or afraid of it. Once in a while, these 5s do let go, or the 5 current becomes so strong that they are swept away into some kind of drama, only to miss the excitement of it all because they believe they are simply out of control. The freedom of 5 starts with a burning desire to live life as fully, freely, and openly as possible and to experience variety, excitement and adventure. And, of course, these desires can only come from within. Refusing to let go of what is safe and familiar so that you can discover alternatives is a large part of what causes a mistake to be repeated. And most 5s do seem to repeat the same old mistakes, often without realizing it. Admitting to your mistakes can be a battle in itself. Accept that mistakes are inevitable in your life because that is how 5s learn and prosper.

“I’m going to need a scribe to copy this for him,” Elain teases. “He could learn a thing or two.” 

Helion smirks, crossing his arms as he sits back in his chair. “Have you ever been on the wrong end of one of his decisions?” 

“Just last week,” she shares. “He thought it was okay to tell Az to stay away from me so he could keep a good connection with Lucien and the Human Queen, Vassa. Not taking into account that fact that I may want say in my future.” 

Helion nods slowly, “Sounds like Rhysand.” 

She lets it roll off her shoulders, “I settled it. He’s learning, albeit slowly, but he’s learning how to deal with the Archeron sisters.” 

“How does Cassian deal with you all? Being a Cancer and all,” he pushes the paper towards her. 

“July 9th…” she reads aloud. “That would be 7 and 9, so 16 becomes 7.” 

“Perfectionists, prone to secrecy, but as they get older, that need to protect themselves goes away,” Helion explains. “Knowing Cassian as long as I have, he had a hard time trusting people to be as good as he was; he did work while with his legion because he knew that he would be the one to get shit done right.” 

“And now he’s accepted that the rest of us are there to help him and he’s not alone,” Elain smiles softly. “What else?” She asks as she flips in the book. 

“Deep thinker, a cleaver planner… he’s the orchestrator. It’s why he leads armies and he will go down in history as the best warrior since Enalius.” 

She finds a passage that is so Cassian, she sits up straighter as she reads it: Your intuition enables you to sense and feel your way through life. Positive results will follow when you learn to rely on the combined voice of your thoughts and feelings. While others sit perplexed by a problem, you can produce the right answer, instinctively, in one intuitive flash. And once you have the solution, your intuition will take you inward and backward to show you how you arrived at it.

Helion nods along. “Numerology is one of my favourite aspects of divination. Numbers are everywhere, you’ll start noticing them more and more now that you’ve learned this.” 

“How so?” 

“You’ll notice that you look at the clock at specific times every day, without real reason. You’ll notice things come in packs of 3 or 8 or 12. You might even have numbers in your dreams…. And in visions, speaking of which, have you had any since you’ve been here?” 

She shakes her head, “No, I haven’t had one in a few weeks. They only come to me when they want to.” 

He hums, “okay… Tomorrow, I wanted to do some hydromancy, but I think it’s time we look more into clairvoyance and clairaudience. Both are extrasensory perception; the mother or the cauldron or whatever you believe in either whisper the future into your ears or show you glimpses of the future.” 

“I have had both,” she assures. “During the war, I had no idea what was happening and while I kept seeing the firebird who ended up being Vassa, the ravens were first whispered to me. I kept hearing ‘the ravens are coming’ and it confused me so much.” 

Helion starts looking around at all his personal books, reading the titles, but he cannot find what he wants. “I’m going to have a book delivered to your room tonight,” he explains. “You don’t have to read it all. However, it will be a good introduction to what we will be discussing soon.” 

She nods, “are you sure we should have a large lesson tomorrow, given that Lucien is coming?” 

His eyes widen, as if he forgot that was happening. “What if we meet here at dawn? You can join me for my meditation to get in the zone for the day and I’ll have breakfast dropped off here so we can begin early.” 

She nods, “I would like that.” 

—

Azriel’s shadows are like a second skin to him after 500 years. He almost doesn’t notice when they come and go, not until they’re whispering secrets and warnings to him. It takes a while for him to realize that his shadows disappear around Elain. They can find her, they can follow her if he asks, yet when she’s close, they leave. He’s not sure if it’s for privacy or because they know he’s completely safe with her… out of everyone in the world, Elain is the only person he’s truly safe with. 

When he returns to the day court, his shadows simply say that she’s in the library and dissipate. 

He heads to the main library, the first of many in the day court, the closest to the palace. Inside, he can’t scent her over the smell of old books… yet there is a hint of Ash. His shadows come rushing back, worried for him after everything he’s been through in the last few years. He’s been hit with more ash arrows and faebane in the last 3 years than he has in his whole life, which is saying something. 

He follows the smell, a hand on the truth teller as he approaches an alcove. He knows the female sitting at the table, at least from what he can see of her over the stacks of books: Nuan, the Alchemist from the Dawn Court. He knew she’d be here; she had been here all week, researching the Ash family to see all that it could do to the Fae. 

He clears his throat, alerting her to his presence and making her jump in her seat slightly. “Oh, hello, Lord Azriel.” 

He grimaces, shaking his hands, “Please, it’s just Azriel.” 

“Azriel,” she settles with a smile. “Is there something I can help you with?” 

He shakes his head, “I was looking for Elain, I think I have the wrong library.” 

“Ah,” she smiles, having guessed that the high lady’s sister and the spymaster were together. “Well, since you’re here, I have a question.” 

He approaches her, standing beside her work table, “What can I do for you?” 

“I’ve come across a book on the Daglan, the history of the start of Prythian and old folklore,” she explains. “Do you know anything about how they were conquered?”

Az takes a deep breath and assesses if he should tell her. Rhys would be pissed… not as pissed as when Nesta gave Bryce the mask, but still pissed. If answers come from this, however, he might not stay mad for long. 

So Az takes a seat. 

“Where do I even start,” he can’t help but laugh. 

He started when Bryce arrives, explaining their trip to the prison and the history they uncovered. Theia and her daughters, the Daglan, the portals to other worlds… how they concurred worlds and were overthrown only twice and finally destroyed by the portal-jumping half-fae who stole his dagger. He explains how the Daglan corrupted the cauldron and created the monsters now locked in the prison in the night court…. And how the same portals they used to jump worlds brought in the beasts that hunt in The Middle. Beings like the kelpie, the weaver and whatever Amren was before the war. Even Koshcei. 

“Cauldron almighty…” she swears, jaw dropped as her eyes wander, thinking a mile a minute in her mind. “Do you know how they corrupted the cauldron?” 

He shakes his head, “not fully. The original 8 Asteri— that is the Daglan’s true name. They pooled their power together and imbued it into the cauldron… they made the dread trove as well as Gwydion and Truth Teller.”

“Did you learn how to fix it?” Nuan asks, begging for answers just as he did that day he learned all this. “Learn why they did it?”

“No, I did, however, allow one of my shadows to go with Bryce to Midgard. The Asteri, when they were here, there was a tithe to absorb a percentage of our power; in Midgard, they created a parasite to infest the water and stifle their magic until they came of age. The coming of age ceremony was called the drop, once they partook they gave a portion of their power to the Asteri and their powers were unlocked. They were not as powerful as they could be, but they were just enough to live a long, long life. Those who didn’t partake faded away into nothing with age, like a human would.”

“And Bryce defeated them?” 

He nods, “She almost died in the process… which is another way the daglan took power. The power they took in the drop was called first light, the power they take after death is called second light. Once they took it, they didn’t get to go to the forever resting place some believe is out there. They became nothing.” 

Nuan slumps in her seat. Rubbing her hand over her face. “This is so much bigger than a family of trees…” 

Az laughs, “believe me, it was a lot to take in when it was happening. Now, we’re left with the knowledge and no way to fix the cauldron. We don’t even know in what ways they corrupted it; what they changed.” 

“The cauldron holds water,” Nuan reminds him. “They might’ve gotten the idea for the parasite from what ever they did to the cauldron.” 

He hums, thinking about it. “Are you coming to dinner tonight in the great hall?” 

She nods, “why?”

“Elain might be able to tell you about what the water in the cauldron was like,” he explains. “Seeing as she was the first one dunked into it, and she was blessed by it…” 

“Unlike the other sister who stole from it,” Nuan knows. The whole of Prythian knew that the oldest Archeon sister was to be feared for what she did that day. They just don’t know she gave the power back.

“Would I be allowed to see the cauldron?” She asks. 

He takes a deep breath, thinking it over. “Rhys and Feyre will be here in a few days, they, and Helion, can discuss if it’s a safe option for you.” 

She nods, agreeing. “I appreciate the help today. I um… I figured out something, I think it’s something you and Lady Archeron would like to know.” 

“Go on,” he pulls in even closer, anxious to know what she’s uncovered in her days of research. 

“While Ash wood can kill us, the blooming leaves of the Ash tree can be used as a tea. The Daglan did awful, horrific experiments on the fae, all of which were recorded… ingesting the leaves doesn’t maim the drinker. Instead, it gifts them with dreams of their one true love. The Daglan put a stop to the tea the moment they found out what it could do, and now I’m guessing it’s because they corrupted the cauldron to change how bonds work. The dreams would show a true love match; the cauldron now wants powerful offspring because the Dagaln fed from them for so long.” 

It all hits Azriel like a brick wall. “So if I take the tea…” 

“You’ll know the truth,” Nuan smiles. “So will Lady Archeron.” 

—

Feyre and Rhys arrive with Lucien right at noon, greeted by Elain and Helion in the golden courtyard. Helion’s hand is on Elain’s back, and she glances at him, noticing he’s holding his breath while staring at his son. Taking in all his features, noticing all the parts that are himself and what parts are Lucien's mother…, his heart breaks when he sees the scar on his face, knowing there are more scars he keeps inside. 

“Welcome!” Elain takes over for him, breaking away from Helion to meet with him. “Lucien, it’s nice to see you.” 

Surprisingly, she opens her arms and brings him in for a hug. 

He’s a bit shocked, but accepts. Holding her close, smelling Azriel on her. He pulls back with concern on his face, “Did the shadowsinger fly you in?” 

She shakes her head, “he’s been staying here during my training, assuring I stay safe after what happened with the cauldron the last time I started looking for answers.”

It's not a lie, just not the whole truth, either. 

“In your bed?” He chuckles, “I was wondering when you’d finally get together.” 

“You wouldn’t be upset about it?” 

He shakes his head, “I don’t own you; you’re free to make your own choices. I’ve been alive for over 300 years; you haven’t. I’d like to see you make your own choices and mistakes and find happiness.” 

She pulls him in for another hug. " Oh, Lucien, thank you! I expected you to want to follow the cauldron's orders.”

Lucien soaks in the hug, eyes closed as he holds her. “This is the one time I’m not going to blindly follow someone's orders. I’ve learned my lesson.”  

“It’s also why we’re here,” Rhysand says from behind them. “We’ve learned quite a few things about the cauldron, things that you should be made aware of.” 

“The uh, the dining room is all set up for lunch if you’d care to join me in there for this meeting,” Helion finally speaks. “It’s lovely to have you here, Lucien.” 

He reaches out his hand for Helion, “Thank you for inviting me. I’ve always loved visiting the day court.” 

They all agreed it’s completely up to Helion when he tells Lucien; if he ever tells him. This meeting is about the information Nuan found in her research, how to find one's true love and what the Daglan did to mating bonds. 

They gather around the dining table and fill their plates with sandwiches, fruits, and vegetables with dips, cheeses and meats. Its a wonderful spread that his kitchen staff makes on the regular. Elain is going to have to start incorporating these into her own meal rotation at home. 

“What is it you wish to tell me,” Lucien asks between bites. 

Rhysand looks to Elain and then Helion, “Who would like to explain?” 

“I can,” Elain assures, putting down her sandwich and taking a sip of her bubbly wine first before continuing. “Last spring, we had an unexpected visitor in the Night Court. She jumped from her world to ours thanks to the Harp— the 4th forgotten item from the dread trove.”

Lucien's eyes widened. “Is world jumping real? I thought it was a myth?” 

Elain sighs, “It’s very real. You need specific items to do it the right way. However, Bryce was brought here to learn more about her heritage. She was the original Queen Theia’s long-lost ancestor… it turns out that Theia killed Fionn, took the trove and opened a portal to another world that the Daglan had overtaken after they were kicked from our world. There, Theia confirmed that the Daglan, now the Asteri, are just power-hungry monsters who feed off our power. When they were here, they used the cauldron to create deadly weapons, horrible monsters they could hunt for sport, and they corrupted the cauldron to ensure that mate bread more powerful beings they could feed off of.” 

“Holy shit,” Lucien can’t believe it. 

“Nuan, who fixed your eye,” Elain continues, waiting for Luciens mind to catch up, he nods. “She has been doing research for us. The wood of the ash tree is deadly for us, however the Ash tree is a cousin of the olive tree…” 

She picks up an olive with her fork and eats it, “how can one thing kill us and the other be so delicious?” 

“That is a fascinating question,” Feyre says under her breath. 

“Nuan discovered that the Daglan discovered a tea that would allow for the taker to dream of their one true love and those who were able to could then Scry to find them,” she continues with a large smile. “Before the Daglan corrupted the bonds, all mates were assigned together for the purpose of true and happy love. They outlawed the tea because they didn’t want true love bonds anymore, they only wanted powerful offspring.” 

“Are you saying we aren’t a true love bond?” Lucien clues in, shoulders slumping. “I mean, I knew it wasn’t a strong love, I just didn’t expect it to not be true love.” 

Elain shakes her head, feeling sorry for having to break the news to him, “no, the Daglan would collect a tithe from us, taking 10% of our power that we willingly gave to them each year. They wanted a way to still take 10%, they just wanted a stronger 10% so they corrupted the cauldron to make mates who would produce powerful offspring that would satiate them.” 

“Like my parents and Tamlin’s,” Rhysand adds. “They did not love each other; they have just been born through the generations to continue to make powerful children, even after the Daglan left.” 

“How do we fix it?” Lucien asks. 

“We’re still working on that,” Helion jumps in. “Elain is still learning all that she can do with her power so we can attain more answers.”

“So far, I’ve learned basic divination, meditation and relaxation, tarot, astrology, and my favourite has been numerology,” she beams at him. “When is your birthday?” 

“Um, October 3rd,” he shares. “My mother tried to have all of us in the autumn.”

Helion stares at his plate, moving around his side salad and not saying anything. 

“So that would make you a life path number 4,” Elain explains. “Life path number 4’s spend most of their life looking for their true identity. You find accomplishment through hard work. You have great self-discipline. 4 teaches the value of determination, effort, simplicity, and dependability.”

He nods along, slowly taking it all in. “That… that sounds right. What would someone born on January 1st be?”

“A 2,” Elain answers without missing a beat, making Helion smile. 

“She is the best student I’ve ever had,” he compliments, staring right at Feyre. “I don’t want to give her back.” 

“I’ll come visit you,” Elain assures him. 

“What does 2 mean?” Lucien wonders, something like urgency on his tone.

“Um,” she looks to Helion for a bit of support. He nods his head slightly, reminding her that she’s got this. “the energy of 2 does not seek to control but to achieve balance. Those born on the 2 Life Path have the potential to lead the way for humanity through their refined powers of persuasion, their ability to inspire on an emotional level, and most importantly, their desire to bring equality and peace to this planet.”

Lucien blushes slightly, looking down at his plate. “She is going to change the world.” 

“Who?” Feyre asks, sitting up straighter. Happy for her friend.

“Vassa,” Lucien beams. “Don’t tell her, but I’m— I think I’m falling in love with her.” 

Elain places her hand on her heart, “This is wonderful news, Lucien!” 

“Thank you. I’m excited to take this tea now, to see if my true love match is her… even if it isn’t, even if it was Jesminda, I still want to be with Vassa.” 

“We’re still looking into her curse,” Helion assures him. “I’ll do anything I can to help you get to keep her.” 

“Thank you, Helion,” Lucien smiles. 

They look so similar it blows Elain’s mind. How does he not see it? It should be like looking in a mirror for him. 

“The teas will be delivered to our rooms tonight,” Elain assures. “We are all taking it. Some has even been sent back to Nesta and Cassian to check. Morrigan and Amren are taking it as well.” 

“What does this mean for you two?” Lucien asks Feyre and Rhys. 

They look at each other and smile. Rhys is quick to hold her hand above the table, “we know the truth. This love we have between us in unbreakable.” 

“I personally believe that the reason why mating has become so hard. People were shocked to find out that all 3 of us were mated so soon after becoming fae. It’s unheard of for a whole family to find a mate.” Feyre adds. “The Cauldron picked up to help it. I think the cauldron misses when it was dedicated to giving out love and life to these lands.” 

“So we bring it back,” Helion announces, holding up his glass. “No matter what it takes, we bring true love back to Prythian.” 

Everyone raises their glasses in response, dedicated to the task at hand. 

—

That night she sits in bed beside Azriel, a mug of steaming tea in both of their hands. “Are you sure?” She asks. 

“I want to know… even if it’s not you; even if I’m meant for no one, I want to know and love you anyway,” Azriel assures. 

“And if we do dream of each other?” 

Azriel’s eyes soften; he’s more beautiful than ever before. “Then we’ll know why we’ve wanted one another so badly.” 

“Do you think this tea will make us tired or just aid in our dreams when we do fall asleep?” She asks. 

A knowing smirk grows on his face, “Why?” 

She takes another sip and places her almost empty cup on her night table; Azriel follows her lead and does the same. She quickly straddles his hips, hands on his shoulders, “because I would like to remind you just how badly I’ve wanted you all this time.” 

—

Elain and Azriel are the last to arrive at the breakfast table the nest morning. Hand in hand, matching smiles plastered to their faces. 

They dreamt of each other last night. 

Feyre is sitting in Rhys’ lap, being hand-fed cantaloupe while Lucien laughs. Helion shakes his head with a smile. "Well, I take it you had good dreams?” the golden High Lord asks.

Elain nods, “We had the same dream… us and our daughter playing in the grass behind our home on the Sidra.” 

Feyre places a hand to her heart, “the same girl you’ve seen before?” 

“You’ve seen her before?” Azriel can’t believe it. 

Elain nods, “We adopt her from Illyria, seeing as I can’t have babies for us.” 

Azriel kisses her head, “we’ll create the family we deserve.” 

They take a seat side by side, across from Lucien, “So, what did you dream of?” 

“Fire,” Lucien explains, smile building. “Blinding, bright fire that took over all my senses.” 

“Your firebird,” Feyre swoons. 

He nods, overjoyed with love in his eyes, “My firebird… Helion, who did you see?” 

He takes a deep breath, thinking it over. “I saw my mate… Seraphina.” 

“That’s my… mother’s—“ Lucien blinks in understanding. “What?” 

Helion simply nods. “I met her a year before she was betrothed to Beron. We met again during the great war, and… we had a love affair that lasted over a hundred years. Beron never knew, not until the end, when she became pregnant.” 

Lucien's mechanical eye closes in on Helion, studying him. “You’re… my father?” 

Helion nods. “I didn’t know. Not until last week.” 

“Does my— does Beron know?” 

Helion shrugs, “I’m not certain. However, his level of cruelty to you, from what I’ve heard, could be explained by knowing you’re not his blood.” 

“Then where does—

“Your mother was sold to your father to ensure that the fire in her veins passed on to all his children. He wanted the strongest brood and would do anything to get it.” 

“Why didn’t you do anything about it? Why didn’t you challenge him?” Lucien begs, “You know he hurts her, and you do nothing?” 

“What do you do?” Helion challenges him right back. “Beron is not a man I would like to mess with unless absolutely necessary. Your mother asked me not to intervene. She asked me to let nature take its course, and she said when the time was right when he died, she could come back to me.” 

Lucien just shakes his head, “I wish he would die tomorrow.” 

“We all do,” Rhys murmurs, reminding the men that there are others in the room, still. 

Lucien calms, shaking his head as it all settles around him. “So I’m… I’m heir to the day court?” 

Helion nods, “you are… I’ve heard your fire is bright, almost white. That you can winnow and you run like the wind. I wonder if there’s more light to you, if when you become truly happy... if you’ll glow like myself and Feyre do.” 

“I’ve…. I’ve glowed,” Lucien admits. “I thought it was… I’m not sure what it was.” 

Clearly lying, he doesn’t seem comfortable enough to share. 

“How about we leave you two,” Elain announces, standing with her plate now filled with food. “My chambers have a sitting room; we can move there. Let them bond.” 

“Fantastic idea,” feyre is quick to her feet, feeling just as awkward as everyone else. “I’d love to hear more about your dreams.” 

@greenleaf777 @lostvillainess

General Taglist 

@ncsls0515 @stevesmunsons @reidsbookclub @sweetyyhippyy @manuosorioh @mrs-dr-reid @k-k0129 @squishyturtle @katsukis1wife @buckleyhans @mrs-ssa-hotch @ssavanessa22

[redfoxwritesstuff]

Sunflower, Book 1, Chapter 18

Tom Hiddleston x OFC Series rated: E Chapter warnings: Flashback-It's getting even hotter in here. There's a nipple! The flashback is sexy but hardly crossing to rated M. AN: Kit exists still. Yay? Can you believe Book One is about halfway done?!

Masterlist Kofi

~~~~~<3

It was nice having him back. She had missed him. More than she had thought she did. More than she expected. 

That was something she needed to tell him today. It was terrifying to consider admitting it to him though. It felt like if she told him, it would give him some sort of power over her. 

Was that safe? Was it so bad if it wasn’t?

“Tom?” Her voice was strangled, weak and oh how she hated it. He didn’t answer, probably didn’t hear her as he organized socks and folded underwear neatly. 

Mia was about to call out for him again, stronger she hoped but he called for her first. “How do you feel about travel?”

“What?” The question was random. 

“You and Sally- do you two travel often?” Tom leaned back, looking out of the closet at her from where he sat on the floor before unfolding himself and standing to move a few more things around. 

“No?” She stretched the word out. “Sally hasn’t even been outside of the city.” 

“Why not?” Tom stood back, admiring his little piece of space. He had a space in this home now and turning that idea around in his mind tickled him, bringing a smile to his lips that quickly faded when Mia sighed, drawing his eyes to her. 

“I haven’t exactly had the time.” As Tom made his way out of the closet and toward the bed, questions were clear on his face. “I’m lucky if I get two weeks of paid time off a year.” 

“But for holidays?” He took his time approaching her. 

“I work in a casino.” Mia laughed though bitterness tinged it. “I don’t get any holidays. I get 80 hours of paid time off and have to hope I get a few days left over to use for fun toward the end of the year after all the time off one of us being sick.” 

“80 hours?” Tom knew Americans tended to take less time off than was healthy or normal, in his opinion, but that was not much at all. If they typically work 8 hour days and five day work weeks, that meant they only took an average of - “That’s two weeks? And you have to use it for sick leave too?” 

“Yep.” Mia didn’t like how this conversation felt. “That’s normal.” 

“That is not normal.” 

“What’s normal to you?” It was easy to think they were the same, once she ignored the financial differences between them but it hadn’t occurred to her in the slightest that the cultural differences would potentially be fundamental. 

“Like six weeks once all’s said and done.” 

“That’s so long!” No wonder there were so many international guests at the resorts. They had time to travel around the world. “What do people even do with all that time?”

“We live,” Tom sat on the bed next to her. She was sitting cross legged on the edge of the bed -their bed. He was so close that her knee brushed against his thigh. “I can’t imagine having so much less.”

“We make the best of it.” Mia shrugged. “It’s not like wishing for more will make it change. And most of us can’t afford to take unpaid time off anyway.”

“If that wasn’t a factor, what would you like to do?”

This conversation felt more intimate than those they’d had before. This was personal and while they sometimes had deeper conversations on the phone, it felt different having him there with her. 

“I don’t know.” Mia leaned back on her hands, stretching her abdomen and trying to remind herself to stop slouching. “Travel maybe. This is all I’ve ever known, working. I can’t really picture anything different.”

“Would you want to go to London?” The question was out of his mouth before he had a chance to consider if he was pushing too much. It had caught her off guard too.

“Sure.” She said after a moment of thinking. “If I could ever manage the time off. I’d have to get a passport and figure out time off and how to afford it. It would be a whole thing.”

“You don’t have a passport?” Tom had always assumed most people had passports in America. It was certainly true of his home. 

“Nope,” Mia chuckled. “I never really thought we would need them. It’s not like I’m leaving the country any time soon.” 

Tom rested his hand on her thigh, bringing her eyes to his. “You’re in a international marriage now.” 

“Yeah, but-”

“Mia, there’s times where it may be advantageous for you to travel with me in the next year.” 

“For your career?” Mia didn’t know what she was expecting but she had hoped it was something different, something more. 

He realized he went the wrong route. It would take time to learn how they each communicated and avoid eachother’s landmines. 

“No! No. I just-” Tom decided to restart. “I told my mum about you. I- she’d like to meet you.” 

“Oh, does she know? Like, the real story?” Mia didn’t push his hand off her.

Tom laughed, “Yes, and she’d like to meet you.” 

“Is that a good ‘she wants to meet you’ or a bad ‘she wants to meet you’?”

“The good one.” The idea hadn’t occurred to him but Tom was flying by the seat of his pants. This seemed to be how he made the best choices anyway. “Mia, I’ve got a trip back home- London home, coming up in a few weeks.”

She knew that, they had talked about that before he had left but still, it made her sad. He had just gotten there and he was going to be leaving her again. These were things that were scheduled before he had even known her, let alone married her though. Had she any right to be sad? 

He had to go back home, just as he said. Las Vegas wouldn’t ever be home for him, she was sure of that. There wasn’t a lot of acting that happened in Las Vegas and surely he would need to act again. He had to work and live his life still. 

“I know,” She said after a long pause. “You can’t stay here forever. You’ve got family, friends and work that you’ve got to take care of.”

“You’re family now.” Tom pressed, fingers flexing against the soft of her thigh in a firm grip that lasted for only a second. “Both you and Sally. I would like for you to come with me.” 

“I can’t.” Mia’s heart sank. “Tom, I-”

“I know, I know.” Tom sighed, withdrawing his hand. “But I would like it if you could. If by any chance you could take the time off-”

“I can’t.” Mia interrupted.

“Hypothetically.” Tom continued talking over her, “How long would it take to get passports?” 

“A few weeks or so? Maybe a few months. Our government doesn’t move fast.” 

Tom’s shoulders slumped. Even if he could convince her to trust him with everything, including her financial ability to survive totally, she wouldn’t be able to go with. Oh well, it had been worth a thought. He hadn’t realized how much he wanted to introduce his little American family to his home until the idea had formulated. 

“Would you consider getting them?”

“I guess,” She still wasn’t sold on the fact that they would need them. She couldn’t imagine needing them or having the ability to take the time off to make use of them. “It would be nice to have the option to go if things ever lined up.”

“Thank you.” Tom reached for her hand, weaving his fingers between hers before pulling her hand up to his lips to leave a soft kiss on her knuckles. 

“Why do you do that?” She hadn’t meant to ask.

“Because I want to?” Worry flashed across his face. Had he offended her? “Is that alright?” 

“People don’t do things like that.” Mia quickly stood up but his hand on hers kept her from escaping into the living room. 

“They do if they care.” Tom’s voice was soft and firm, something she would struggle with trying to describe to Ashley later. “And I care.”

Tom left her standing there, stunned by the admission. Here she was, struggling all morning to try and find a way to tell him that she missed him and was glad he had returned. But he just threw out an admission like that as if it was nothing when if he had meant it, it could be everything. 

He had managed to say those things quickly and easily. It was effortless for him to simply say he cared. Small affections came easily from him. If he kept that up, she was in danger of really falling beyond the point of return. 

Was that his goal? Was he being honest? Acting in good faith? Did he really care or was he pretending, hoping that if he pretended long enough the feelings would become real?

Was she worrying about it too much? What if he felt exactly as he said? What if she really did fall in love with him? What if? What if?

What if?

~~~~~<3

Tom was lounging on the couch, his phone in hand when she joined him fifteen or so minutes later. The couch wasn’t the most comfortable one in the world. Part of her wished she had not been so stubborn and gotten one from a nicer store but oh well, what’s done was done.

Tom didn’t seem to mind. He hadn’t commented on the comfort level of the couch. Mia did feel a little bad about how poorly he fit on the couch though, seeing him overflowing off it. He was simply so tall and lanky that he didn’t fit well. 

Glancing up, he smiled at her as she sat down. Sally sat on the floor in front of the couch introducing her newest bear to her other stuffed animals all lined up sitting behind a small army of cardboard desks.

“She’s holding class.” Tom informed her with an amused smile. 

“Ah, a regular activity.” Mia grabbed her book and fidgeted with it. When they were comfortable with eachother, it was wonderful but it was finding those moments that Mia still struggled with. Tom seemed to fit right in and that terrified her. 

“I’ve got a script to pick up in London.” Tom locked his phone at set it on the arm of the couch. 

“What for?” 

“Another Marvel project.” 

“Do you like it?” She wasn’t sure what exactly she was trying to ask. 

“The character?” Tom smiled warmly, turning to face her more. “Very much so, yes. He’s very Shakespearean and there’s much depth and complexity to still explore with him.”

“It sounded like you did in interviews.” She said before thinking. 

“You watched my interviews?” Tom’s eyebrow rose and she realized they never were quite level.

“I mean, I- a few clips, here and there. I just-” Taking a deep breath, she willed herself to calm down and breathe. What did she have to be embarrassed by? “I wanted to get to know you more.”

“Ah.” The answer didn’t seem to disappoint him though he didn’t say more. He didn’t need to. The soft smile on his face said plenty for him. 

“And I missed you.” Finally, she said it. It felt good to say it. It needed to be said. He deserved to hear it. They deserved for it to be said. 

Warm fingers thread through her’s. When her eyes met his, he squeezed her hand with a smile. “I’m glad it wasn’t just me.” 

~~~~~<3~~~~~~<3

Tom gripped her ass under the skirt of her dress. The silky panties she wore were smooth under his hands but not nearly as smooth as her skin would be. He wanted to tease her and savor her but with how much he had drank, he feared quicker would be better.

Fingers struggled with buttons. It felt like the back of the dress was fastened with every possible fastening at the same time, designed by the devil to hamper men from sealing the marriage. He would swear he felt cords and buttons and a zipper track. What he wanted was the dress off of her. 

“Sorry, Darling.” Tom mumbled the words into the swell of her breast he had been kissing. 

With both hands, he ripped the back open. It was harder than he expected, taking a few yanks to rip the fabric to the small of her back. with the tension that had been holding her breasts in place gone, they sank slightly into a more relaxed, natural position.

Mia was self conscious for a moment. Her body had been through stresses and showed the wear from a life lived. Though she had never been uncomfortable with the size of her breasts, she knew they lacked the fullness of many women in their twenties. 

Her breasts were natural and that excited him. Pulling the bodice down, he was rewarded for his efforts with a warm palmful of soft flesh. He took a pink nipple in his mouth and ran his tongue over the nub. 

He needed her and he needed her now. 

~~~~~<3

Tag List: @winterisakiller, @alexakeyloveloki, @jennyggggrrr, @dangertoozmanykids101, @tilltheendwilliwrite @tinchentitri @wizardcherryblossom  @buttercupcookies-blog @violethaze @kats72 @soulpiercing @evedia

[punks-never-die205]

Hey 😊, thanks alot. I really enjoy reading your answers. They're so much fun. 🥰😁 A very different question: would you tell us sth about yourself? I mean your age, your profession (are you a professional writer would interest me) for example and how you get to like the Kid Pirates so much. 😊

Awww how sweet, sure anon - I’m pretty open about my age on my main blog, which is linked in the pinned post for this, so I don’t mind sharing some stuff.

I am an Ancient Internet Being - I was a netizen in 1993, when my dad got a home computer for me for Christmas. AOL was the new big deal, and yeah. It was a time.

Anyway, I was 12 then and I’m 42 now - gonna have a big birthday request bash again this year on the main blog to celebrate hitting 43 this July. (I celebrate my age without shame because “old” is a privilege and I look forward to actually getting there in 20 years)

By day I’m a mild-mannered pun slinging tech liaison of sorts for my team. I do a lot of translating between IT and Business, and I do some tech work too. I have down time at work cause when things compile or meetings stall out there’s not much else to do.

I’m a rock star though, by my boss’ own admission, so I have the great luck of not being stressed and being able to write a bit during work.

I was once a professional writer, but that was… not my best time, honestly. I’m not cut out for it xD I’d rather write fanfic honestly, or do a re-write of my OG story and have it be what I wanted.

Fun fact, I guess, I don’t have a degree of any kind. I was working toward a criminal psychology degree out of high school, dropped out, worked, went back to college to get an IT degree - ended up with cancer, withdrew and spent all my college savings money on surgery instead of school and ended up finding a solid job.

Went back to college a THIRD time, had a 4.0, was rocking being on the dean’s list and then work changed our hours, and I had to withdraw again. (I had 12 credit hours and was working 56 hours a week - don’t do that. It’s fucking nuts.)

Just wasn’t in the cards.

I almost got denied a job because the hiring manager thought no degree meant I wouldn’t be able to compose emails, despite two published books….

But things are good now \o/

Oh! And the Eustass Kid - ah I got into OP April 2022 (my return to fan fic was October 2022 \o/ ) and fell in love with the entire show. My focus moved from Luffy to Zoro to Law at Shabody.

Sir Crocodile coming back in at Marineford got my full and undivided attention, but then I read a reader insert story with Kid in it. Went back and rewatched scenes for him and really paid attention and was hooked.

I loved everything alluded to about him, the personality, the view point he had. Post time skip he bulked out and that voice just grabbed me by the throat.

I couldn’t ignore him xD

Marco, Kid, Crocodile we’re pretty much it, but I love writing so many characters 😄 hell I have like 8 sideblogs to keep all the stories organized.

Kid is a beast of a character though, and I love him, and then I met people because of that and that love grew. Seriously Check out @swampstew - she’s passionate about the crew even more than me and I love what she writes.

@wyvernslovecake has an amazingly cute OC for the crew and lots of stuff about them.

I could list a dozen more, but you asked about me so I’ll reign it in for now. 🥰

[dialovers-translations]

DIABOLIK LOVERS VERSUS SONG Bloody Night Animate Tokuten Drama CD ”The Contest is the Smell of Money!? ~The Vampires’ Desire~”

Original title: コンクールはお金の香り!?～ヴァンパイアたちの欲望

Source: Diabolik Lovers VERSUS SONG Animate Tokuten Drama CD

Audio: Here

Seiyuu: Toriumi Kousuke, Katsuyuki Konishi, Midorikawa Hikaru, Takahiro Sakurai, Kimura Ryouhei & Morikawa Toshiyuki

Translator’s note: Once again, the Vampires prove that they are more human than anyone else because their number one motivator in life is...sweet, sweet money. xD They’re all so thirsty for cash 99% of the time, it’s honestly hilarious. I wonder what else you could push them to do, just because there’s a large amount of prize money on the line. The climax of this CD kind of caught me off guard because I expected they would just royally fuck up on the day of the concert but no...They never even got to enter lol. Great move by the MC. They don’t really hint at what her explanation for not submitting the application on time was, but I want to believe that she did it on purpose to get revenge for all the times they treated her like trash. You go girl.

*Rustle*

Ayato: Haah…God…The fuck is this? And here I thought I’d head straight home to pick on Chichinashi…Oi, you. Have you heard anythin’ ‘bout what’s goin’ on?

*Flip*

Ruki: Hm…

Ayato: Oi, bastard! You’re just gonna ignore me, huh!?

Ruki: Was my lack of a response not clear enough of an answer?

Ayato: Aah…!? 

Ruki: Haah…

Ruki closes his book.

Ruki: I haven’t heard anything. Now relax. I am sure we will find out sooner or later.

Ayato: But you know…Whoever decided to gather this group of people here must be fuckin’ bonkers. I feel like we’re bein’ set up for some weird shit.

*Rustle* 

Kou: Well…I guess I can’t blame you for feeling that way…

Carla: Heh…

Ayato: Anyway, how come you’re here as well, Carla? I can’t imagine you’d actually show up under normal circumstances. 

Carla: Is my appearance truly that puzzling? 

Ruki: Well, I do believe you must have a solid reason for doing so. 

Kou: I mean, Mr. ‘Almighty Founder’ doesn’t even show up for class usually, does he~? 

Carla: I had nothing better to do, that is all. 

Ayato: Smells fishy.

Kou: Right? I can only imagine you have some kind of ulterior motive.

Carla: You fiends…Who do you think you are talking to…? 

Ayato: Hah!? You wanna throw down!? Fine, I accept your challenge!

Reiji: Come on now, everyone. Please stop getting up in each other’s faces like that.

Ruki: Hm? This voice is…? 

Reiji enters the room.

*Rattle* 

Ayato: Reiji…? Don’t tell me you’re the one who…?

Reiji: I had no other choice. Otherwise you lot would have never shown up. 

Carla: Oi, you. You are the one who summoned me here. So it must be safe to assume that you had a good reason for doing so? 

Reiji: You are rather impatient, are you not? I shall explain shortly, so please wait a few more minutes.　ーー For starters, I would like all of you to take a look at this. 

Reiji starts distributing flyers. 

*Flip* 

Carla: …Hm? …This isーー!? 

Ruki: Could it be…?

Ayato: Haah!? A music competition!? 

Reiji: Exactly. We will participate in it. 

Kou: Eh? You’re joking, right?

Reiji: No, I am dead serious. 

Ayato: …!? Are you out of your mind!? You want to sign up with the people gathered here? 

Reiji: Yes. I have carefully selected a group of people who would aim for victory.

Ruki: I see…You are after the prize money, correct?

Kou: Hm? What do you mean? 

Carla: Take a good look at the flyer. Especially at the part about the prize.

*Flip* 

Ayato: …!? For real…!? The winner gets…ten thousand dollars!? (1)

Kou: No way!?

Ruki: It must be a print mistake of some sorts, right?

Shuu: Sounds too suspicious. 

Reiji: Oh my, Shuu. Seems like someone has finally woken up.

Shuu: You really think I could sleep with you guys making such a fuss? 

Reiji: I believe it is more likely that it was the prize money which caught your attention…But oh well. Ahem. I have already contacted the organizers about it. It would appear that our school would like to shift their focus on attracting promising artists, so to catch the attention of potential stars from all across the country, they have chosen to attach a bountiful prize to the contest.

Kou: I see. I expected no less from Reiji-kun! Nothing gets past you.

Reiji: Of course not. …So, what will you do? 

Ayato: What do you mean? Are you askin’ us whether we’ll participate or not? 

Reiji: Yes…According to my data, the people I have gathered here have the highest chance at success. 

Shuu: And how exactly? We’re the only ones who have any sort of musical talent, right?

Kou: Excuse me!? I have published my own CDs, you know!? 

Shuu: Those are not even worth mentioning. 

Kou: Haah!? 

Shuu: I mean, think about it. We’re joining a musical competition, not some kind of concert. Unless you’ve actually taken proper vocal music classes? 

Reiji: Shuu…It would appear to me that you don’t understand the true meaning of a contest. 

Shuu: What do you mean?

Reiji: In a contest, the winner is decided by the judges’ votes. In other words…By people. 

Ruki: I see. So appearance is an important factor as well. 

Reiji: Exactly. I am glad you are quick to understand. 

Kou: In other words…Since I’m a good-looking idol, it’s possible that I could appeal to the judges? 

Ruki: Exactly. Humans are so easily won over by appearance. It is possible they will let you get away with making some mistakes because your looks make up for it. 

Kou: Ruki-kun, how mean…That doesn’t make me happy at all. 

Shuu: Then what about the other two guys? Ayato most likely has zero experience with music whatsoever, and I can’t imagine old man Carla (2) over there playing music either. 

Carla: You fiends…You really do not hold back at all, do you? Calling me elderly, a fossil or even an old woman!

Kou: Wait, nobody ever called you an old woman, did they? 

Ayato: I actually took violin lessons many, many years ago!

Reiji: Exactly. I remember. 

Shuu: Are you talking about when aunt Cordelia forced him to start taking classes in hopes of competing against us? 

Ruki: Heeh…The eldest triplet plays the violin, huh? That’s new information to me.

Shuu: If I recall correctly…He gave up after just one week and smashed his instrument. 

Ayato: Just so you know, that wasn’t my fault!

Shuu: Hm? 

Ayato: That hysteric old hag destroyed it during one of her crazy moments. I mean, I was glad that I didn’t have to bother with those lessons anymore. 

Shuu: …I guess destroying violins was her thing, huh? 

Reiji: …W-Well…Anyway! He isn’t a complete amateur when it comes to music, so his chances are somewhat higher than any of the other guys. …And you, Carla, you are none other than a Founder, aren’t you?

Carla: …!

Reiji: The cream of the crop of all Demons…A First Blood. Therefore I believe it is only safe to assume that you would have no issues mastering music, a human invention? 

Carla: W-Well…

Ruki: I guess it might be tricky after all? 

Carla: A-As if…! I am a First Blood! A Founder! There is nothing I cannot do!

*Clap clap clap* 

Reiji: A true Founder!

Shuu: …I wonder. 

Reiji: That being said, what will you all do? Will you participate? 

Ruki: I would like to ask one question. I assume that we will be splitting the prize money even amongst all participants? 

Reiji: Hm? Of course. 

Ruki: In that case, I’m in. Kou as well. 

Kou: Eh!? Excuse me!? Why!? 

Ruki: Don’t play dumb now. Whose fault do you think it is that we have to be so careful with our spendings? 

Kou: …!? W-Well…

Ruki: It is your fault for being such an impulsive buyer. Isn’t that right?

Kou: Nnー...

Ayato: …I don’t want to! Joining a contest sounds like a big pain in the ass. 

Reiji: Hooh? Is that so? What a shame…If you were to win, then the ‘takoyaki pool’ you have dreamt of for years might just be able to become reality. 

Ayato: …!? 

Shuu: I’m skipping out as well. It’s obviously too much trouble. 

Reiji: Oh dear, is that so? I mean, I personally don’t mind since the less people participate, the less people we have to split the money between. …You might just be able to buy the antique gramophone you’ve been wanting so badly though. 

Shuu: …!? 

Reiji: Ah, right, right! The jamon iberico you love so much, Carla, you should be able to purchase a few logs of it with the prize money. 

Carla: …!! You shall not bribe me with such a thing!!

Reiji: Ahaha. Of course not. You are a lofty Founder after all. You must not let yourself be won over by money, correct? 

Carla: Exactly!

Reiji: However…It truly is a shame, isn’t it? It would be such a perfect opportunity to get an entire log of the finest quality jamon iberico. That vaguely nutty flavor spreading inside your mouth…growing stronger and stronger as you chew. Seasoned to perfection.

Carla: …Ah…

Reiji: I suppose you three do not want any of those things. It is a shame, truly. 

Ayato, Shuu & Carla: …

Ayato: G-Guess I have no other choice…If you insist…I suppose I do have some free time on my hands anyway. 

Shuu: I had been thinking it was about time I picked up the violin again…I guess this is the perfect opportunity. 

Reiji: Oh my, is that so? I am glad. 

*Rustle* 

Reiji: Then, what about you, Carla? 

Carla: Hm…I shall help you out. It is one of my many duties as a Founder to show compassion towards the lower masses after all. 

Reiji: I see. I am terribly grateful for that. 

Ruki: Seems like we’ve come to a conclusion. In that case, we should apply at once. I shall head to the agency at oーー

Reiji: Ah! About that, I suggest we leave that up to her. She does not seem to have anything better to do after all. 

Ruki: Hm. I understand. Let us start practicing at once then. Time is money. If we want to aim for victory, then we have no other choice but to practice as much as we can. 

Kou: But what exactly will we do with our group? We can’t pull off an orchestra, can we? 

Reiji: Please do not worry about that. I have come with a plan. We will participate in two groups of three members each. 

Ruki: I see. To get as much out of it as we can, correct?

Carla: What do you mean? 

*Flip* 

Ruki: According to this flyer, a prize will be awarded to both first and second place. If we participate in two groups and get both prizes…

Reiji: The combined prize money would be fifteen million yen. Split amongst us six, it means each of us would get a total of two million fifty thousand yen. 

Ayato: Woah…! Amazing! 

Reiji: Right? As for the groups…I suggest Kou, Carla and myself as one group and Shuu, Ayato and Ruki as the other, effectively splitting up Shuu and myself as we have the most experience with music. 

Ruki: I believe those are well-balanced groups. 

Reiji: Why of course. I put them together based on precise, evidence-based data after all. 

*Rattle* 

Kou: Ah! M-neko-chan~!

Ayato: Chichinashi!

Reiji: Oh dear, what’s the matter? Is there something you need?

You explain. 

Reiji: I see. You came to check up on us? Well, I suppose you would find it intriguing why the teacher would lend us the music classroom and its instruments. 

Ayato: Perfect timing! Chichinashi, you should join our team!

*Rustle*

Kou: Eh? Hold up! M-neko-chan is coming this way…She’s joining our group!

Ayato: Haah!? Excuse me!? 

*Clap clap clap* 

Reiji: Stop right there, no fighting! While we may have split up in two groups, we are still on the same team. 

Ruki: Exactly. Now is not the time to have a fall-out. …Oi, Livestock. You shall listen to our performance as we practice and act as our advisor. 

Shuu: Well, I guess we need someone who can give us some objective input. Let’s not question whether or not she’s the right person to do so though…

Reiji: Ahem. Well then, I suppose we should discuss within our teams who will play which instrument first.

*TIMESKIP*

*Rustle* 

Reiji: Well then…As for our team, I believe it makes most sense to start by asking which instrument each of you feels most comfortable with and then we can decide on our line-up based on that. 

Kou: Hm…Why not? Seems like the most logical solution. 

Carla: I am a Founder. You can assign me any instrument you like. 

Reiji: What…do you mean by that? 

Carla: That I can play each one with ease. 

Kou: Really!? 

Carla: Why would I lie about such a thing? 

Reiji: I see. I suppose you were not simply bluffing earlier. In which case, I shall randomly assign you an instrument…Kou, what about you? 

Kou: Um…I could probably handle the end-blow flute, the triangle, the tambourine… 

Reiji: Any string or wind instruments? 

Kou: Hm… For percussion instruments, maybe the djembe, ngoma? (3)

Carla: What are those?

Kou: They’re African instruments! The locals taught me how to play them when I visited the area during one of my on location photo shoots. 

Reiji: Those are some awfully niche choices…As an idol, are you not capable of playing any instruments with a little more flair? Like the piano or the flute? 

Kou: Hmー I can play some simple tunes with one hand on the piano…

Reiji: That simply won’t do…

Carla: I mean, we do not actually need to play for real, do we? 

Kou: Huh? What do you mean?

Carla: All you need to do is pretend to be playing. Say we go for a violin trio, then only Reiji and myself need to be able to actually play the instrument. 

Reiji: I see. I suppose we have that option as well. 

Carla: Exactly. One cannot get delicious cured ham by only playing fair. 

Reiji: Exactly. …Nor will I be able to get my hands on that high-tech built-in kitchen…

Kou: Huh? Did you say something just now? 

Reiji: No, not at all. 

You try to convince them to keep things fair. 

Carla: Excuse me? Did you say something just now? 

Reiji: Hmー Well…I suppose it is true that we risk losing our prize money if they find out that we cheated. 

Kou: I’ll do the vocals instead then! Although I haven’t actually ever taken proper singing classes like Shuu-kun mentioned either. 

Reiji: That sounds good. Let us go with that. You should not have any complaints then either, correct? 

You nod. 

Reiji: Well then. From the various scores I have brought with me…

*Flip flip*

Reiji: This one should work. Let us practice this for about an hour and then we can try to put everything together. 

Carla: I can go right here, right now. 

Reiji: Oh, come on. At least check the score first. 

Carla: Hmph. 

You start walking away. 

Carla: Oi, you. Where are you going? 

You explain. 

Carla: Ah…You want to go check up on the other group? …Well, I am somewhat curious as well. Now that I have decided I will participate, I definitely do not want to lose to them. 

Kou: Eeh~? We don’t really need to compete amongst each other, right? As long as one of our groups wins, we’ll split the prize money anyway. 

Carla: That is not my style.   

Reiji: Hm…I guess you have a point. I believe it only makes sense to want to aim for first place with our group. 

Kou: Hm…Well, I guess being ‘first’ sounds kind of nice. 

Carla: Oi, woman. You heard us. I shall allow you to investigate the other group. Once you are done, I expect you to report back to me at once. Understood? 

Kou: M-neko-chan, we’re counting on you~! Off you go~!

You head towards the other group.

*Rustle* 

Shuu: Well then…About our group…The two of you don’t need to do anything. Or rather, please don’t. 

Ayato: Aah!? The fuck!? What do you mean!? 

Shuu: I don’t want you two to hold me back. 

Ayato: That tone of yours is really pissin’ me off. You usually don’t give a shit ‘bout anythin’, so what makes today different? 

Shuu: My gramophone is on the line here…Besides, music is kind of dear to me. Oh well, my reasoning doesn't matter. Anyway, it’d obviously be better for me to perform a solo act than to try and force some weird instrumental trio. 

Ayato: Look who’s talking when you haven’t even heard me perform yet!

Shuu: I’m saying this because I unfortunate have heard you play.

Ayato: Ah!? For real!? 

Shuu: Back in the past, I thought some idiot was playing around by opening and closing some rusty, old door of our castle, when it turned out the sound was coming from you playing the violin. 

Ayato: …!!

Shuu: Besides, you haven’t touched the violin in years, have you? 

Ayato: W-Well…

Shuu: I’m spot on, aren’t I? …As for you, Ruki, I’m pretty sure you grew up in an environment where music was the least of your worries? 

Ruki: It appears you have quite the faulty image of me. I was actually rather good at playing the violin. 

Shuu: Heeh…That’s surprising. In that case…Why don’t you show me what you’ve got? 

*Rustle*

Shuu grabs one of the violins and plays a bit. 

Shuu: …You can choose any song you want, try and play a bit. 

Ruki: Very well. 

Ruki plays the violin as well. 

Ruki: …As easy as pie. 

Ayato: …Kuh!

Shuu: …Heeh. You’re not half bad. 

Ruki: What do you think? I bet you wouldn’t mind letting me join the performance now? 

Shuu: I mean, I have to admit that you are miles above Ayato in terms of skill. 

Ayato: Ugh…Fuck off! Do you really have to put it like that!? I can easily pull that off as well!

Ayato grabs the violin. 

Ayato: Gimme that!

*Rustle* 

Ayato: Now listen closely, ‘kay? ーー Kuh!

Ayato plays the violin badly.

Ruki: Ugh…What a disaster…

Shuu: Kuh…Cut it out! You’re making my ears bleed!

Ayato: …Huh? That’s weird…? Fuck! One more try!

*Rustle* 

He plays just as badly. 

Shuu: …Enough!

Shuu steals the violin from him as you walk up to them. 

Ruki: …Hm? Oh, it’s you, Livestock. Why do you look terrified? 

You explain. 

Shuu: Hm? Screams? Ahー That was Ayato playing the violin. You’re not wrong to compare it to someone screeching. 

Ayato: Chichinashi, you bitch…!

Ruki: Well, I guess you realize why you have to give up now? 

Shuu: Just pretend you are playing instead. 

You protest.

Shuu: …I know you’re against cheating but you heard his performance earlier, didn’t you?

You offer for Ayato to sing instead.

Ruki: Kou will be singing for the other group? Which means…

Shuu: Vocals, huh? 

Ayato: …I just gotta sing, right!? 

Shuu: Guess we have no other choice. Let’s go with that. 

Ayato: I’ll blow your socks off with my beautiful voice!

Shuu: Anyway, you got a feel of what the other group’s doing, right? How are things coming together? 

You explain. 

Ruki: I see. The other group as well. I cannot wait to show them what we’ve got.

Ayato: I mean, as long as we do a half-decent job, we shouldn’t lose to them, right?

Shuu: Anyway, we should probably get some practice in as well and then come back together after an hour. 

Ruki: Agreed. 

*TIMESKIP*

Reiji: Well then, we should probably show each other what we’ve got so far. 

Ruki: We just gathered together again. I believe your group did as well? 

Reiji: Yes, exactly. …You seem very well informed. 

Carla: You must have a lot of time on hand to eavesdrop on our group from the shadows. 

Shuu: She’s the one who informed you guys as well, right? We’re in the same boat then. 

Carla & Reiji: …!!

Kou: Why are you guys being so competitive towards each other when we’re all working towards the same goal…? I mean, whatever. Anyway, let’s just get to it. This isn’t the real deal yet. We’re only practicing. 

Ruki: Even so, we still have to try our best. 

Reiji: Exactly. Well then, how will we go about this? I believe this is the prime opportunity to decide which one of our groups is superior in terms of skill. 

Carla: Fufufu…I shall show you something truly breathtaking!

Kou: Uwah~ It’s no use. His switch got flipped. 

Carla: Oi, woman! You shall judge who is the superior group, understood? 

Ayato: Hey, bastard! Don’t be threatenin’ Chichinashi now! She’s gonna get scared and favor you guys as a result!

Carla: I am not intimidating her in the slightest. Once you hear our performance, it will be clear that we will come out victorious. …Oi, Four-Eyes. Let us begin. 

Reiji: …’Four-Eyes’, could you be referring to me, by any chance? 

Carla: You are the only one here wearing glasses, are you not? 

*Rustle* 

Reiji: …I am rather displeased by that remark. 

Kou: Let’s get this party started~! …Ah, by the way, you’ll have to wait to hear me sing until the actual performance day~

*Rustle* 

Reiji and Carla start playing the violin.

Shuu: They’re not bad…

Ruki: No, wait…Take a look at Carla. 

Carla: Haah…

Ayato: Haah? 

Kou: Eh!? The bow’s moving by itself…!? Could it be…?

Ruki: It’s magic! He’s using his magic to play the violin…!

Shuu: Haah…

Carla: Phew…There you go, I did not even break a sweat. 

Reiji: Hahaha…First place is as good as ours. …Right? Hey, you!

*Bzz bzzt*

Reiji: …!? E-Excuse me!? 

Carla: Do you have a problem with our performance!? 

Kou: I mean, you can hardly blame her. Any normal person would be in shock after seeing that performance from earlier. 

Reiji: …! Carla! This would not be an issue if you would simply use your hands as you play!

Carla: T-That’s…

Reiji: Hm? Don’t tell me…You cannot? 

Carla: …!!

Shuu: Fufu…Hilarious. 

Ayato: This competition is ours!

You point out that they have yet to play. 

Ayato: …Ah? I mean, sure, we haven’t performed yet, but it’s so obvious. 

Ruki: I mean, why not give them a listen? 

Shuu: Haah…It’s a drag but I guess we have no other choice. I’m sure they’ll admit defeat after hearing us play. 

*Rustle* 

Shuu: Anyway, for now, we’ll let you hear the violin part. Let’s go. 

Shuu and Ruki start playing.

Carla & Reiji: …!!

Ayato: Hehe! How’s that? Pissin’ your pants? 

Kou: Both of them are actually using their hands to play! I had no idea Ruki-kun was gifted at the violin!

Reiji: …!! …This is rather infuriating. 

False notes start mixing in. 

Reiji: Hm? …T-This is…!!

Carla: What is going on…!? 

Kou: Aah! Ow! What a horrible noise…Stop! Time out!!

Shuu: …!! Oi, Ruki! What was that just now!? 

Ruki: What do you mean? I played the violin. 

Kou: We know that! You started off great but then it all went downhill halfway through!? 

Ruki: Ah, about that. Oh well, do not let that bother you. 

Reiji: How are we supposed to do that!? 

Ruki: It’s the first few notes which truly matter. In short, as long as I can make a good first impression, the tone has already been set for an amazing piece. 

Shuu: Haah…In other words, you can only play well for a couple of seconds? 

Carla: Hahaha! I guess that means we have won. 

Ayato: Oi, Chichinashi! What’s the verdict of this competition?

You frown. 

Kou: I’m pretty sure both groups had issues of our own? …But I doubt these guys will let this pass without there being a clear winner. 

The other guys act competitive towards each other. 

Kou: Hm? What was that? We should wait for a winner to be declared until the day of the actual competition? Makes sense. It’s not like there’s any point in fighting over it right now.

Shuu: Oi, Ruki. I expect you to master the rest of the score by then. 

Reiji: Carla! You should learn to play with your hands as well! Come on, start practicing at once!

Ayato: …Seems like those two got stuck in between Shuu and Reiji’s personal conflict. 

Kou: Oh well, whatever. All that matters is that we get our hands on those ten million yen by winning both first and second prize! We better give it our best shot. 

*TIMESKIP*

Ruki: ( ーー And so, we continued to practice playing the violin from dusk till dawn for days on end. ) 

Carla: ( It was more challenging and daunting than any task I had faced in the past. )

Reiji: ( All I want is to surpass Shuu’s team! )

Shuu: ( I became more serious about honing my violin skills than ever before, all for the sake of that gramophone. )

Ayato: ( Even I - who wasn’t too thrilled about the whole idea at first - got very serious about the competition. )

Kou: ( Everyone held tightly onto their violin’’s bow, as the moment of truth arrivedーー )

*Rustle* 

Ruki: …Ridiculous! Can someone please explain this to me!? 

Kou: R-Ruki-kun, calm down…

Ruki: How am I supposed to keep calm in a situation like this!? 

Shuu: Unbelievable…

Reiji: You! I am fairly sure I told you to submit our application in time so how has this happened?

You explain. 

Reiji: Haah…I was a fool for entrusting you with this task. ーー Well, all of us know how to properly play now, so let us put those skills to good use at the next given opportunity, I suppose. …Right, Carla? 

Carla: …W-Wha…? 

Ayato: Oi, do you also smell trouble? 

Kou: Yeah, you’re right…

Ayato: Let’s dip before it’s too late!

Kou: Good idea…

Ayato and Kou sneak away. 

Carla: Haha…Hahaha…

Reiji: Good grief…Laughter is the only thing coming out of him.

Carla: Ahahaha…!

Shuu & Ruki: …!? 

Carla: You bastards…!!

*WOOSH*

Reiji: …Carla!? R-Relax! Everyone makes mistakes! Let us remain calm and talk it out!

*BOOM*

Carla: My Iberico serranoーーーー!!

ーー THE END ーー

Translation notes 

(1) 一千万 or ‘issenman’ is 10.000.000 or ten million yen, when converted to dollar, it would be around ten thousand dollars. 

(2) Shuu calls him 化石男 or ‘kaseki otoko’ which literally means ‘fossil guy’. 

(3) There’s one third instrument he mentions but I could not find what it is for the life of me. To me it sounds like he’s saying ‘zunzun’ or ‘zunzu’ but I couldn’t find any African instruments with that name.

[inkykeiji]

hiii clari!!! i hope you’re having a great day, i’m working my ass off at the moment since i’m moving and as i was ripping pages and paint off my wall with a scraper some thoughts popped into my head! i constantly have your touya-nii au! and bmb au! on my mind and i REALLY wanna make an au and story like the two of those but i don’t know where to start!

i was wondering how you thought of the two of those au’s? the plot and storylines, layout, etc. and how you came up with “break my bones but act as my spine” for the bmb au?

AAAA i hope this isn’t too much trouble of an ask!!!! (also omgomgomgomg if possible can i be the 📖 anon? LUV YOU MWAHH)

hi lovie!! <3 i am actually sick in bed with a steadily climbing fever LMAO but thank you sweetpea <3 i hope your day is going swell!!

oooh that’s a really interesting question! i get a lot of my inspiration from music, actually! (which is also why 97% of my fic titles are lyrics HAHA). i love making playlists that either fit a certain mood, vibe, or idea, or playlists centred around characters. usually then i just listen to them on repeat and let my mind wander!!! so for my main touya-nii series, it’s actually all inspired by save that shit by lil peep! each title is a song lyric that relates to the content of the piece itself:

i can take you there but baby you won’t make it back: touya can take reader into this relationship, but once she’s entered into it, she’ll be fucked up for life, there’s no going back to who she was before she started fucking her stepbrother;

all she want is payback for the way i always play that shit: all reader wants is for touya to feel an ounce of the hurt SHE feels when he’s off screwing around with other people—all reader wants is him, completely and wholly and entirely to herself;

do i make you scared? baby won’t you take me back: does touya’s psychotic behaviour and extreme possessiveness scare her? will she take him back now that he’s ready and willing to be fully hers and no one else’s?

also, just the vibe of the song itself set the tone and the atmosphere for the main series!! the same happened with 16 lines, also by lil peep, which is where the lyric break my bones but act as my spine comes from! for this one, it was more the vibe of the song than anything else. that, and the fact that i personally love organized crime bosses, love love triangles, and love the classic bodyguard babysitter falls for the person they’re protecting trope.

anyway, i know they’re kind of abstract, but that’s one of the ways my ideas bloom in my head! the other thing i would suggest is study narratives you enjoy: books, movies, video games—anything with a narrative that really struck a chord with you, and figure out why you enjoyed it and what you love so much about it. i believe it is equally as important to consume art as it is to create it!! feed your brain!! i can give you a whole list of some of my inspirations for those pieces, and that still doesn’t scratch the surface! read, write, watch, play, study!

additionally, i always say creativity is a muscle; we all have it, but you have to exercise it to strengthen it. as such, i’d recommend you do some character + narrative writing exercises n warm ups! those will get the ideas flowing, and you might end up developing a story out of something you thought up during one of those exercises! you can also look into fiction prompts and see if anything sparks your interest!

also, if you’d like it, i also have a lil masterlist of my writing advice that discusses a technique we used to continuously generate ideas in my screenwriting class! <3 ahhhh i hope this helps bb, i wish you luck on your journey and i support you creating your own work one hundred million percent. please, create <3

and yes!! you can absolutely be book anon!!! welcome to the anon club sweetpea ⸜(｡˃ ᵕ ˂ )⸝♡

[bumblepony]

Hi, I was wondering if you could do a kiss prompt for Alexei & Amos from As Nandorluna’s Go Your Own Way & As Long as You Follow. I liked your one short fic of them.

The prompt would be "kiss with trembling lips"

Thank you

This was not as sexy as I first thought I was going to go, but I still liked making it sooo, here we go. I hope you like it, Nonnie.

I am also linking this to my good friend @chronicallyonlinewriter because these are her original characters, and I want to make sure she is happy with this little slice of story I slipped into her universe.

If anyone is interested in reading her work I highly recommend it, it's one of my favorite series in TLOU fanfic fandom here is the link People Still Listen to Fleetwood Mac in the Apocalypse

Story under the cut!

“Alexei?” Amos’s voice called sleep-rough from down the hall, a familiar sound that always managed to stir something soft in Alexei. Normally, after hearing it, he would drag whatever book he was reading back to the bedroom and cuddle up under the covers with Amos’s pleasant warmth pressed along his side. But today, Alexei didn’t have time. He’d already spent too many days away from the hospital, and he needed to get back. He shoved another book into his bag.

“In here.” He called, then mumbled quietly to himself as he looked around him, making sure he’d grabbed everything.

“What are you doing?” Amos asked, his confusion clear in his tone. Alexei looked up at his husband, tall and mussed, standing in the doorway. His T-shirt wrinkled, one leg of his sweatpants hiked up just below his knee, and the wild red curls of his hair half falling out of the low ponytail he usually put it in for bed. His shockingly blue eyes were tired but sharp as he took in Alexei’s actions.

“I have to get back to the hospital. I’m already so behind… on everything.” He sighed, his mind already cataloging all the different experiments that were waiting for his hand, each at a different stage of completion that only he could correctly handle.

His mind was so taken by his musings that he didn’t realize Amos had moved until his hand was over the top of his own. Strong fingers stopped his relentless packing and repacking of his bag. Placing his thumb and pointer finger under Alexei’s chin, Amos turned his face to his.

“Alexei, stop. What are you doing?” Amos asked again, his voice low, desperate. Alexei’s eyes skate over his worried face, his bushy brows pulled down over his dark circled eyes, mouth creased into a thin line between his scruffy beard. “You nearly died less than a week ago, I thought… Jesus, when I got the call, I thought that was it. I rushed to the hospital, sure I’d be too late, sure all I’d be able to do was hold your already cooling hand as they told me you were gone. But by some fucking miracle, you were still alive. My beautiful, reckless, stubborn husband was still alive.” Amos’s hand came up and brushed away a lock of silver hair from his forehead before he leaned in and placed a trembling kiss on his lips. Alexei could feel Amos’s hand also shake, where it rested on his face, and guilt sprang up hot and acidic from his gut.

“Alexei, you look like shit. You’ve been burning yourself at both ends since we got here. And I understand, I really do, I know how important this is for you, for us, for everyone.” Amos took a deep breath and placed his forehead against Alexei’s, “But, Alexei, I need you. Do you understand? If-if you do find a way to make a cure, but I end up losing you in the process because you’ve run yourself down to the bone, then none of it will have been worth it for me.” Amos pressed his lips to Alexei’s once more, so fiercely that their teeth clacked against one another. He held himself there, his breaths harsh and sharp against Alexei’s lips before pulling away and piercing him with his gaze. “Do you understand Alexei? None of this is worth it without you.”

Alexei knew the heart attack had scared Amos. It had scared him, too. But hearing that fear in Amos’s voice, feeling it in his touch, finally forced him to see that his life meant something beyond his ability to make a cure. His wellbeing mattered to Amos, and he had not been taking care of himself.

“Amos, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…” Alexei stammered and lifted his hands to rest on Amos’s shoulders, needing to feel his solid frame under his palms. 

“Well, you do now, so I need you to take care of yourself. This was a wake-up call, and I need you to listen to it, please,” Amos said and pulled away to take Alexei’s bag and shove it under the desk. One last clear message that Amos did not plan on letting Alexei go anywhere today. 

“Okay, Amos. Okay, I will.” Alexei laughed weakly. His earlier need to be back at work spilled out of him in a rush and left him feeling raw and exhausted.

“Good then. Good.” Amos ran a shaking hand through his already chaotic curls, his tone surprised as if he had expected more of a fight and then reached down to take Alexi’s hand. “Come back to bed. I know you’ll have to go back eventually, but can we work all that out tomorrow?”

Alexei laced his fingers with Amos’s and reached out his other hand to gently smooth down Amos' jaw, the rough scrape of his scruff a calming sensation against his palm. “Of course, sweetheart. It can wait.”

“C’mon,” Amos tugged him from the little office and back to their warm, comfortable bed.

[midnightprelude]

Major Arcana: Hanged Man

Written by @oftachancer and I for the @30daysofdorian event!

Masterpost | First | Previous | Next

CW: Southern Circles of Magi; conversion therapy (aftermath); successful blood magic ritual; recovering from trauma

The Circles in the South were appalling. That was all Dorian could think, over and over, as he followed the novice away from where his father was amiably chatting with one of the elder scions of the Gallows. An apt name for such a cold place. Cold - in the air, seeping into the stones. Cold - in the study of eyes behind heavy place helmets. 

“And this is the library,” Karl Thekla said as he pushed a narrow door open into a dark and crowded room.

Dorian fought a sneeze. “Oh, yes, very nice.” He could have fit three of them into the library at Qarinus. “Your lamps seem to have gone out.”

Karl shook his head. He was a broad sort of fellow with soft blue eyes and an impressively well kept beard. “We had an ordinance from the Council. No more magelight.”

“…they want you to use… open flames… in a library?” Dorian asked slowly. “Does this ‘council’ know that books are typically made of paper and parchment and therefore are quite flammable?”

“Hm,” Karl answered him, smiling and noncommittal. “We have your paper on interdimensional temporal analogs. I’ll show you.”

“Gladly.” More than he expected from a glorified prison. The reason his father had thought to bring him to this dismal place was entirely unclear to him. They hadn’t seen the sun once since they’d set foot underneath those ominous statues in the port—men and women twisted in expressions of agony—and Dorian was wondering if he would return to Tevinter with a deathly pallor. “What manner of study do you conduct here, Karl?”

“This and that. I used to-“ He shook his head, drawing a long drawer out crowded with scrolls. “Mostly, I help the elders with their work. Keep the books organized. That’s a task that takes a fair bit of time as you can imagine.” He poked through the scrolls, checking labels by the flicker of a flame through glass. “What is it like?” he asked quietly. “Up there?”

It was the first time Karl had asked anything of the sort and it caught him off guard. How much was he supposed to say? Would it hurt father’s business if he confided in the apprentice? Dorian glanced over his shoulder, lowering his voice. “In Tevinter, the land is so riddled with magic it seeps into the soil. It makes everything hum, feel more alive. I hadn’t noticed it until the first time I left. The world feels dead here.” He dropped his gaze, tucking his hands into his pockets. “No offense.” They had a mage, manually organizing scrolls. It seemed a dull, meaningless, unnecessary sort of task. “What do you mean: you ‘used to’?”

“Before they moved me here. I’m from Ferelden. I trained hounds and pigeons and hawks there.” Karl’s smile softened. “It was my home. I was in love.” He cleared his throat as one of the plate-clad Templars walked past them, lifting one of the scrolls. “Here you are, my lord.” And Dorian had a sudden rushing sensation that the man’s quiet, happy smiles since he’d met him that morning were largely for the benefit of the people guarding him. 

More like a prison than he’d believed. 

As the footsteps faded, Karl took the scroll back with a shake of his head. “You don’t want that. It’s a history of spoons. Actually, there’s an interesting little section on filigrees, but… One moment, I’ll find the paper. I had some questions actually. Quite a bit was censored before it reached us. Is your tour taking you as far as Ferelden?”

“No, not quite so far as that. Montsimmard is our last stop.” Ferelden was a backwater, his father had said, with little but fleas and rain. Karl had seemed pleasant enough, though. If he’d come from Ferelden, it couldn’t be that bad, could it? “Would you have me send a message to her on your behalf?”

“Him.” Karl bowed his head. “I’d be grateful if you would try. I’m not certain if they’re getting stopped on my end or his. Haven’t had word from him in months and the man’s a chatterbox. Ah, here we are.” He drew a scroll free with a gilded baton and a series of inscriptions on its sheath. 

Him? A man? 

“You see when we received the shipment, it had to go through a border station - all the scrolls from Tevinter do - and they’ve made a muddle of specifics in section four…”

Dorian blinked. He was staring at his own manuscript, but all of the details were wrong. Sigils misplaced, text blotted out. He winced, shaking his head. “Anyone who tried to use this would be incinerated, at best. It’s utterly useless as written.”

“We had gathered as much,” Karl surmised, gently touching the parchment as though it could be valued as anything more than kindling. “Terrence did try, despite my warning, poor man. Dreamers will dream. Still, the summary was inspiring. I had a theory…” He set the scroll down and glanced over his shoulder, drawing a long folded sheet of papers from inside of his robe and carefully shifting his broad shoulders to conceal them in a corner. “That this might be closer to what had been intended? I don’t see why they bother mucking about with these things. It’s not as though we’re likely to get ahold of the lyrium, let alone the ingredients required. Still. Makes them happy. I guess that’s something.”

Dorian studied the scroll, humming to himself. A bit of a brutalist approach, surely, but it was nearly there. He traced a few sigils with his fingertip, lines appearing burnished into the parchment. “Not a bad go of it.”

“High praise,” Karl breathed, casting a quick grin in his direction. “I’m a glutton for theory. Yes. That- I wouldn’t have thought of it that way. Thank you.”

“As am I,” Dorian murmured, ducking his head. It had only been a spell to harness energy from storms. Why in the world had it been fiddled with? Why had they banned magelight, of all bloody things? Why had Karl been taken from his home? Was it because of- A fog seemed to creep into his mind then, slow and opaque, making it difficult to think. Karl was rolling up a piece of parchment and stowing it away. “I apologize, what was it we were speaking of?”

“What weren’t we speaking of?” Karl asked with a little roll of his eyes, waiting again for the heavy footfalls of a Templar to pass. “Magic in the soil, you said? Anders would bloody love that.”

“Anders?” Dorian asked softly.

Karl nodded once, his smile warming, his eyes softening. “That’s one of his names. One of many. Too brilliant to have just the one.”

“…and you love this-“ Dorian blinked, something not quite making sense. “This Anders. From Ferelden.”

“From the top of my head to the tips of my toes. And the backs of my knees. Definitely those.” Karl ducked his head, nodding down the row of books. “Do you want to see- he does these drawings of cats that are amazing. I’ve them in my chamber.”

“Cats,” Dorian repeated, bewildered. This man has just admitted to a near stranger that he- Love. The death of duty, his father had said. A fool’s solace. Dorian nodded his head, too confused to protest. “Yes, why don’t you- I’d be interested in seeing them.”

So he followed the initiate down the hallway and around a corner, up a staircase and around another bend until they reached another narrow door. Karl ducked inside, waving at the door. “Shut that?” he asked, kneeling and pulling a board from the wall under the window to draw a pile of papers from the floor. “Just need a moment to find them.”

It took him more than a moment, untying ribbons and retying them, sorting the piles of papers into stacks around the floor like a squirrel with its hoard of nuts. Letters. Notes. Sketches of animals. Karl grinned, collecting a few deeply-creased papers that had clearly been folded and unfolded many times and held them out. “See. He can get all the poses. Impressive, yeah?”

Dorian stared at the paper in his hands, holding it like it was a priceless artifact. To Karl, it certainly was. There were five depictions of the same cat, with the inscription ‘Prince Fuzzybum’ emblazoned along the top in an inelegant scrawl. Sleeping peacefully, batting at a butterfly, lying on its back, curled into a ball, and licking its lips lazily, the chubby striped cat was caught forever on the tattered parchment. Something in Dorian’s chest ached. “Very impressive,” he agreed, feeling dizzy. “Why are you here, instead of there?”

Karl’s proud smile slipped as he took the paper back, carefully smoothing it with his thumb. “It’s safer this way. It’s supposed to be,” he added, the furrow between his brows deepening. “I thought it would be. I’m not so sure anymore. I suppose that’s not really a thing, up north, is it? Mages not being allowed to- Because the Chantry says we’re supposed to put Andraste above all else. I tried to, for a long time.” He laughed a little. “She can’t compete with Anders. Too bad for her.”

Family above all else. The Imperium above all else. Perhaps they weren’t so different, after all. 

A sharp pain shot through his temples and Dorian doubled over, reaching towards the other man for support. His vision blurred, his stomach lurching.

“What-“ Dorian muttered, feeling as though he might spill the contents of his stomach. “Where-“

Karl’s hands were steady on his shoulders. Warm. More slender than they’d seemed. “I’m with you. You’re alright.” The deep Ferelden accent was gone, replaced by clipped consonants from the inner lakes and rounded Carastes vowels. “You’re strong. Be in this moment.”

There was something so familiar in that voice, but the moment Dorian had the thought, it slipped away like sand through his fingertips. He leaned into the touch, his frame shaking violently.

“Which moment?” Dorian whispered, but his own voice sounded far away and warped. “Where am I?”

“He told you about the man he loves,” Karl said slowly in a voice that wasn’t his own, watching him. Something about the way he watched - solemn and steady - felt so familiar. Familiar like the voice. “And you told him. You told him- What did you tell him, Dorian?”

“I don’t know,” Dorian whispered, his voice catching in his throat. “I can’t- I don’t-“

“Skin like whisky?” Karl laughed, the Ferelden drawl returned with gusto as he leaned against the bed a few feet away. He had a few papers in his hands. “You’re a poet. You need to help me write something better. Mine are all: ‘your hair is good, I want to pull it’.”

Whisky?

Pull?

Dorian felt ill.

“I’m sorry, I’m not sure I can help you,” Dorian coughed, bile on his tongue. “I wish I could. I don’t- I’m afraid I don’t know how.”

Skin like fine whisky, eyes like mossy pools. He could spend an eternity studying the myriad shades in those irises and never grow tired. Trace the curve of that smirk with his fingertips and still never understand all of its facets. He could-

What?

What could he- 

Why couldn’t he-

Dorian wrapped his arms around himself, closing his eyes tightly.

What did you tell him?

What did he say? 

Where was he? 

Why was everything agonizing?

“He sounds,” Karl was saying, his voice fading in and out, lost in a conversation that Dorian couldn’t quite keep up with, “and I say this with the utmost respect for your lover, like a nerd.”

He-

Dorian doubled over onto the ground, his hands pressed onto the cold, unforgiving stone.

His lover. His lover.

My-

He gasped, crying out in pain, his insides feeling as though they’d been set alight. 

“He sees the world in color and light, hears his magic like music,” his own voice was saying, though his lips didn’t move. Burning, scorching his skin, searing his lungs. “He makes me feel whole, for the first time in my life.”

“Yeah,” Karl sighed, resting his head back against the straw mattress. “Yeah. That’s the stuff. That’s the whole thing. I miss him every minute of every day, you know? How long until you get to go back to yours?”

“I don’t know,” Dorian heard himself admit softly. “He’s training with a Rivaini spiritsinger. I haven’t heard from him in months.”

Who?

Who was he-

“You write my letter and I’ll write yours. Maybe we can confuse the blokes into actually answering,” Karl suggested with a wink. “Keep them on their toes.” 

How could he not remember? Why did everything hurt?

Dorian’s voice was a dim echo, as though heard from underwater. “Yes, why don’t we? Perhaps that will catch their attention.”

“You’re lucky,” Karl said, sprawling on the floor to write. “To love out loud. To see the clouds when you want. Don’t take that for granted.” 

“I won’t,” Dorian said, through another’s mouth, the vision fragmenting and shifting. Aloud. Somehow the word felt wrong. “I promise.”

[south-sea]

thinking aloud about metal sonic specs and such

on the one hand, i’m not enough of a tech-savvy person to make this stuff up and it still be real-world feasible. on the other hand, there canonically exists an in-universe device that can just zap a badnik’s exterior (and presumably interior circuitry etc) back to pristine condition, so i think i’m allowed a little bit of magic-leaning nonsense.

that said: the best way to describe metal’s data storage capacity/system is to liken it to a walking library. he has petabytes worth of space. he compresses terabytes at a time and files them away not unlike putting a book on a shelf, but unlike zipping things up on a computer, he can still freely access the data without extracting it again.

this constant rearrangement contributes to his occasionally longer processing times and need to regularly defrag his systems. it also lends to why it's so easy to fragment his thoughts/effectively stun-lock him. he's powerful, not perfect; even something at his level is still capable of encountering logic errors and getting caught in a loop.

constantly recording bits of audio/video and storing it too—he’s able to retroactively record up to a minute prior to when he officially starts; not unlike a Switch, for example. i’d argue his margin for retroactively recording is considerably larger, even.

nothing gets deleted. every single person he meets and place he visits gets a profile. any time someone does something unexpected or “out of character” or generally anything he doesn’t understand in the moment, he records it to review later. this is both for the sake of building their profile, and for his own understanding of how and why people, in general, operate. in the case of applying it to individual profiles, his intentions are not always so benign. he’s a manipulative little beast who can and will use little tells like that to his advantage.

it’s likely he already has a full petabyte, mostly of prior missions/battle/individual data. no small portion of another may also be devoted to his past models’ experiences. given eggman designed him, i’d be willing to bet he easily has a 10PB+ capacity. i'd be shocked if eggman didn't have a dedicated drive specifically for metal's backup data.

definitely taking some liberties with this one, but let’s say it wasn’t the material neo was made out of that allowed him to shapeshift, but was instead a fluid or something that imparted the ability, kind of like the metal virus. so, somewhere in him is a holding tank for that fluid. i’d imagine only a small amount is needed, like he unlocks a mechanism to release it, and this tiny amount rapidly coats everything to reenable this ability/capability to assume the neo form again at all. this lock mechanism/tank, like his voice chip, are still physically present since the last neo arc, but he’s unable to access it internally himself.

probably goes without saying, but his capacity to learn is unmatched. it only takes him seeing something once or twice for him to be able to mimic it, and this especially applies to things like sign language. you could feed him a video of every single sign, and he’d come out of it perfectly fluent after a few minutes of processing. gestures are similarly almost entirely learned secondhand; he rarely moves in a wholly "unique" way. battle moves take a little more doing to replicate on the fly, but it certainly all gets stored for him to review and practice later.

he has all that processing power, but things like empathy/theory of mind are, and will mostly continue to be, somewhat beyond him. he learns largely by example, but this kind of thing is different. mathematics are one thing, organic thinking is another. there are some concepts he just struggles to grasp on a personal level.

most importantly, though, that does not mean he’s incapable of experiencing his own emotions. those, even on their own, can be intense. i'd put him somewhere on sage's level when it comes to sentience/sapience/emotional capacity. he just expresses it in different ways, given his heavily limited means of expression.

[dairy-farmer]

Hi! 🥹🥹 I absolutely adore your writing and your characterization of Tim, like he’s so life like and real, but also super lovable. Your works has actually inspired me to write something about Tim, like the movie vibes and your words are so captivating?? Authors with magical words like you are so rare 😭 thank you for existing and posting and writing!! 🥰🥰🥹

I’ve read books and tried writing little by little. Sorry if this is annoying, please just ignore this question if you’re uncomfortable answering. I was wondering about your writing process and how you plan it out? Like, do you imagine Tim in a scenario, and he just automatically moves and talk? Sorry if this makes no sense. Like, because he’s smart and I’m not really so it’s kinda hard 😭

Your flow is also super super smooth and has a rhythm, which is 🥰🥰!! Like something about your writing is so pleasing. Thank you once again for sharing your works!! 😭😭 like your tumblr answers and tweets are written so well, if you publish books that’s not even about Tim, I’d buy it no doubt.

I hope you’re having a great month and great year, and everything is going smoothly for you 🥰🥰 thank you for inspiring me to write.

that's so great to hear!!!!!!!!!!! i'm so happy you've started experimenting with writing that makes me ecstatic to hear!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ it's most definitely not annoying and i'd love to answer to the best of my ability!!!

the way i write is a bit disorganized- it's usually an idea that hits me or a concept that unfolds in my mind from normal everyday things. for example: on twitter i wrote a dicktim thread fic that took place in the very back seat of a car on the ride home from the beach. i got the inspiration to write it from remembering how much i hated going to the beach as a kid because i'd get back to the car all wet and sandy and i'd be cramped in the backseat where the cooler, towel, bags, and bags of peoples wet clothes and bathing suits would all be and i imagined how much more it would've sucked if i'd been part of an even larger family and naturally since all i think about is tim i thought of him in that situation and how he probably would've ended up sitting on someone's lap on the ride home. so i think that ideas sort of come from all your experiences and things that you know. the more things you do, read, or watch help fill your head with little bits of information, tropes, and all different kinds of things that may end up creating ideas!!

in terms of how i plan things either in tweets, tumblr responses, and within fics in general. i don't actually outline anything- i really should though!!! i feel like thoughts would be a lot easier to organize if i outlined it first. but with twitter i just write what i think of as it comes to me. because of how twitter is structured it's hard to do a traditional 'beginning' 'middle' 'end' storytelling without it getting too long and the character limits on individual tweets means often your thoughts get interrupted by the limit so you have to delete and rewrite things for it to fit. tumblr and normal fic writing you sit down and do similar things but there's also more...thought put behind it? like on tumblr and when writing fics i can go back and change, add, or delete things without completely altering the general flow of it! so the platform you're using definitely plays a role in how well you can get into a rhythm of writing!

with how my brain works with imagining the scenes as i write them it's a little bit hard to describe? it's a lot like when you're reading- the scene is playing out in your head and not in front of your eyes like how it does when you watch TV. i learned some time ago that there are some people who don't have the ability to mentally visualize things. like if you asked someone to imagine an apple they wouldn't be able to do it. when i learned that it was incomprehensible to me because when i write it's less that i'm thinking it and more like i'm 'describing' what i see in my mind. like in my writing when i say tim is out of breath it's because he's panting like he's run a marathon. if i say his skin is glistening it's because he's sweating heavily and the light is bouncing off it. occasionally i do slip in more in-depth detail, like i wonder where the light source is coming from in order to get the 'glistening' effect and a more comprehensive layout forms in my head- maybe the curtains of the window is open and sun/moon is shining light in, maybe there is a bedside lamp, a candle etc. often times when i'm writing the scenes it's from the perspective of a 3rd person or a 'film camera' effect. i never see the scenes from the point of view of tim or any of the characters- it's like i'm always observing them from the corner of the room ( a bit of a creepy way to put it but that's how my perspective occurs). i don't think i 'direct' their actions very consciously, i sort of let them play out in my head by themselves and if i don't like how something is going i 'replay' it and do the scene again until it's formatted or done in a way that i like and that's what ends up getting written down. that's the reason why a lot of my stuff isn't particularly dialogue heavy, i focus more on descriptions and internal monologues and scene settings and i tend to use dialogue when i'm leading to some conclusion or something to push the scene/get the plot moving.

also your point about tim being really smart rings true because if you want to do a mystery you need to plan and figure it out first- the problem with writing a very intelligent or clever character who always comes out on top is that you sort of need to be smart to do it and pull it off 😭😭😭😭😭

thank you so much for all your kind words 🥰🥰🥰🥰 it makes me so happy to learn that you enjoy my work and it makes me even happier to know that you've been inspired to write!!!!!!!❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

[vsnotresponding]

CHAPTER 2 - THE IMITATOR - KARMA

masterpost

I don’t sleep. 

Mind awake in spite of the late hour after what was revealed at the meeting, chest aching in a strange way I struggle to pin down, betrayal and solitude mixing as they so often have these past three months. I squish it in an attempt to eradicate it, but just like the last thousand tries, it doesn’t work. And because the feeling won’t let me sleep, I decide to distract myself with something, anything, to forget the last few hours of my life.

My hand moves to the side of my head on its own, right where my mother’s creation pierces my ear, a painful reminder of her death. I feel the rough stone, once smooth, the skin of my fingertips getting stuck in the little ridges. In the darkness of my study, it weakly lights the book filled shelves from the floor, the mess at my desk, the empty vials on the other side of the room.

I look at the ceiling, my arm now under my head, getting comfortable. The floor is cold, the white marble spotless, but I can see the ancient engravings on the ceiling giving life to the old myths my mom used to tell me. In a way, they calm me down and sadden me at the same time.

I close my eyes.

My breathing is the only thing I hear, the moon bright above in the sky and the palace sleeping. I move my arm in front of my eyes and try to control the rhythm of my breathing, clenching my jaw with my fist closing over my face. I breathe out, shakily.

In the legends she used to tell me, there used to be a creator with the ability to heal the earth with their thought and breathe life back into those about to fall into death’s hands. Plants bloomed where their blood touched the sand, and a once inhabitable island transformed into the wonder it is today. As a kid I admired them, so wise and powerful. I remember thinking that, one day, I’d find the secret to their wonders, promising my mom that, when I did, I’d be able to heal her.

Time’s shown I couldn’t.

I hold back a sob—I miss her.

I shake my head and stand up all too suddenly, the world losing focus for an instant before I’m on my feet and walk to my desk. I don’t have time to cry, to think about her right now. The pain in my chest comes back into my mind before I banish it once again, ignoring it. I move the papers around, trying to create some sense of order: staking the notes I made at the Umar’s on one side and my experiments for the imitators on the other. Everything’s still scattered on the stone surface, but at least I can tell what is what.

I look at my private project pile. In the library of the little palace, I gathered some troubling yet contradictory data about what we know about the Iria’s nature. It all came from old books in ancient ilan, and I don’t yet know what to think about the few bits I managed to translate. Hands tense, I move the stack of books and papers under my desk. It doesn’t matter now that I’m banned from continuing my research.  Out of sight, out of mind, I won’t get the temptation to try to work out how all the pieces fit together.

I let myself fall on the chair after giving the stack a final kick, and organize the rest of the papers: successful and failed experiments, theories, notes, reports... the Iria’s activity graphs, sharp, irregular—they intimidate me. There are no discernible patterns, no correlation with our experiments and tests. Only coincidences.

My mom did not believe in coincidences. 

I untie my hair and let it fall just over my shoulders, moving my head slightly from side to side, the tightness distracting me. I refocus on the numbers and statistics, hoping inspiration will strike. I don’t yet know what we—what I—are going to do with the creator. But I've been put in charge, a trust I don’t exactly want, but that I won’t allow myself to break. He trusts in me to fix this, and I can’t disappoint him. Not again.

This is my last chance to prove myself, I can tell, but of all my work across the last few years, the one I truly think might lead to a solution, is the one inspired by the legend—and the one I’m banned from working on.

I uselessly try fixing my bangs, but they fall once again over my eyes. My elbow moves to rest on the edge of the desk, so my hand can hold my hair back while I read. I manage to stay awake out of practice, thoughts too active to rest. It's a mind-numbing experience I'm too familiar with, tonight's emotions no more than a fading memory in the back of my head, a whisper. 

Luckily, I’m good at keeping this type of thought at bay—it’s the only thing I’ve been doing this past three months.

Sunbeams sneak into my room through the window, last days’ rain finally disappearing, when I remember I should look for Áine to talk to her. Now that I think about it, I’m positive she’s the one that tested the fatir. I quickly stand up ready to get out in her search, some papers falling to the floor, when I stop in my tracks with my hand on the door’s knob.

It might not be the best move, going after her. She’s surely busy, like these past few months. My hand hesitates on the door, maybe I should just let it be. The khadae must have the information too. I should look for him instead.

My eyes fall to my wrinkled shirt, my black tunic on the floor in a bundle. I imagine my hair is an equal mess, my face after not having slept for a few nights. The shahin mentioned something about some Derya emissaries having a meeting with him, the Council, and Sher to talk about my brother's possible engagement.

The shahin would never forgive me if they saw me like this.

I pick the tunic back up and the papers that fell, putting them with some others under my arm. I might need them later.

I don’t see any guards in the hallway. Being in the oldest side of the palace, burrowed into the mountain and cliffs, there’s no need for extreme security here. It’s only once I get to the main area that I start seeing them on each door and window, in every turn of the corridor. I’ve lived here most of my life, and their presence still unsettles me. They look like statues, but their eyes follow my every step as I walk to the royal wing, my head low, posture a mess.

I change fast, efficiently. I wash my face and tie my hair into a too tight little ponytail at the nape of my neck, some locks managing to escape to fall over my eyes. The tunic strangles me, the black stark against the white of my skin and the room—of the palace. It’s just another reminder of my failure. I straighten the collar, which immediately bends, and after getting my papers, I go back to the imitators' wing.

The place has always been unsettling, different from the rest of the palace, like it shouldn't belong. The white marble makes way to gray stone, the impossibly tall columns turning into arches that hold the ceiling and walls partially underground. Sometimes it reminds me of the south side of the island, but today it’s darker. Not even the imitations lighting the hallways with their pale orange light manage to scare the gloom away.

I’m here to talk to Súil, but I find myself looking for Áine everywhere, the place unusually deserted, the labs closed and the studies empty. I don’t see Emhi or Garvan. I remind myself that neither of them was at the meeting.

Thinking about it, logically, it makes sense that most of them are watching the creator. I undo my steps to the wing’s entrance, where one of the door to the catacombs is located, guarded by two imitators that watch me approach them. I’m about to ask them to open the door when I hear steps behind me, my brother’s voice resonating on the stone walls.

“I wouldn’t bother.”

The imitators bow before their prince, and I look away while he tells them to rest. I’m used to how they treat us differently. Sher inspires respect and trust, he flows in conversation, charming everyone. And then there’s me, set aside into the background, now more than ever. It might have mattered to me, once, you could even say I was jealous, but not anymore. Feeling like that won’t help me carry out my duty, or keep the promise I made to my mom.

“Follow me.” Sher’s talking. The guards have disappeared into the whiteness of the palace, their golden cloaks shining at their backs. I look at him, unmoving, attempting to look much surer of myself than I really am. Unconsciously, I straighten my back and raise my chin. He only smirks and starts walking towards the studies.

I follow him after a pause. This is an opportunity, I tell myself. We rarely talk alone.

When I catch up to him, he’s in my imitator assigned study. It's small and claustrophobic and too close to where other people work, which is why I rarely use it.  The table where he rests his legs, crossed, takes more than half of the room. I cross my arms as I enter, leaning against the door’s frame after closing it.

We look at each other, my green eyes, like the shahin’s, against his honey, like my mom’s. Their likeness hits me again, like it does so lately—the dark of our tunics a reminder hanging over our heads.

“You wasted a chance yesterday, Oghan.” With the meetings’ ending, I’d almost forgotten about his attempt at humiliating me before the Chamber. I fold my arms in front of me, my royal name making me clench my jaw.

“And why would you care, Raichta,” I answer, putting emphasis on the last word. We can both play this game.

He smiles as an answer, mocking, his arms behind his head, the chair leaning backwards. He looks around the room like he knows he is above all of this, irritating me, my fists clenching to relax at my next breath. I have to remind myself to behave. It’s not like we haven’t argued before, and even though he always ends up winning, he can’t go to his meeting with Derya with a black eye.

“I guess you were looking for your witch friend. Áine, isn't it?”

“I don’t think father would like you to be late for your meeting.”

Sher raises his eyebrows, surprised that I answered his taunt with another. I count it as a little victory, fleeting as it is when he smiles again.

“Oh, you had a bad night, I see. Well,” the chair hits the floor with a bang when he stands, circling the table to lean against it, “if you are so worried about me getting told off, dear little brother, I’m more than glad to inform you that the meeting has already taken place. Oh, come one, don’t frown like that, you look like father even more.” I relax immediately. I was unaware of my reaction, my disappointment at my taunt being for nothing showing without permission.

“What do you want.” He’s making me waste time. I could have already talked to Súil, even Áine, if she weren’t busy. I could have started thinking about what we are going to do with the creator—I could have been eating something.

“I just wanted to chat, Oghan, that’s all.” He crosses his arms, mirroring my posture. I look at him through slit eyes. “Your friend you were looking for, she’s busy with the fatir. No one else is allowed to come close to her. I don’t really understand why. When I saw her, just as they had brought her in after capturing her, she was barely conscious. She’s just a lucky kid from the outskirts, with her magical blood. Or unlucky, it depends on what you are planning on doing to her.”

His voice, calm during the whole conversation, has shifted tone. He almost looks angry, even though his expression hasn’t changed. I’m not surprised, he hates us imitators and everything remotely related to us.

But it gets my attention that he mentioned Áine again. They never liked each other, not even as kids. I realize he might have been planning something, first with yesterday’s meeting, now this.

“And you are being so kind as to tell me? Don’t expect my thanks. Come on, Sher, tell me what is it that you want so we can both keep ignoring each other like these past months.”

“Oh, so we are back to Sher? That’s all the thanks I could ever wish for. Thank you, Oghan.”

It’s in the way he says it, his fixed stare on me as he gets to the last word, enjoying every syllable. It makes me move from the door towards him, still at the table, his always still superiority smile slightly bigger than before. I stop, barely a step between us—I tense, him relaxed. My jaw clenched, erratic breathing, his infuriating smile irritating me.

“My name is Karma.”

“It’s also Oghan, dear brother.”

“That’s not the name my mother gave me, Raichta.”

“She was my mother too.”

I stop. His arms hang beside him. I have to raise my head to look him in the eyes, now that he has stood up to his full height, his three more years obvious in his height. He’s not smiling anymore.

His gaze blames me, it reminds me of my failures and errors. I can’t stand it.

I turn and leave, my anger raising instead of disappearing with the distance, the conversation repeating in my head again and again. My hands hurt from fisting them, the collar of the tunic too tight against my throat. I half run to my private study, the halls of the palace empty but haunted by ghosts. When I finally get there, the door closes with too much strength, a headache starting in my head.

I’ve never understood Sher, the older brother, always so distant, so perfect in the eyes of our father and the Chamber. The golden prince, our emblem’s lion come to life. I don’t remember much of our time together as kids, we spent most of it apart. Me with the Umars, him at the palace. Sher had the approval and almost the respect of the shahin, even as kids, but I had her, my—our—mother. And it was like that, until I failed her, until she decided to spend her last moments with her heir, me thrown into the background again. Out of place. The last thing I did was promise I would solve the problem, even if it was too late to help her.

I let the papers fall on the table, the thud echoing in the stone walls. Just beside them, I find a tray with some bread and cheese. I take a bite of the former, moving everything else out of the way, and I start rereading my notes, the results of the experiments we have been running for the last year dancing in my mind. Getting angry at Sher won’t help me keep the promise I made, but his words, “She was my mother too”, his countenance, almost sad, has allowed me to see for an instant that he is capable of feeling—that he’s also grieving her death. It reminded me that he lost her too, that I wasn’t the only one that loved her. I do forget he was also her son sometimes.

I push back the whirlpool of emotions deep inside, as I did a few hours ago with the pain in my chest, and focus on the work once more.

There’s no time.

The sun is almost at its highest point when a knock on the door jolts me into the present. My desk has turned once again into a mess of books and papers, the tray banished to the floor to gain more space. I let go a quiet “Come in”, focused still on the passage I’m reading.

“Karma.” I turn when I hear Emhi, one of the imitators I usually work with. She’s still outside the room, her short hair disheveled, the little knot at the top of her hair almost falling over. She’s taking deep breaths. “The creator, the shahin has decided it’s time to talk to her.” I stand up immediately, almost falling over the tray, and follow her, grabbing my outer tunic on the way.

“Now?” I ask as we hurry along the never-ending corridors. Emhi nods, lacking air. She must have run up here from the cells to notify me. I thank her silently. It’s been a long time since we talked.

“The shahin thought seeing the creator would impress the Derya emissaries, and the subject was brought up during the meeting with the Chamber. They are apparently very curious about the inner workings of imitations, something to do with how they—.” She stops walking and turns to me. “Garvan told me they’ve put you in charge.” Her eyes examine me as I struggle to fix the lines of my clothing, worry set around her face. “What are you going to do to her?”

“I don’t yet know. I was hoping Áine could tell me, but I haven’t seen her in days.” A nod. We start walking again.

“She wanted to talk to you, but… Well, let us say, treating the creator has left her restless.”

“My brother said she was barely awake, I can’t see how that would disquiet Áine, being like she is, it’s not the first time she has— What.” Emhi stops me with a hand on my chest, the throne room a corner turn away. Her soft brown eyes look at me, grave. I shiver. We all know what Áine does. Doesn't make it easier.

Most of the time I just pretend I don't.

“The girl, the creator, she sings in her sleep. Áine says she’s praying. But she sometimes talks and struggles, and what she says…” So the creator talks in her sleep. That's nothing to worry about, really. “They fear it might have something to do with the drug you two made together.” She grabs my arm. Gently, but I still look her in the eyes, relaxing my frown. “Whatever it is you decide to do, try keeping Áine out of it. Please. It’s hard enough for her as it is.”

“I know,” I say as I look away. “We should go.”

Emhi nods and leads the way. In front of the door awaits the Derya delegation, their colorful clothing in contrast against the pale monochromatic nature of the palace. Sher is with them, making small talk, the charisma he did not let through in our conversation spilling out of him now. The imitator bows to them and walks away to stand with her partners, just beside the entrance, leaving me alone to face them. I tug at my hem.

Greetings follow once they notice my presence, their bows accompanied by my title, mirzaan—second son, second prince, second everything. I bow back, stiff, and let Sher keep the conversation going.

We barely look at one another.

This morning's anger rises to then crash back down inside my chest. I have more important things to worry about that aren't my asshole of a brother. There's a creator, right now, at this moment, just beyond the thick doors at my back, and I have to physically stop myself from turning and just staring at them to try to burn through the wood to see her. I make myself nod absentmindedly at the conversation when it's required, thoughts busy with the little scrap of a plan I started to work on, and whatever the khadae's plan is.

It’s then that the shahin appears, followed by his guards and another group of imitators. Súil khadae is at his side, some nobles from the Council following behind them. Once again, the delegation bows, deeper this time. Without even bothering to return the gesture, without even bothering to acknowledge our presence, the shahin makes the guard open the doors with a subtle yet impatient hand movement.

We enter, the room captivating me as it did the first time I saw it. 

I don’t remember much, I was barely a kid, but I do remember being overwhelmed under the incredibly tall, intricate stone arches. I felt small then, and I feel small now as we walk under them. The walls, more mountain than anything else, thick and ancient, flanking us at our sides, and the marine breeze sneaking in through the narrow windows. The monstrous throne emerging from the rock where my father sat looking down at me in the middle of the room, legs unsteady and hands shaking at my back.

The space my nine-year-old self stood in now occupied by the fatir.

Súil and the shahin walk forward, the latter stopping just in front of her, the khadae settling himself besides the throne, Sher on the other side. I position myself on their left, next to the delegation and the members of the Council, a group of guards, and some imitators. Áine, I notice, is with them. She nods at me in greeting, her breathing deep and controlled. I nod back. It’s uncomfortable, after so many days without seeing each other. 

The rest of the imitators distribute themselves around the room to join their partners, who were already there. In the center, a guard—Anuna, I believe—has the creator by her hair, a spear at her back, arms in chains tied to the floor behind her. Her clothes are a mess, dirty with mud and dried blood, the once white cloth now the color of the walls. Her skin, darker than I’ve ever seen, stark against ours, equal only to Áine's.

I fidget at seeing how they are treating her. I’ve never been directly involved in the imitators' work on the outskirts, their blood as khithi as it gets on the island, but I never thought they would be this aggressive when dealing with them. She’s just a girl, wounded and weak—thanks to the drug I made, I remind myself. Something inside of me wants to tell him to stop, but I don’t have the authority, or the bravery, to do so. Looking around me, no one besides the deryans bat an eye. The arms at my back tense.

I can’t see her whole face, but I do see her profile. There's a weak shine of something next to her head on her other side, the light from the window just behind her blinding. I open my mouth, to say what I couldn’t tell. The girl fights back when Anuna forces her to raise her head to look at the shahin’s eyes, her face appearing from under her hair. I look at her broken nose, a scar crossing the bridge to her cheek. Áine shrinks in place as I glance at her, seeing what we all can see now: the characteristic shine of a creation next to the fatir's face.

My father doesn’t wait for anyone to sound the alarm before talking, voice calm and detached.

“Who's the idiot that let the fatir keep her creation?”

The imitators look at one another, most of them moving their hands to their imitations, the rest to their swords, stepping forwards but awaiting orders. The king’s guard moves to stand in between him and the girl, a wall, as the shahin steps back towards the dais where the throne is. I look at Sher, expecting, for some reason, the same reaction of hurried panic, but he’s serious. Silent, he looks at me, then to the delegation from Derya, who clearly do not understand what’s happening. 

The sudden tension in the room is heavy above us.

“And? Who was it?” His voice sends a chill down my back as he speaks after sitting with leisured movements. No one answers, the silence a high-pitched sound in my ears. The shahin remains unaffected on the throne, no fear in his eyes, his posture. I realize I've taken a step forward with the guards instead of backwards like everyone else who doesn't have a weapon. Anuna grasps the spear firmly in his free hand, arms tense, sharp point now in contact with the fatir’s back. I can see the hate in her eyes, unmoving before the king’s. The defiance on her face is almost traitorous giving the circumstances.

“Kafir,” she says, her voice hoarse and dry, her ire flooding each syllable. I don’t understand what provoked such a reaction, but I understand the word. Heretic. She struggles, the chains hitting the floor, the spear breaking her tunic. She doesn’t seem to care.

“Don’t stand there doing nothing, remove it from her.” His hand gestures forwards. The guards tense, hesitating in place. They generally avoid approaching khithi because of the unknown origins of their sickness. Some imitators unsheathe their swords and walk towards her, but a crack is heard, and they step back.

There's blood in their chests where their imitations used to be.

No one else moves, an undercurrent of fear shaking the room. Anuna, busy keeping her still, forces her head higher so she’s looking at the ceiling, the chains rattling on the floor once again, her teeth clenched. The shahin glances at Sher, a beat passing in between them. At the older man's gesture, Sher moves with steady feet towards the center of the room, his posture perfect and unaffected but for the slight twitch in his hand.

“We do not fear what we control,” says the king in the deryans' direction as his son approaches the creator and kneels before her. She trashes against her ties as much as she can, spear piercing her back and eyes wild. Sher’s lips move, an unintelligible murmur, as the light of the imitations in the room rises in intensity, the imitators trying to control their own still keeping a safe distance away from the girl. Warmth blooms in my right ear, my mom’s creation reacting to whatever the creator is doing without even opening her mouth. She's still now, tense and frozen. Sher whispers, eyes locked with hers, and, without warning, yanks the creation from the girl’s ear. Droplets of blood splatter on his cheek at the separation of flesh and stone.

I cower in place.

The imitations turn off and the heat stops.

Once Sher is back in his place, he offers the shahin the creation soiled with blood, leaving it on his hand. His void expression returns, and he stands there like he just didn’t destroy someone's ear.

I look back at the creator, her head low, chest heaving, her arms tense trying to separate but bound together by the chains. Her hair, short as it is, covers her face and I miss her expression. And yet, in spite of the distance, I’m able to see the slight shine of her eyes, the same vibrant color as the creation that was ripped away from her.

“Súil khadae?” the shahin changes to ilan, speaking as if nothing happened.

“Of course, my shahin.” The khadae's lips quirk in a satisfied smirk. His ilan, worse than my father's, is rough around the edges. I listen, cringing at the wrong vocals, as he explains what all of this is about. He talks about the Iria and its state, the illness that haunts the island, the importance of loaning her skills to help us solve the problem. He even mentions, to my surprise, the accident three months ago. The memory moves something inside of me—grief, and sadness. Guilt.

The creator, still on the floor, head down now on her knees, not seating as she was when we entered, is still. Anuna has stopped holding her head, conforming himself to holding to the spear at her back. What everyone seems to have misunderstood with compliance and submission looks to me like an explosion waiting to occur. Her arms are still as separated as they can be, the metal biting her skin. Through her bangs, too long for comfort, I see her moving her lips, a repeated and short action. I suddenly feel cold, in spite of the sun hitting my face from the windows.

Súil keeps talking. He has even moved forward, coming down from the dais. At only a few steps from the creator, I hear him ending his speech.

“Iria is dying, fatir. And we’ve brought you here so you help us heal it.”

Silence falls again, the tension in the air so strong you could cut it with a knife, now heavier. The breeze, that tastes like salt in my tongue, moves my bangs across my temples. Moves her hair, too, showing me her expression. I think she smiles, when she talks.

“Dying.” A pause. Her shoulders shake, like she’s crying, but we don’t hear her sobbing, only her laughter: sarcastic, scornful, angered. “Hilarious”, with the help of the chain she straightens as much as she can, looking straight at the shahin and fully ignoring Súil, his expression now serious, eyes fearful. “It’s been dying for years, but you already knew that, didn’t you?” The chains, that she has been forcing against her skin, I now realize, are covered with blood. Her calm expression, what she was murmuring before starting to make sense in my head. I take a step forward on instinct, but she keeps talking. “Deciding to act now won’t change that fact that it is too late.”

A pause, silence—and then, darkness.

tag list: @my-cursed-prince @on-noon

[thestupidhelmet]

In response to this post:

that70sshowgoldencouple

Oh we would have SO much fun! 💛

We’d have to keep Kurtwood Smith and Debra Jo Rupp as executive producers tho! Heard they gave lots of input on Red and Kitty and from what I’ve seen, it shows! They know their characters well 😊 imagine getting to collaborate with them on a story for Red/Kitty 😳 I don’t know if I’d be able to speak!

Of course KS and DJR would be EPs. That wouldn’t change. ❤️

But we’d prep you so that you could speak to them (I say as if us being in charge of T9S is actually going to be a thing 😂).

einsteinsugly

What would you change Leia's name to, out of curiosity? And would JH's kid still be named Jay (short for James, perhaps)? Would you push the show into the early 00s, so it makes character sense too?? What would T9S be called, then?

I'd be totally excited for such a verse, that is actually canon. *Coughs loudly* Like mine...

Because it is That ‘90s Show, I’d have to work within that fixed (i.e. unchangeable) framework. I probably would go a bit meta in the first episode and have the characters reference how time moves differently in Point Place (i.e. Point Place Time™).

Eric: It did take me over five years to turn eighteen after I turned seventeen.

Donna: And we once had three Christmases in one year.

Jackie: And I graduated two years after you two did, which makes no sense since I was only a year behind you in school, and I wasn’t held back.

Eric: Time works differently in this town, and you can take the Kid out of Point Place, but not Point Place out of the Kid. And that explains how all of us have children who are fourteen and fifteen!

Jackie: You’re still going with the Kid? I thought you dropped that after everyone made fun of you for it.

Eric: I look exactly the same as I did sixteen years ago. I learned to stop questioning certain things.

---

Eric and Donna’s daughter would not be named Leia. I have a few ideas. One, she would have a name that could be shortened to a gender neutral nickname, which both Donna and Eric think is cool -- and Red and Kitty don’t get. Red and Kitty call her by her full first name while her new friends call her by her shortened one.

Or to continue the tradition of the kids calling each other by their last names, she’d be called Forman anyway. So she’d be named after a feminist icon (Donna’s wish), and Eric chooses her middle name (with the stipulation from Donna that it’s not a Star Wars or comic book name).

Jackie and Hyde’s son (or daughter) would not be named Jay. They would struggle with the naming because their ideas are incompatible. Then they’d be doing something together that’s unrelated to the baby-naming, and the right name would hit them at the same time -- and they’d shout the name at the same time, excited. And it would be a very sweet moment between them, yet again proving how similar they truly are deep down.

---

Because the show is set in 1995, Kurt Cobain’s death would be a reference point for these kids. It was a major traumatic event for teens in ‘94. Maybe one of the kids in particular, for whom Nirvana and Kurt is an emotional touchstone (maybe J/H’s son), would still be dealing with the grief to some degree.

There could be a clash of musical tastes among the kids. The ‘90s had quite a few distinct and significant music scenes going on. I think these kids would be more at odds here than the ones in That ‘70s Show. Jackie’s musical taste was the only real outlier.

---

Sexuality and gender identity would be explored in my version of That ‘90s Show. As I wrote in a previous post, “[w]riting within the limits of how people understood these things in the mid-'90s doesn’t mean writing the show as if those limits are the actual boundary to people’s sexuality and gender identity.”

---

Ultimately, everything would arise from character. Character would drive the plot, which would affect character development, which would affect the plot, etc. The conflicts would be organic to who the characters are, not forced on the characters -- which would mean making them behave OOC so that those conflicts could happen. The jokes, too, would arise from who the characters actually are instead of writing the characters’ behavior to (or for) the joke.

---

All of the above is about writing That ‘90s Show. Not a spinoff that takes place at a more realistic time period for the T7S characters to have had kids. Nor for a future!fic.