#THE MOON HAS NOTHING TO BE SAD ABOUT ( v: fall. )

[etruatcaelum]

[ @likemosaic | coco // salem ]

Darkness falls before Salem gathers the will to ascend from the subterranean chambers again, leaving Cinder to her fitful and feverish rest. She isn’t certain how long, from mid-morning to the night or whether days might have spilled unnoticed through her fingers while she worked, but the hour must be late enough for even Arthur to have gone to bed. The house is still and almost, almost all asleep.

Save one among her three new… guests. They crowd close to each other in the north gallery: two auras tense but dimmed by slumber and a third scratching fear into the walls. Salem pauses at the top of the stairs with half a mind to wake—Hazel, she supposes, is the one she’d expect to have taken the initiative—to express her displeasure. But practical consideration overrules that small impulse to be petty, and she sets off to the gallery herself.

Cinder had asked to take on an apprentice. One. Perhaps Salem should have clarified that her forbearance wasn’t an open invitation for Cinder to begin collecting, but… well. There is nothing to be done about it now.

She walks the pitch-dark halls in absolute silence, footsteps unerring—even the vestigial habit of discomfort in blindness has long since decayed from her—but her mind still wandering the caverns below. (Silver eyes. Tension passes over her in a wave, hands clenching and unclenching with impotent rage. Guarding his fortress with ever-younger children–)

Enough. What’s done is done.

Jaw tight, Salem prowls into the gallery. Moonlight bleeds through the high windows, stained in bruised and sanguine hues by the colored glass; Cinder’s little accomplices have taken shelter in one of the shadowed alcoves beneath the windows. Terror scabs over the old stones, thorny.

Her lips thin. She folds her arms behind her back as she scrutinizes the rigid lines of the girl’s posture, the two sleeping forms huddled in deeper shadow behind her. “There are,” Salem says at last, flatly, “bedrooms in my house, you realize.”

[etruatcaelum]

Dismissing his apology with an errant flick of her fingers, Salem turned to gaze into the cauldron for a moment; to conceal a wisp of amusement at the expense of poor Arthur’s dislike for aura and dust, as much as to gather her thoughts. (The problem with him, she thought—such as it was—was how difficult he made it not to stray off subject.)

She hummed.

“Well,” she said, voice droll, “atrum and aura and dust are the foundation of this world; one might as well despair of humankind needing air to breathe, water to drink…”

…steam to effect the rotation of a wheel, and so to produce electricity; Salem had never voiced her observation that mankind’s reliance of dust was not for lack of trying. Dust gave better heat than charcoal, burned cleaner than coal or oil and far longer than any gas…

Trade in konurgic wiring for pure metal, change aura for electricity: the need for aura and dust would remain, in the generators feeding power to the machines. Why deny reality?

But far be it from her to disdain his ambitions.

“…regardless,” Salem murmured, “aura—these grimm will need to remain in stillness for quite long enough that they must have an auraleric center to prevent…” a wandering gesture. “Liquefaction. Thus, aura will be of no concern, and as for dust–”

Her lips twitch.

“—grimm have made and made use of dust since time immemorial,” she said dryly. And then, idly extending her hand, palm flat and facing toward him: “I can do… this.”

A mirage-like shimmer, and as her brow knit in concentration, the light hitting her skin turned, just so. Her palm became as a mirror, reflecting a perfect image of Arthur’s face back at him. Then—with another hazy ripple, an imperceptible twist—the image melted and coagulated again as a grainy picture of a wave breaking upon the cold, grey floodplain hundreds of miles to the east.

Salem released it a moment later, exhaling, her hand closing into a loose fist as it sank to her side. “…I have both– human sight and grimm; it is like… reading musical notation in order to hear the music in the mind. It took… a very long time to learn how to do it. Ideally–”

Oh. Perhaps she has been overthinking it, too.

“—I suppose threading konurgic signals through a matrix of luminescent dusts within the glass could work,” she muttered. “Certainly it would be simpler.”

Were he a bit more self-important a man (and he did know that many thought him the height of that particular flaw), that might have stung. Were he in less of a creative, open-minded mood, it still might have landed as a pinch to his ego. He had rather thought that what he'd been proposing had been more compensating for, as she said, the human inability to read the world the way the grimm did, and merely proposing some method of the grimm borrowing their crude human senses as a form of translation...still. Her point was well-taken.

It resulted, however, in a small smile under his mustache, a little more restrained but severely amused and self-deprecating. "I'm human, you mean. My apologies if that came off as correcting something the grimm lack; I was envisioning the proposal as something more like filtering the data the grimm takes in, using our crude human senses as the filter...which is not unlike what the machines we create do, yes." He shook his head, pencil tip tapping very lightly on the table as he bit the tip of his tongue in thought. Her interpretation of what he'd been saying was...not unfair, really. And she was right: it was, in many cases, merely the way in which a doctor functioned, for good or ill.

"The translation performed by scrolls is likely a good starting place, yes. But even those rely partially on the aura of the user, and dust." It was his turn to make a slight expression of distaste. The reliance of modern technology on dust was its own issue, he supposed, irrelevant to their current discussion...and while a part of his brain meandered down the familiar path of dust-less communications and electrical engineering, it was a worn and weary one, and far less exciting than the work she was putting before him. "Which, based on what you've said before, I assume would be a far more reasonable starting point for this endeavor than that of humanity's world communications." Well. Alright. Maybe he was still a little bit bitter about the towers himself.

"...translation into something approximating bits would be fascinating...binary only exists because it is simply easier to code a computer with something that simple, but as you say, we aren't programming anything or anyone here. Direct transmission of soundwaves - or the numerical measurements that make up soundwaves, to grimm - should be the easiest bit of this, as even without a true filter, simply transmitting those waves should be interpreted by our human senses as the appropriate noise. Image or video, then, is the primary struggle..."

Wasn't it always? Cameras were always the easiest devices to trick because light was so easily manipulated, because it was easier to change around the data they stored...light, color, depth, these were all things far harder to record than volume or pitch.

[bleedingoptimism]

It’s a little after eleven when Eddie finally manages to get Tarja to bed. It’s hard for her without her plushie. And really, Eddie is very thankful having a hyper-fixation with her toy seems to be the only ‘consequence’ of having divorced parents Tarja seems to have right now. He always worries if having two homes and constantly moving between them is good for her or not. Especially with Tommy being Tarja’s other dad, but against all odds, he’s good to her. So their kid is doing just fine. She’s happy. And if she’s happy, Eddie is happy.

He’s getting ready to open a beer and relax when there’s a knock on the door. He smiles, assuming is Steve bringing Toothless over and almost knocks his beer to the floor when he opens the door.

Steve looks… well he looks amazing, dressed to the nines. Must’ve been date night. But his eyes are red and puffy, his face covered in dark blotches, and his lips are swollen like he’s been biting them too much.

He’s hugging Toothless to his chest and he smiles at Eddie when he sees him, but he looks so sad it breaks his heart.

Eddie throws the beer behind him, sure it will land on the couch and cradles Steve’s face between his hands, “What did that asshole do?

Steve leans into his touch and shuts his eyes for a moment before sighing and stepping away from him, walking inside and sitting on the couch still holding Toothless like a lifeline. 

“Nothing, he was just-” Steve shakes his head and chuckles darkly, “He’s just so mean,” 

Eddie drops to his knees in front of him and dips his head to look Steve in the eye just like he did that day in the park.

“Break up with him,” he says.

“I can’t.”

“Tommy doesn't deserve you, Steve. You are worth so much more than what that asshole makes you feel. You deserve better. More. Everything,” Eddie pleads, placing his hands on Steve’s knees and squeezing, “If it’s because of Tarja, we’ll figure something out, ok? Lots of people keep in contact with their parent’s significant other after they break up” He rushes, the speech he didn't have quite prepared last week coming out of him in a single breath, “We are friends, right? So you can still visit and see her. Visit me. You don’t have to stop being a part of our lives.” 

Steve is staring at him right now like Eddie just gifted him the moon and he’s so beautiful it’s kind of hard for Eddie to keep eye contact, but he squeezes Steve’s knees again to ground himself and does. Steve needs to know he’s very serious about this. About him.

Eyes shining, Steve takes a deep breath and nods slowly, a tear falling down his cheek that Eddie follows with his eyes and watches until it hides under Steve’s v-neck shirt.

“Hey, even I didn’t put up with Tommy's shit for Tarja’s sake and I birthed her,” he jokes awkwardly, trying to make him laugh and feels like doing a little victory dance when Steve snorts cutely,

“Okay,” he hiccups.

“Yeah?” Eddie smiles back at him, relieved.

“Yeah,” Steve sighs, “Fuck Tommy.” And drops back on the couch, looking exhausted, “Can I stay here tonight?” he asks in a whisper, like he’s afraid Eddie will say no. As if.

“Yeah, of course,” Is what he answers, and has half a mind to invite him into his bed but knows it’s a terrible idea. So he lends Steve his favorite flannel pajamas and sets blankets and a pillow on the couch and they say their goodnights.

And if he does a little dance when he closes the door to his room, no one is there to see.

In the morning, Steve stays for breakfast. And attempts to kill Eddie by making his heart explode, cooking it himself from scratch with Tarja’s help, who is so happy she won’t stop running around the kitchen making Toothless fly and sing about ‘happy family breakfast time’.

It’s actually hard to tell if she’s happier to have her plushie back or that Steve is there. Eddie, on the other hand, knows exactly what he’s happiest about. Death by tenderness. Is that a thing? He amuses himself thinking about a couple csi’s with sunglasses saying it, 

“He died because he witnessed something too cute,”

“Ah yes, death by fondness. I’ve seen it before.”

After, Eddie walks him to the door and Steve smiles sweetly at him, and holds his hand, squeezing it once before letting go, “Well, see you. I guess,” he says bashfully and there’s a moment there, a second where time stops and Eddie thinks he should kiss him. Wants to kiss him, needs to kiss him.

But he doesn’t. Because Steve is still dating Tommy, and just because he said he was going to break up with him doesn’t mean he wants to start something new with Eddie.

Eddie himself called him his friend for the first time last night for christ sake. ‘Fucking chill’ he thinks to himself.

🧸

And then a week goes by without hearing a word from Steve. But Eddie doesn't hold it against him.

At first, he figures he needs time to think but then he starts to wonder if he really is going to break up with Tommy. Four days in, he gets paranoid about it. Maybe Steve got brainwashed into thinking Eddie is bad for him. Maybe Tommy told him Eddie was putting ideas in his head, that he shouldn’t talk to him anymore… With him telling Steve to break up with his boyfriend and all... 

He’s well aware of how manipulative Tommy can be and has seen the way he belittles Steve to keep him around, so he knows it’ll be hard for Steve to actually go through with it.

And he can’t exactly show up at Tommy’s and steal Steve away, no matter how appealing the idea might be. The only thing he can do is just think of Steve, wish him well, and send him strength to do what he needs to do. At the end of the day, it needs to be his decision. His choice.

As Tommy’s week with Tarja approaches he starts getting more and more anxious, wondering if it’ll be Steve or Tommy who picks her up.

When the day finally arrives, and the doorbell rings, Tarja runs to open the door and Eddie peeks his head through the hallway.

“Daddy!” Tarja screams.

“Hey, Tata! You ready?” Tommy says and Eddie steps into the hall to greet him too.

“Not yet!” Tarja chuckles and Tommy smiles at her,

“Okay, go get ready. I’ll wait here,”

Eddie walks to the door and leans on the doorframe, “Hey,”

“Hi. Long time no see,” Tommy says and then adds, “You look great,”

“You don’t,” Eddie answers, because it’s true. He looks like shit. Greasy hair, bags under his eyes, chapped lips, wrinkles on his clothes, “What happened?”

“Steve broke up with me.” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide and he smiles, he doesn’t even try to hide it, “He did?”

“Don’t smile, fucker,” Tommy says but there’s no heat behind it. He knows he deserves it.

“Sorry,” Eddie says, not sorry at all.

“Stop,” Tommy whines because Eddie’s smile is actually getting bigger,

“Sorry,” he repeats and then clears his throat, “Did he tell you why?”

“Because I’m a horrible person,” Tommy groans.

“Hey, the first step is to ad-”

“To admit it, yeah, yeah. I know” Tommy interrupts him, groaning again.

Eddie sighs, and punches Tommy’s shoulder lightly, “Look, Tommy, I’m just going to say this because, well… you are pathetic. You need to do better.” And then he points to his back, to where Tarja’s disappeared to get her stuff, “She’s going to grow up and realize you are an awful person and she’s not going to want you in her life. And I’m not going to dissuade her from it, because I already don’t want you to be in mine, you know that, right?”

Tommy looks at him seriously and then nods once, fast and hard. Like he gets it. Like he agrees and is determined to change. And Eddie hopes for Tarja’s sake he is. But knows, deep in his heart, that either way, she’s going to be fine.

“Also, just a heads up. I’m in love with Steve and I’m going to ask him out,” he adds in a rush when he hears Tarja running up behind him.

“You are shitting me,” Tommy whispers, shocked and clenching his teeth.

Eddie laughs, “Nope,” he says, closing his lips loudly around the P.

“Eddie,” Tommy warns him like he’s waiting for Eddie to say he's joking.

“What? I hear he’s single,” Eddie smirks.

“You motherfuc- Hey Tata!” Gathering Tarja in his arms, Tommy drops the subject but he glares at Eddie as he kisses Tarja’s cheek goodbye and murmurs ‘unbelievable’ as he’s leaving. Eddie closes the door and starts laughing at the look on Tommy’s face.

He needs to call Steve.

He tries a couple of times but he doesn’t pick up and he starts worrying Steve might not actually want to talk to him, and then there’s a knock on the door but Eddie, too preoccupied with his anxiety, opens without looking, thinking Tarja forgot something.

When he doesn't hear her, Eddie looks up from his ‘ignored calls’ screen to see nonother than Steve standing there, looking nervous and like a fucking dream with a bouquet of flowers in his hands. A fucking bouquet of flowers. For him. For Eddie. All different shades of red, because he knows is his favorite color.

Eddie just blinks at him a couple of times and Steve flushes even more and drops the hand holding up the flowers, scratches the back of his neck nervously, “This was stupid, the flowers were fucking stupid. They are stupid. I’m stupid, right?”

A laugh bubbles out of Eddie and he grabs him by the scruff of his shirt and pulls him inside. He closes the door once they are both in and slams Steve against it, crushing their lips together. Steve circles his arms around Eddie and holds him close, instantly returning the kiss with fervor. 

They kiss as if it were fate. They kiss until it's hard to breathe and Eddie pulls away only to kiss him again, and again, and again.

“Not stupid,” he murmurs between kisses and feels Steve’s smile against his lips.

Eventually, Eddie takes a step back and lets Steve into his home properly, “Hi,” he says cheesily.

“Hi,” Steve says back grinning, then he lifts up the bouquet again, which is now completely ruined by him still holding it strongly while they made out like crazy, and his smile drops,

“Shit,” he pouts cutely, god Eddie wants to eat him. He laughs and takes the flowers anyway, putting them in an empty glass bottle, because he doesn’t own a flower vase, because he’s a normal human being. ‘Who the fuck owns a flower vase?’

“Come here,” he says, holding out both hands for Steve to take and follow him.

Steve takes his hands but doesn't move, instead swings them from side to side, “Wait, let's talk,”

Fuck, yeah. They should. That’s a good idea. Fuck. Damn, Steven Whatever-The-Fuck-Is-His-Middle-Name Harrington and his sensible and very logical choice…

Eddie huffs exaggeratedly making Steve chuckle and redirects them to the couch, where they sit still holding hands, “Alas,” he says dramatically, “You are right, we should talk. I actually wanted to ask you out properly, not debauch you the second you walked through the door. Sorry about that” he lies, not sorry at all, again.

Steve blushes and smiles, drawing little circles with his thumbs on Eddie’s hands, “Yeah me too. I wanna do this right. Ask you out. Go on dates. I think we should take this slow,”

Eddie makes a face and groans at that. He doesn't want to take it slow. He wants Steve to move in right now or something. Steve rolls his eyes amused at his interruption and keeps going,

“I came here to ask you out the right way because I want you to know I’m committed. But we should think about how this will affect Tarja… and Tommy too. We should go out a few times, spend some time alone, and I want you to meet my friends and my parents and I want to meet your friends and your uncle too and just do this properly and-”

Eddie interrupts him with a kiss, he can’t take it anymore, he’s been dying to kiss Steve for months now and he’s so sweet and thoughtful it makes Eddie insane, makes him feel like he needs to ruin him, but in a nice way, like with devotion and love.

Steve lets go of his hands to wrap his arms around Eddie’s waist and hoists him until he’s straddling Steve. Eddie leans his elbows on Steve’s shoulders, and buries his hands in his hair, pulling and messing with it.

“Okay but have you considered having hard, hot, wet sex, and then maybe we do what you said?” He asks panting against Steve’s lips and actually feeling how that punches the air out of him.

He hugs Eddie closer to his chest and whines, “Yeah okay, we can do it your way,” and gets up, lifting Eddie with him as if he were weightless. Eddie squawks and laughs all the way to his room.

🧸

They spend the week together, talking, eating, drinking, laughing and fucking. Except it’s more than that because when Eddie is inside Steve, with his tongue, his fingers, or his strap, it feels like more. It feels like love. Like fate.

Steve, still determined to take things slow, doesn’t stay there all the time, going back to Robin’s where he moved back to after breaking up with Tommy. He actually brings her over one day and the three of them spend the afternoon together. Eddie decides they are going to be best friends immediately because Robin is hilarious and merciless. When Steve gets back the next day he kisses Eddie so good and hard his knees almost give out on him and tells him he has Robin’s seal of approval. Something he knows Tommy never got.

When the week passes Eddie says goodbye theatrically as if they were cross-star lovers in a bad soap opera and Steve chuckles and calls him ridiculous but kisses him so passionately that Eddie drags him right back inside and they say goodbye again a few hours later.

They had decided to wait until Eddie talked to Tarja about her feelings over Tommy’s and Steve’s breakup and whether she still wanted Steve around or not before having him over again.

But when Tarja gets back home she’s gloomy and silent. She hugs Eddie in greeting when she arrives and then spends the rest of the day lying face down on the floor and occasionally sighing loudly, obviously trying to make Eddie ask her what’s wrong.

And really, Eddie shouldn't find it as funny as he does, but he thinks about calling Wayne and telling him he gets it now when Wayne used to tell him he had too much personality.

Eventually, he lies on the floor next to her and asks. Tarja looks at him with big sad eyes and says, “I haven't seen Steve in a million years! And Daddy said he is not his boyfriend anymore! So I’ll never see him again and I miss him”

Eddie coos at her, “I’m sorry you miss him little dragon, but you can totally see him again! Would you like me to call him? Since he’s my friend too?” Already trying to strategize on how to tell her they are more than friends.

Tarja lights up and jumps off the floor and onto Eddie, punching the breath out of him, “Yes! Yes! Call Steve! Steve smiles more when he’s with you than he did with daddy anyway. Why don’t you boyfriend him instead?”

Well… that was easy.

He chuckles and shakes his head, “That’s a great idea sweety, go grab my phone,”

Tarja runs and grabs Eddie’s phone off the table and hands it to him, he doesn’t bother getting off the floor so she kneels beside him listening attentively as he dials Steve’s number. 

“Hi, handsome, you talked with Tarja already?” Steve greets him after it rings twice.

“Yeah about that, turns out Tarja talked to me, actually,” he chuckles, “Hi, by the way”

“Hi,” Steve repeats lovingly and laughs, “What do you mean?”

“She had this awesome idea!” he says winking at her and she covers her mouth with her tiny hands to hide her giggles, “That, since you are not with Tommy anymore, you should be my boyfriend instead,” he continues, voice going soft and chuckles when he hears Steve's breathless ‘oh’ on the other side of the line, “Come over?”

“Of course, gimme an hour? I'm with a client” Steve hums and Eddie whispers he’ll give him anything he asks for and hangs up.

An hour later Tarja is still lying on the floor, only now it’s with papers and crayons spread all around her when the doorbell rings. She looks up at Eddie excitedly and he nods at her, “Go on then”

Tarja runs to the door and opens it wide to reveal Steve standing there as beautiful as ever, giving Eddie a deja vu of the first time he saw him.

“Papa Steve!” Tarja yells and jumps up to hug him.

Steve gasps and falls to his knees with her in his arms and looks up at Eddie with shocked wet eyes.

‘So much for taking it slow,’ Eddie thinks with a smirk.

Fin.

☝️first part

☕🥐💕?

[ecoustsaintmein]

ghosts (part iv of v)

part i here

part ii here

part iii here

part v here

pairing: paddy x eoin; rating: M. slow burn.

this was the first time they'd had this conversation as eric and killian. but it was as if they'd had this conversation, many years ago, many times before.

(or, paddy mayne and eoin mcgonigal, reincarnated as eric love from 'starred up' and killian from 'angel'. they meet again, during the heights of the pandemic -- but they don't remember - until much, much, much later).

--

matt looks the same, after all these years. he still has those sad, big eyes of his, though he's now wearing a puffy canada goose jacket and carries a kcl tote bag instead of a posh farmer's barbour jacket, or simply, the black t-shirt that killian remembers he'd worn the day they'd kissed.

in hyde park they sit at one of the benches, watching yummy mommies stroll by with their pram, kids jumping about in the mist and fog. it's far removed from the midsummer's dream of horsham, when killian was lathered in raindrops and mud and nervous sweat.

matt tells him he's studying environmental science at uni, and he lives in bermondsey. the farm's been sold to a completely different owner, and matt's not heard how it's doing since the pandemic. he says, that's not his life anymore. he wants to do bigger, more important things.

'like telling me to reduce my carbon footprint?' killian asks, all while putting up his cardboard takeaway coffee cup sheepishly, and shrugs. he eyes matt's keep cup, steaming in the cold.

'i'm not a zealot,' matt says. 'but every little helps.'

silence falls around them, save for the police siren blaring from three streets away. they've got nothing in common, killian and matt, but there had been a moment of electricity between them, all those years ago. killian's struggling to find any spark of it left, while matt looks at him, intently, as if hoping to reignite what's been started but doused to ashes.

matt asks how he is. killian says he's fine. he's alive, he tells matt, without going into details about what had happened at the pedestrian bridge, what could have happened if that random stranger hadn't stopped him. matt says that jess, of all people, is still in touch with him, living in grantham. he's not heard from katrin and sammy, though. jess said that they've probably fucked off to scoraig, somewhere in west of scotland, to completely live off-grid.

and killian's here now, with matt. in the middle of london.

he knows that matt wants to really, really know what he's been up to. but how could killian tell him? would he even understand? he says, 'i'm volunteering at st george's now. i'm applying to be a clinical support worker at the hospital, the job advert closes in two weeks. and then if i like it enough i could keep working and reapply for different jobs and become a nurse.' the words spill out of him, unfiltered. matt looks at him like he's hung the moon.

'wow,' is all he says. and then, 'you've always been good with your hands.'

it's a come on.

killian is hyperaware of this fact, with the closeness of him. he could smell matt's aftershave, mingling with the sharp smell of his scalding hot tea.

panicking, he says, 'i'm with someone.'

which. isn't technically a lie.

even if it's not the whole truth.

--

they walk, and they walk, and they walk. from hyde park through green park through pall mall to the strand.

tourists with go pro cams in masks, blocking their path on the pavement. they weave through the crowd seamlessly like the city natives that they are now.

the shops are putting up christmas decorations, though it doesn't feel like christmas is around the corner.

the bitter cold only reminds him of death.

matt says he's happy for killian. matt says he hopes they don't have to continue being strangers. matt says he wants to be friends.

killian nods. matt is so trusting. he bets that even if he were to tell matt the truth about paddy and eoin and eric now, he would support killian without batting an eyelid. but he'd rather not do this now, lest he be sectioned into springfield hospital straight away.

they stop at a second-hand bookstore on charing cross road. there's a few books about the sas, about paddy, about stirling. matt blinks at killian as he bags all of them, for a bargain at ten quid. 'what?' killian asks.

'never thought of you as a military history fanatic,' matt says, 'is all.'

'i contain multitudes,' killian replies, cryptic.

then, matt says that he wants to go to chinatown.

--

destiny folds itself again and again, so that even if killian were to run away, eric would still be there regardless.

--

in a city of eight million people, thirty different boroughs, eleven separate tube lines, this is how they converge:

in a narrow aisle of a chinese supermarket, while matt is looking at three different kinds of kimchi and gochujang sauce, and subodh is buying strawberry flavoured kit-kats for his daughter.

eric is glaring daggers at him, in his parka, looking like the fifth long-lost member from east 17 in their 'stay another day' video. killian is holding matt's basket for him, already nearly full with packs of korean ramyun and bottles of milkis.

blackpink is playing in the background.

subodh walks up and asks eric, 'don't you want anything from here? i can pay for you,' before realizing who eric's looking at (killian), and recognizing that this is someone eric knows (eric's friend who is not a friend). eric looks like he's in the mess when the captain's called out his name, just before he grabs at the captain's balls and shoves him into the piano.

'paddy? think about burma. don't do anything that will jeopardise our deployment to burma.'

they could have pretended not to know each other. killian could have walked past. eric could have left. instead, all killian wants to do was to cross that gap and push eric against the shelves, kiss the scowl off his face and make it all better.

'eric? think about us,' killian wants to say. 'don't do anything that will jeopardise your parole.'

in the end, it's matt who inadvertently break the tense silence, by sneaking up behind killian with a red tub of gochujang. 'where've you gone?' he asks.

'back in 1941,' killian mumbles, before he straightens up his shoulders and introduces eric, who's still gritting his teeth, like a dog ready to pounce. killian thinks he could hear eric growl. 'eric, this is matt. matt, this is eric. and i think you're subodh, aren't you?' he smiles beneath his mask. the polite smile that he saves up for patients and relatives, even if no one could see. they could still tell.

eric grunts. subodh's eyes flicker back and forth awkwardly. as if he could tell what's going on. killian thinks matt can read between the lines, too, judging from the way he takes the basket from killian's grip and says that he's going to the counter to pay.

'nice to meet you,' subodh says. 'you must be killian. eric talks a lot about you,' he says, which earns a sudden burst of hacking cough from eric. 'we're just having a catch up about how well he's been doing.'

'he's been great,' killian nods vehemently. 'he's a sound lad.'

eric lifts his gaze, then, and they share a knowing look. eric's stance softens. it's probably what killian's said, or the way he's said it, that makes eric less wary, less belligerent.

when matt returns, eric says to killian, 'i'll see you at home.'

as if to make a point.

'hands off. he's mine.'

--

killian doesn't see eric at home.

--

he's probably still out with subodh, killian thinks. he looks at his phone and finds a text from matt. 'thanks for a lovely day out. hope we can hang out again some time. xx'

killian sits at his desk and spends another fifteen minutes on his laptop, working on his csw application. in a few months his volunteering job will come to an end, and so will eric's. he's not said much about what he wants to do after the stint at st george's is over, but he's said something about subodh finding him a spot at a third party agency working with kids at risk of crime, or kids already been charged with knife crimes and the like. apparently dr wilson, the dundonian psychiatrist had put in a good word for him, and subodh's seconded it. so at least he's got something in the horizon.

eric's sounded proud, then, when he'd talked about it. it's the first time they've talked about their futures beyond the hospital, that's not related to paddy or eoin.

'it's going to be based at brixton, so not that far,' eric's said. 'and i'm still going to be staying here, i ain't going anywhere.'

they'd kissed, then, before killian pulled back and said that they should stop. that they'd probably need time to figure stuff out. they'd kissed some more, then, and they'd both gotten hard. it took a lot of effort for them to part and have a separate wank, rooms apart, eric in his bed and killian in eric's bathroom. though they could hear each other moan paddy and eoin's names and somehow it'd made it all the more hotter.

--

it's late and eric's still not texted. he wonders if subodh's taken him to see ashley, for a prison visit. eric never talks openly about ashley, though he knows what's happened between ashley and eric's dad. what it means for eric, and the conflicted feelings it can cause, with this whole paddy-eoin situation.

thinking about eric makes him hard, again.

so he gets his go pro out and films a video.

--

user @/daddyhasaglowstick puts in the chat, 'i'll be your stray dog i want you to put a collar on me'

user @/femmeboy29 asks, 'would you marry me?'

user@/la_reine_d_algerie asks, 'i've been watching for a long time, but there's something different with you recently. are you seeing someone?'

killian's just had one of the best sessions of his life, imagining himself being balls deep in paddy. spearing him open again and again, fucking mercilessly, with only spit and come as lube. it's the way paddy would have wanted it. while paddy bends over the front of a truck, in the night desert air of kabrit. face pressed against the cold hood, panting. eoin's fingers around his neck.

he lolls his head back, onto the pillow, bleary eyed. almost blind from the pleasure. he almost missed the last question.

'la reine d'algerie,' he thinks to himself. the queen of algeria.

eve.

killian's tired, almost sleepy. dreamily, he replies, 'it's complicated.' he's glad the camera wouldn't be able to catch the dopey smile on his face. 'i'm really into this boy. i've only met him, like, recently, but not that recent. but it feels like i've known him forever. he's so close -- and yet -- he's so distant. he's there, but i couldn't reach him. ya know?'

he doesn't realize that he's forgotten to put on his english accent until mid-sentence, but by this point, killian's too arsed to care.

i want to be me, he thinks. i want to be myself.

fuck it.

--

he gets up in the morning. showers. gets ready for work.

submits his csw application and hopes for the best.

knocks on eric's door, and for once he's on time. he looks like shit.

'you ok?' killian asks. eric nods.

the walk is silent, until they get up to the hospital entrance and eric asks about matt. 'he's just a boy i knew from the old farm,' killian says. 'we've not seen each other in -- years.'

another stretch of silence. eric love with no comeback, not even a grunt, is not an eric love killian knows. 'what did you get up to with subodh yesterday?'

'hmm?' eric replies distractedly. 'yeah, went to see ashley,' he says, which killian's guessed. 'how did that go?'

'yeah,' eric hums. 'ok.'

killian leaves it at that.

the shift is busy and they don't get to have a break until two. killian tells eric that he's submitted his job application. eric says he's leaving the volunteering job sooner than expected because subodh's said that there is a space for him to start soon at the violence prevention scheme as a youth worker. killian's eyes widen. he's genuinely chuffed for eric, though he's not sure what eric's feeling, because the twist in his lips does not look like a smile.

'i wish you could come with me,' eric says.

killian's heart drops into his stomach. 'is this you talking, or is it paddy?'

'i don't know anymore,' eric says, and killian believes him. 'i spoke to ashley yesterday about -- him and dad and how it all came about. it started off as an arrangement. because they needed a fuck and it was convenient. is this what we are?'

'eric.' killian warns. 'this isn't an arrangement. this isn't convenient. for either of us.'

'it's not fucking convenient, is it, when all i can think about is how much i want you to fuck me but not knowing if it's me or paddy who wants it?' he spits acridly, between the narrow spaces of his sharp teeth.

killian regrets it as soon as the proposal leaves his lips.

'what if we do fuck?'

eric looks at him as if he's grown a second head, or a third eye.

'what if we do fuck,' he repeats himself, slowly this time, 'and get it out of our system?'

eric's retort is ominous. 'what if we make it worse?'

'it's better than this, whatever this is,' killian puts his arms up, an awful effort at imitating jazz-hands. eric really, really, really stares at him then, as if in disbelief that killian of the sound mind would dare to suggest something as ridiculous. 'think about it,' killian says, with an air of finality. 'and let me know.'

fuck it.

--

'i want you to fuck me.'

killian sits up straighter in his bed, sweating. heart pounding.

and then comes another ping.

eric's sent a photo of eoin. he looks like a skinny young thing with that scots 11 commando cap with the wee bobble on top, and the uniform. if killian'd gone back in time to tell eoin that his soul would be transported to a fucking loser from cork who's trapped in this reincarnation farce, he’d probably laugh his head off.   

'i don't want him to fuck me,' eric's written. 'i want you, killian, to fuck me. but i don't know how this will work.'

killian drops his phone like it’s hot metal, like it’s forbidden to touch, to look at.

killian's got to go and walk around in his kitchen, make a cup of tea in his yeti mug. gulps it all down despite the burn down his throat, like penance for his sins. has to do some breathing exercises and sun salutations before returning to his bedroom, before lying down, before allowing himself to look at his phone again.

it’s 3.15 am.

he reads and rereads the text, pulse still racing. the caffeine doesn't help. he tosses and turns for another hour in bed before he's finally able to sleep in peace.

--

eric texts him again first thing in the morning.

'are you chickening out?'

killian blinks at his phone, a steaming mug of tea in one hand, the other thumb hovering over the touchpad. how does one even respond to that, when a tight fist has clenched your heart so hard it wouldn’t let go? what does one do when it wants what it wants, when it yearns and crashes and burns?

killian tries not to think about the way he might still be in bed, topless, all pale-and-inked-skin against an ocean of white sheets, all crumpled and slept-in and smelling of eric.

'of course not,' killian texts back. 'i'm just figuring out the logistics.'

--

work is work is work.

they make a point not to talk about it, though it's all killian could think about the whole time.

he texts the plan during lunchtime.

he could hear eric's gasp from the other side of the canteen.

but they don't talk about it.

--

he's not even changed out of his shirt when eric rings his doorbell. the parka's still on but the fierceness is gone. eric's pupils are blown, wide, dark. expectant.

'hello, killian,' he says, breathless, like he’s just come off a hundred-meter sprint race.

'hello, eric,'' killian replies, making a point of using their real names, and lets him in.

eric weaves into killian's space as freely as the way he weaves inside his heart. eric dumps his jacket on the sofa, and he’s wearing a simple white t-shirt underneath that still manages to cling obscenely to his body. the fabric’s so thin killian could almost make out the ink patterns on his skin if he stares long enough.

eric’s been here hundreds of times, but this time it’s different.

there's a time when they needed to talk, but they're done talking.

eric's here to fuck. eric's here so killian could fuck him. it's a transaction. and their souls are the payment.

they stand apart, keeping some semblance of space because he doesn’t trust himself, alone, in this atmosphere. are the ghosts of paddy and eoin still here? watching them? laughing at them?

it would have been easier if paddy and eoin would just use their bodies and fuck and get it over with. killian could move on. so could eric. one day both of them would be able to laugh about it, like it’s a stupid game of gay chicken.

killian clenches his jaw the way eric's fist clenches around his heart, clenching like a madman to stop it from gauchely tripping all over the place. 'so i'm doing the fucking, yeah?'

eric walks towards him, and killian flinches. he takes a step back. not out of fear that eric would attack him and swallow him whole, but out of fear of what he would do if he were to lose control. killian's meant to be the level-headed one. eoin's meant to be the level-headed one.

eric pauses in his stride, hurt in his eyes. killian could only sigh and shake his head. how would killian ever be able to make him understand?

'i’m not going to do anything weird, i promise,” eric says.

'i know,' killian whispers. because he knows eric. because he trusts him.

(the way killian wants eric to trust him – too.)

killian thinks -- i will not let the ghost of eoin mcgonigal take over. this is me. this is me and eric love and i will not let the ghost of paddy mayne take over.

so killian kisses eric, coaxing his lips open as killian feels the corner of eric's lips curling up against his. a little sound comes out of eric's throat—a groan, as he lets out a sigh of relief into killian's mouth, his body melting into killian's arms. eric tastes of the many, many cans of monster drinks he must have drank to gather up the energy to come here, sweet and saccharine. killian tips him over against the sofa, pinning eric down beneath him. as eric runs his hands against the scrunched fabric of killian's shirt, cold fingertips sneaking underneath. feeling up the hard planes of his stomach, his chest, before clutching his neck and deepens the kiss.

greedy.

eric lets go, completely, and killian holds him close so he doesn’t fall.

killian goes on, and on, until he's completely nestled between eric's strong thighs wrapped against killian's waist, eric's ripped jeans halfway down his knees. killian takes a brief moment to pull him up and pull his shirt off, looking up at him – thinking, eric, eric, eric, instead of paddy, paddy, paddy.

the heat of the moment overwhelms killian, his mouth hangs open out of its own accord. eric throws his head back in laughter, as if he’s offering killian his neck for sacrifice, open and unguarded, and that’s how much he trusts killian. he couldn’t remember the last time he looked this happy, and killian laughs too.

killian kisses each of eric's eyelids tenderly, the tip of his nose, bites his upper lip and licks into eric's mouth.

killian stands up and pushes eric down onto the sofa. 'let me take care of you,' he says, as eric waits breathlessly in anticipation. his jeans are pooling at his feet and killian gingerly pick it up, folding it carefully and puts it on the table in front of the sofa. he knows he’s making a full demonstration out of it, teasing eric, leaving eric wondering what his next move will be. he’s left killian in charge, hasn’t he? killian smiles at eric, sly, as he takes eric's rumpled shirt from his grasp. killian's biding his time, folding the shirt and smoothing the creases neatly, before putting it gently atop the folded jeans. then, eric's socks.

killian thinks, eoin's probably waited forever-and-fifty-years for this. what’s ten minutes, ten seconds more?

and fuck, killian thinks he's seen eric topless -- naked -- so many times before, but never like this. never with his eyes trained on killian, or eoin, expecting killian to treat him good, like his life is in his hands. eric licks his lips as killian takes his belt off – just his belt, slowly, sliding it out from his tight jeans, getting tighter with each minute that killian's looking at eric, looking at him.

killian forces his shaky hands to stay steady.

killian could see that he’s hard, too, precome leaking through his briefs. eric moves his hand to palm himself, but killian frowns and shakes his head, clicking his tongue twice to indicate that it’s forbidden. eric looks at him, sheepish, hands by the sides of his lap, clutching fruitlessly at the leather of the sofa. eric trusts him. and it’s all in killian's sheer willpower not to kneel down and mouth at him hungrily, like a starving man needing sustenance to live.

god, killian is starving.

and eric's a full three-course-meal just for him.

killian opens eric's legs wider, kneeling between his knees, and nip at his neck. killian runs his hands down eric's chest, and pinches his nipples, chuckling into his skin when he yelps. killians sooths him by running his tongue across the sensitive spot, one after the other.

'fuck, you’re so hot,' eric breathes, as killian brings his hands behind eric and cups his arse, not quite under his briefs. fingers tantalizingly teasing across the borders of the elastic fabric and his skin, sweat pooling between his thighs.

'i could say the same thing about you,' killian says, as he dips his head and breathes eric's scent fully, kisses him under his armpits and licking a stripe across his pecs.

killian could feel eric's breath stuttering underneath his touch, nails scraping just across his aching, clothed cock, thumbing across the slit. there’s a white string of precome when kilian presses down gently against his cockhead, and pull up, again and again. eric stares at him, at killian's thumb, at the movement, looking transfixed.

'now that's hot,' he teases eric, before feeding the drop of liquid from his thumb onto eric's tongue, mouth wide open and wanton. giving killian tiny kitten licks before he closes his eyes and starts to suck on killian's fingers earnestly, cheeks hollowed, eyes hooded.

kililan pulls his hand away and eric whines, the way paddy would when he tells eoin that someone's got his goat. 'i’m not going to last long, kill.'

'do you trust me?'

'i do.'

and it’s in the way eric says it, with his wide, wide eyes looking at killian with so much fondness and faith that he will do everything right by eric, that it shatters killian's own self-control, that killian has to give in.

killian kisses the insides of eric's knees, up his thighs, before he dives in and mouths wetly against eric's briefs, hands cupping his balls gently, rolling them between his fingers. eric squirms beneath him, his breaths coming in quick and shallow as killian pushes his briefs aside and kisses his balls, licking at it, swallows it, making lewd, loud sucking noises that killian would never make with anyone else.

he pauses for a moment before pushing the damp briefs down, down, tangling down eric's legs, before putting the offending garment on the neatly folded pile of clothes on the table. 'you’re so good for me,' killian tells eric, because it’s the truth. 'you’re so fucking good for me, eric,' killian says again, not caring that he's repeating himself like an idiot, and he's even surprised at the rawness in his own voice.

it hits him, that he's said eric's name, again and again. not paddy's.

eric looks up at him like he’s about to cry. like eric doesn’t believe him, like he doesn’t believe that killian would want him like this. 'i want to be good for you,' he says, and killian pets his sweaty hair, smoothing the locks away from his forehead. eric looks so debauched like this, so desperate, and it’s all because of killian.

i did this, killian thinks, and he wants me to do this to him.

eric flinches and whines when killian finally, finally puts his hands on him, but not because eric wants him to stop. 'fuck, kill—that feels so good,' he says, as he sinks deeper and deeper into the couch, as killian thumbs at his slit and uses the liquid accumulating there to provide lube, as his hand begins to move up and down, up and down, eyes looking up at eric. 'fuck—,' eric says, 'i don’t want to come yet,' he pleads, shivering, thighs quaking, and killian could see the way he breathes in, and out, his abdominal muscles clenching and unclenching in order to control himself. 'tell me to stop and i'll stop,' killian says.

'please don't stop,' eric says. message received. killian hears him. loud and clear.

killian grips him at the base of his cock, and eric yelps at the strength of it, at the unexpectedness of it, and nearly screams when killian finally puts his mouth on him. the warmth and wetness of killian's mouth is wholly welcome by the way he’s responding to the touch, pliant in killian's arms. killian swallows his entire length, tonguing the veins as he moves up and down, head bobbing to a steady, spit-slick rhythm.

he lifts his spine up into a delicious arch just so killian could put his hands around eri'c's waist, just so killian could cup his arse and drag him down the couch, just so killian could lift eric's knees up to give him better access. all killian could taste is salt and come on his tongue, while eric keens and squirms beneath him. eric's skin all slick and sweaty, glistening in this half-light, while killian's barely out of his own clothes.

killian's fingers gently begin to press gently against eric's tight hole, spreading his ass cheeks for a better look.

eric gasps.

'is this okay?'

'please. I need you—,' he begs, '—to do anything. just—anything. please.'

he presses his tongue against eric, as his legs hang over killian's shoulders, toes curling from the sensation. back arching deeper while killian spreads him wider, one pale hand against an ass cheek while the other starts to move up and down his cock again. his tongue tries to probe as deep as it could, into the scorching heat, around the tight ring of muscles – and when killian can’t go any further, he mouths wetly against it, nose bumping against eric's balls, drool against his cheeks. kissing any patch of skin he could find, as eric's muscles tense beneath him.

there is a slight resistance when killian presses into eric with the pad of his forefinger, but he relaxes when killian gently goes in back and forth, settling into a gentle rhythm so he could ease into it, so much so that killian could go in up to his knuckle. he removes his entire finger and collects all the moisture he could get – beading from the slit of eric's cock, to use as lube, pushing it down, down into his hole. killian wants to be in him so much, he wants to feel eric clench against him, around him, feel the heat of it from the inside out. he pushes in again, with one, two fingers this time, curling it just enough against the smooth wall inside him – and soon eric is squirming harder underneath, breathing hard and babbling undecipherable nothings against his neck.

he pumps in and out of eric with his fingers. fuck carpal tunnel. his left wrist will probably hate him later. he twists his hand in a specific motion, curling his fingers to tease eric— to put just enough pressure to leave him wanting more, torturing him, before he finally gives eric what he wants. making eric moan into the wetness of killian's mouth, stifled by a filthy kiss, drool all over like they're teenagers again. he grinds against killian desperate, against the trapped hardness inside killian's jeans; shirt tails all disheveled and no longer tucked-in. eric throws his arms around killian, tight, fingers grasping vainly at the back of killian's head, the curls at the nape of killian's neck.

killian grabs one of his hands and clasps their fingers together, intertwined, placing them between their chests. feeling how hard and how fast their hearts are beating for each other.

eric's close. killian could feel it, as he licks into eric's mouth, foreheads touching, noses bumping. 'i want to come with you,' he says.

so eric reaches out to touch, to unzip him, to free him.

to undo him.

and killian lets him.

--

hold hard then, heart. this way at least you live.

--

in the dark, eric doesn't know where he ends and killian begins.

lips on skin and flesh merging as one.

the ache inside of him burns, oh, but it's glorious.

and he wants more. he thinks, oh, it's just to make sure that this will work. he says so to killian, just as much, and killian just smiles, dopily, between a thousand kisses and a hundred more, tongue swirling, exploring every crevice of their bodies. killian agrees. we'll do it again, just this last time, to make sure that it works, he says, as he drills into eric's body, again and again and again, hard and fast. with eric above him, chasing pleasure with each pounding that hits that sweet, sweet, spot.

he comes untouched, without warning, and it's filthy the way killian holds his tongue out and catches each drop, like it's manna from heaven and eric's an angel's come to give him blessing.

one more time, he says, breathless. one more time, as killian rolls them over, nose bumping against each other, mouths biting, licking, panting, eric's legs around killian's waist, feet flush against killian's arse. one more time, they say, as killian fucks him, facing each other, and eric feels seen.

eric looks away, then, sheepish. ashamed. killian tells him, 'look at me,' and so eric does. eric doesn't dare look away, not when killian tells him not to. so they stare into each other's eyes, eric going, 'ah, ah, ah,' into killian's mouth as he slows his pace, gentler, tender, like he doesn't want this to end. because it's just one more time, just to make sure.

just to make sure.

killian comes into him, screaming his name.

eric, he says. eric. eric.

killian, eric agrees.

--

eric thinks,

'we've made it worse.'

--

tbc.

part v here

[sleepy-wyvern]

His Hummingbird (Miguel O'Hara x female!reader smut)

{Angsty smut oneshot}

Available: here on Tumblr and AO3

WC: ~2.2k [oneshot]

Synopsis: You're a human female who has a boyfriend from another dimension; Spider-Man 2099. Miguel visits your apartment late at night as a surprise after not seeing him for a week.

I HAD TO GET THIS IDEA OUT OF MY HEAD BEFORE I COULD FOCUS ON OTHER FICS IM SORRY ;-;

Inspirations: the song Hummingbird by Metro Bloomin and James Blake and you know the fang scene… man definitely bites 👀

A/N: If y’all want/request more I may write more, otherwise this is a one shot ❤️ leave a comment or reblog if you liked. 

Warnings/tags: Angst, Smut (18+ Minors DNI), hickies (lotsa biting), fingering, light begging from reader, p in v (condom), light male whimpering

Disclaimer: I borrowed my spanglish friend for some of the translations here. Feel free to send an ask or comment if something feels off.

Enjoy!

The moon shone bright through the heavy clouds as you wondered where your spider was. 

Fighting crime, defeating evil, saving lives, all nothing you could complain about. Another universe, another day, another “business trip.” He used that phrase to try and make you feel better but it couldn’t take away from the fact that one day he may not return. Perhaps if things went bad enough you wouldn’t ever be able to know what happened to him, just spending the rest of your life waiting for someone who would never return. You tried your best to shove the thought away as you fiddled with the window latch.

You pushed open the window widely to get whatever cool night air you could in your little city apartment. As the hot summer days neared closer you took solace in the cold rainy night. The sound of the rain and the city traffic was oddly comforting.

You turned and walked toward the kitchen sink opposite of the room figuring you'd at least try to get some chores done. It was a small-ish apartment the size of a hotel room really. The biggest room was the merged kitchen and living room. Still, it was familiar enough space for you to sense the presence behind you.

The moment you turned your back you heard the window blinds gently tap against the window pane; anyone else would’ve thought that had been the wind. Anyone else without a spider person lover anyways.

“Do spiders ever use the door?” You spoke without turning around, instead you turned the faucet on to do the dishes.

“You should start locking that window at night,” his gruff voice was directly behind you.

“Miguel,” you sighed, twisting the tap off before turning around.

It had been a week since his last visit, the longest ever since you started “seeing” each other. You hadn’t put a label on anything yet, what could you call a lover from another dimension that could never stay with you?

Every time you saw him after a prolonged period you were intimidated by how he stood over you. He hadn’t meant to be intimidating as his mask was already removed, yet it was hard to ignore his height and size of his build especially when he had to look down at you.

“Nobody can enter a 4th story window,” you smiled. “Just you.”

Despite that you were angry he was gone for so long your heart melted at the sight of his brown locks falling gracefully over his forehead. He wore his blue and red spider suit as he always did when traveling.

He wrapped his large arms around your waist, pulling you close into his hot embrace. He planted a kiss on your forehead.

“Te extrañé…” He trailed off as he pulled back to look into your eyes. 

He held his hands against your face when you eyed his bracelet; the thing that let him stay here with you without “glitching out.” It was a grim reminder of what could never be. Despite the comfort you got from his rough hands against your soft face, it made you sad. 

“I missed you too,” you sighed, overlapping his hand with your smaller one.

The bracelet was cool to the touch as you frowned. “Where have you been?” You scolded, “You told me you’d be back by Monday. It’s Friday!”

“I’m sorry,” he sighed furrowing his brows. “It’s work.”

“It always is,” You turn around putting your hands on the smooth countertop.

“I’ll make it up to you,” he offered, sounding sad and hopeful.

You knew he didn’t mean to make you worry or make you sad. You both wished things were different. It would make it so much easier. You knew though that if he could change things he would and you didn’t want to hold what was out of his control against him. It wasn’t his fault you were born in different worlds, different universes. It didn’t help that you weren’t a spider person either.

You felt his hands gently against your waist as he moved closer to you.

“I'm sorry." He sighed. "Mi pequeña colibrí…” he whispered into your ear. His breath was hot and heavy against your neck sending shivers down your body.

“Oh stop, you can’t use the español to make me feel better! No fair!” You laughed. 

He placed a kiss on your ear that tickled before you spun back around, wrapping your arms over his shoulders.

“My spiderman,” You giggled as his look of concern melted into happiness. "I'm not mad at you. Just try to let me know if you'll be late next time."

The corner of his lips turned upward ever so slightly in relief. "I promise."

Another thing that was likely yours only; Miguel’s smile. When Jessica met you she was surprised you were even real. She warned you to not mention much of Miguel’s personal life activities to the other spider people but it was hard to remember. Once you accidentally mentioned the flowers on your table were from Miguel to Gwen she nearly fainted. You adored the way he treated you special even if you weren’t sure why he chose you. You could never be mad at him for something he couldn't control.

He brushed his thumbs in a circular motion against your waist as he held you. His dark eyes were full of love as he looked down at you. 

You ran your fingers back through his brown hair. He seemed to sigh beneath your touch, it was thrilling in a way to know he was comfortable enough around you to let his guard down. Nobody else could see Miguel the way you did.

“You need to stop being so stressed. Relax more.” You sighed bringing your fingers to his forehead. “Grumpy wrinkles.”

He chuckled low as he held you tightly. He brought his face down into your neck to inhale the sweet scent of your perfume that he loved so much.

“I know what helps with that,” his voice was deep and silky and fuck it made your body melt. 

You giggled as his sweet kisses turned into loving nibbles. He was careful to not hurt you with his fangs but he knew how much you loved his gentle biting. You had a hunch he loved it as much as you did. On top of that it’s been a week without it and damn you missed him.

You let his touch overwhelm you as he held you, softly biting against your delicate skin. His body tensed against you the moment you let out a small pleasurable gasp.

“Hm,” He huffed deeply as he pulled back. “I forgot my strength. I’m sorry, mi colibrí.”

He brought his fingers up to your neck, wiping away the wetness before examining the hickie left behind.

“That’s what makeup is for,” you reassured. “Now, you have a week to make up for…”

“No better time to start than now,” he knocked off the stack of papers that were laying on the countertop.

Before you could react he grabbed your hips, lifting you into the air. You let out a faint gasp as you wrapped your legs around him.

“Miguel!” You scolded as he smirked at you, placing you on the empty countertop space. “Naughty, what has become of you?” You teased him.

“You have become of me,” he pressed his hot lips against yours hungrily. 

He brought his hands around to the back of your head holding you close so he could kiss you deeply. It wasn’t long before you could feel his cool tongue against your lips. You opened your mouth letting him in, his cold mouth meeting your warm one.

You brought your hands to his shoulders feeling the fabric of his suit. Eagerly you moved your fingers to his back, grasping for the zipper. You rotated between feeling the muscles of his back and fumbling with the damn zipper making your kisses turn sloppy.

“Eager aren’t we?” He laughed low and deep in his throat, it wasn’t a mocking tone. In fact you knew he loved it. 

He shimmied his shoulders out of the suit and it took all of your power not to basically drool over him. You wasted no time bringing your hands to feel his hot skin, tracing your fingers lovingly over the scars on his chest.

You buried your fingers in his hair as your lips met again. The man loves to kiss you, almost as much as he loves to bite you. He took the opportunity to switch to biting your neck whenever you pulled back to breathe. 

He slowly brought his fingers underneath the hem of your shirt, running his calloused fingers along your silky smooth torso. You separated from him only long enough to remove the pesky fabric of your top before diving back into him again.

You could feel the bulge in his underwear against your leg as he leaned forward to undo the clasp of your bra. He brought his large hands to your breasts lovingly cupping and massaging them. Goosebumps rose against his skin at the sound of your soft, lustful moans.

“More baby,” you whispered.

He brought his lips to your nipple, his hair tickling your chest. You tilted your head down letting yourself get lost in the scent of his shampoo while he planted wet kisses against your stiff nipple. His grabs on your body slowly turned more rough as you felt his teeth against your skin.

“More,” you demand. It’s been a week and damn you wanted him more than anything. 

He hooked his fingers underneath the soft fabric of your leggings and panties as you shimmied to help. Your body shivered as the fabric pooled to the floor. Miguel looked at your body with a mixture of awe and hunger- a deep lust filled hunger.

He brought his index and middle finger to your entrance, smiling when he felt how wet you were.

“You really did miss me huh, mi pequeña colibrí?” 

You nodded “mmm’, yes I did. Need you, Miguel.” You whined feeling him circle your entrance.

He wasn’t cruel to make you wait as he plunged his fingers in. Your back arched as you gasped, spreading your legs desperate for him deeper. Feeling his fingers arch against your walls and watching the movements of his wrist as he pleased you was intoxicating.

Still you wanted more.

“Please, baby,” you whimpered.

Your body whined when he stopped and pulled his fingers out. 

“What is it, cariño?” His voice purred. He brought his fingers to his lips, rolling his tongue over your sweetness.

“You,” your lip quivered as you shuddered from the cool apartment air. “Please.”

You knew this was a game he could normally play for a long time. Not today though, neither of you could handle it. Instead your heart raced as he nodded to the kitchen drawer where you kept the condoms since counter sex had become a more regular activity.

He brought his large, hard cock out of his boxers, stroking lightly. You swallowed at the sight wondering how you could ever take him.

He smirked at your expression “are you afraid?”

You shook your head, reaching your hands out to his broad shoulders trying to bring him closer. You fumbled with the condom, bringing your hands to his hot cock. He gasped lightly as your hands held him him, rolling the condom down over him.

He lined his tip against your entrance, soaking himself in your juices and teasing you just a little. 

“Are you ready?” He whispered and for the first time tonight you heard his voice start to shake.

You bit your lip as you nodded “I am.”

He slowly slid himself in as you let out a moan of tight, firey pressure. The moment he was fully inside you both let out a gasp; you both waited so long for this moment. You wrapped your arms around him as he buried his face in the crook of your neck while you got used to the feeling of all of him inside. 

He waited for you to nod and give him the okay to continue. He planted a kiss on your cheek as he pulled out slightly before thrusting in again. You spread your legs further apart, moaning at the next deeper thrust. You grasped at the muscles of his back for an anchor.

“Just like that, cariño,” He whispered, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

He thrusted against, harder and faster as you felt your pleasure start to build. He kept a lovely, steady pace and you knew it wouldn’t be long until you reached your climax.

“Oh Miguel,” you moaned, making him shiver. “Baby, I’m close.”

You grasped at his back desperate to have more of him. His heavy breaths and grunts sent electricity through you while his cock pressed lovingly against that sweet spot.

“Don’t move,” his voice was a quiet whimper while you held him.

Fuck, hearing him whimper always sent you feral but you did your best to keep still while he pounded into your tight cunt. Your back arched as the waves of pleasure crashed down into a lovely orgasm. 

“You feel so good,” he whispered in your ear. 

You knew he was close and you wrapped your legs around him not letting him go. 

“I’m, I’m-“ his voice broke off as you felt his cock twitch inside of you.

His arms held you tightly to him as you were wrapped around him lovingly. The heat of your bodies, the feeling of his heart beating and the rise and fall of his chest as he heavily breathed through the pleasure… Despite that soon he’d have to leave again these moments are what make it worth it.

"Te amo," his voice was a husky whisper as he held you.

For now, you got to enjoy the warm embrace of your spider. 

===

💙💙💙💙

Thanks so much for reading, let me know if you enjoyed with any comments/reblogs, I appreciate them all!

-Wyv

[newstepping]

"will you marry me?"

octavinelle crush headcanons

interrupted make-out session

the woes of a jealous fish

dwarf octopus!mc, yandere

cakes octavinelle has given to yuu + cakes yuu has given to octavinelle

pregnant!mc headcanons

a merfolk's melody, yandere + nsfw - I, Floyd, Jade, Azul, Epilogue

azul ashengrotto

prince charming's kiss

the reversed cinderella tale + art

and while you sleep, i'll be scared

crowley find a way back home, stays in twst

why not me?

ingame voicelines

housewardens try to woo you but the first-year rizz is unmatched

housewardens forget that they are your boyfriend when they are drunk

you feel a lot like love

the princess treatment

voicelines about you

courting, pining, or flirting?

"no, wait, can't we handle this another way? don't leave me!", yandere

not your fairytale monarch, yandere

you fall asleep in class

the key to my heart

househusband azul

i've become the villain's lover!

casual touches

he's a ten, but he...

yan!azul with a soulmate s/o, yandere

my last name belongs to you

you make them plushies

"don't you know it's bad luck to see your bride before your wedding?"

"without you, i am nothing. i am empty", yandere

when he sees me AKA the fic with the moon goddess story

yuu's food truck

+++

incorrect quotes - I

+ nsfw +

aphrodisiac + breeding, nsfw

jade leech

the reversed cinderella tale + art

the look on your face thrilling, and i can't take my eyes off it

breaking up/yuu moving on

why not me?

insatiable

the princess treatment

voicelines about you

courting, pining, or flirting?

teeth

the key to my heart

eel toofies

lovesick + first date, yandere

fantasy + lazy morning, yandere

launch our love

the beatrice letters by lemony snicket, sad poems interpreted as happy

are you lonesome tonight? + not so lonesome tonight

jade narrating stuff yuu does

"don't you know it's bad luck to see your bride before your wedding?"

the private (not) thoughts of a moray - I, II, III, IV, V, ...

dancing with the tweels

eel wedding! inspired by (x)

eels are cowards w/ their crush

+++

incorrect quotes - I

floyd leech

the reversed cinderella tale + art

breaking up/yuu moving on

why not me?

waking up with floyd leech

the princess treatment

voicelines about you

courting, pining, or flirting?

the key to my heart

lovesick + first date, yandere

my last name belongs to you

are you lonesome tonight? + not so lonesome tonight

"i swear, if anyone lays a hand on you, i'll cut their arm off."

squishy squishy baby fishy

"don't you know it's bad luck to see your bride before your wedding?"

dancing with the tweels

eels are cowards w/ their crush

+++

incorrect quotes - I, II, III

1 (you are here!) - 2

[hinge]

Hinge presents an anthology of love stories almost never told. Read more on https://no-ordinary-love.co

[peachyfnaf]

im really not having a lot of fun watching sams/laes anymore and it's just making me rather sad. so. this post is me yapping about that- under the cut in case someone doesnt wanna see it (and i have a tag to block if peeps dont wanna see my saltier/more discourse-ridden takes in general lmao)

tbch, i feel a bit bad about it. or not really Bad, just upset n' angry n' annoyed that im no longer getting as much joy out of watching the shows as i used to. it does a big hit to The Tism which normally clings onto these shows like a leech dhfssdfgd

i think i've made my opinions on the current arc blatantly clear to anyone who's seen me post about it before, but in case someone Hasn't, let it be known i do not like this arc. i hate it. i hate what they did to nexus/new moon, i hate how it's being handled, i hate how some of the other characters are being treated/are acting, i hate how the fandom has become so split over this arc that you almost have to pick a side and can only make friends on that side. i hate it.

anytime its a silly episode i have the gnawing thought of 'nexus is out there. perhaps being manipulated by dark sun or falling further into villainy, or something even worse.' in the back of my mind, so i can barely focus on the silly and just start thinking about nexus instead. and sometimes the silly episodes just bore me or contradict themselves or make me worried for the future. (ie, for the last one, some things that are nothing but silly jokes in the moment- such as frank- can later be considered legit serious and lore important things down the line, so i always have to keep my guard up a lil bit even around silly episodes. its rather exhausting).

and anytime its a lore ep im just not interested in it bc im more curious as to whats going on in other parts of the lore. ofc i mainly mean nexus, but im also curious about eclipse and what he's plotting. about the astrals, specifically lunar v taurus. i simply dont see the content i was hoping to see, and its been happening back-to back-to back-to back now on these two channels. so, it's starting to become unfun/boring for me.

not to mention that i just Miss the vibby games- i miss the video games very, very much and i am constantly angered at the higher ups for making the va's do more lore both because all this lore is grating and im also highkey worried for the va's. idk how stressful it must be to film lore for basically every day, but i'd bet its not the best thing in the world. i fear for even worse burn-out.

overall, this, to me, is just not a fun time in these two shows rn and im really thinking about just Ignoring this arc completely in my own canon and instead focus on past lore/silly videos. like i'll prolly still theorize about what's next and watch the eps just bc i like hearing their voices, but ive gotten past the "im angry at this for fun" phase and am more into the "im not angry anymore, just bored, sad, and disappointed with how things are turning out," phase.

i miss my wife, (sams/laes before this arc) tails. i miss her a lot

[etruatcaelum]

[ @notbirdnorplane | bill // summer ]

"aren’t we all just devils trying to look like angels?"

Salem had the weirdest friends.

Come to that, before he showed up in the flesh, such as it was, Summer had figured Bill Cipher the Demonic Triangle probably wasn't real; God knew Salem spent long enough in isolation to lose her grip on reality now and then. Who was Summer to judge?

"I mean," Summer said, doing her level best to sound like she wasn't hurriedly rearranging that assumption, "devils and angels look a lot alike to begin with. Like if you asked the average man on the street how to tell 'em apart… I mean–"

She shrugged, hopping up on the circulation desk, and offered the bag of pretzels she'd been crunching on when Bill sailed in out of the ether. The campus library had an illustrated bestiary somewhere, if he wanted pictures.

"—most civilians frankly could not tell a beowolf from a barghest," she deadpanned, "it's pretty dire. But really, the important difference is that devil venom makes you rage out, angel is just hallucinogenic. You're way too yellow to be mistaken for either, though. Bill, right? Salem's mentioned you a few times."

[etruatcaelum]

Summer felt an inarticulate cry of outrage swell in her throat, but it stopped before it could emerge when Salem lay a placating hand on her shoulder. She snuck a glance upward, surprised; Salem’s face had cooled into the expression of ancient disdain she normally reserved for talk of the Brothers. Only the bright red glow of her eyes gave away the anger burning underneath.

“If I found myself in an unfamiliar realm and turned to its gods to petition their aid?” Salem murmured, soft as a drifting line of spider-silk. “No. I would not do as your mistress did; I would expect violence to be met with violence, and come before them in accordance with their ways, as well as I could learn them.”

Her fingertips pressed harder into Summer’s shoulder, igniting a prickly sensation not far removed from pins and needles, and something in her face turned from ice to stone. Summer wondered if she was thinking of her own gods, the careful practice she had only ever allowed Summer to glimpse in bits and pieces; or perhaps the place she called the river, and the elder gods she had found there.

Who were kind, Salem had said once, with such an old, old ache in her voice.

“I would be diplomatic,” Salem said now, a touch more sharply, “a skill I am coming to realize that neither you nor your mistress possess.” She paused for a moment, squeezed Summer’s shoulder once more, and then let her hand drop; posture straightening. “Summer is not my attack dog—”

“That’d be Tyrian,” Summer sing-songed, which earned her a very flat look.

“—and your mistress thinks herself impervious to harm, besides.” Salem gave a little scoff, and added with dripping sarcasm: “Forgive me if I do not believe that she feared Summer would… what, stand by my side while we talked? Speak out of turn?”

Unless she was scared of Summer’s eyes, Summer thought, frowning as she watched the knight’s body flake away. “Pest control,” she muttered, disgusted. “Why not call us vermin while you’re at it, huh?”

“…Yes,” Salem said dryly, meeting her gaze for a flickering instant before her attention returned to the shade. “Not a very persuasive argument, is it?”

"Corner? Is that how you see it? Would you not want the same precautions of no interference if the roles were reversed? I already knew from our last meeting that you would do anything to ensure she was protected even when the better intentions were meant, this was not an attempt to have her handle you herself, this was her trying to ensure she could talk with you undisturbed."

Lapis smiled, he felt parts of his body starting to fade away back into the all-blue spirit form he had been in before this, it was a smile of acceptance than smugness as he slowly sat and ended up collapsing back onto the floor, wanting to take it easy as he slowly returned to the cold form of a spirit, though he still expected them to "hurry the process" as it were to send a message

"But hey, what's the word of a supposed liar or fool when they're dead either way? However, you have my benefit of the doubt, you've voiced your intentions when it comes to our worlds, I would simply consider yourself fortunate if she took what did to her without moving or denying it, there was always the "pest control" option, but it won't be needed...well, maybe with you, I can't tell if you'd deal with such a thing."

[angelst4re]

a one shot of Jace and the “who did this to you ?” trope would be so 🤭🤭🤭

jace<33 but that is so true omg... i just know he would be so protective!!

Who Did This To You?- Jace (Wayland/ Herondale/ Lightwood) x Reader

warnings: none? mentions of blood but nothing graphic!

note: jace has so many names. and no i was not going to include morgenstern. we are a valentine hate club on this page.

Jace will never admit truly why he waited up for you all night, but he was glad he did. He noticed you sneak out of the institute at around 10pm, the others were asleep and he didn’t want to disturb them so he waited for you by himself. If you didn’t return by 6am, he would assume the worst and go out to find you. 

He had warned you about leaving the institute by yourself, how dangerous the world can be especially when you’re by yourself. Yet you didn’t listen. Why would you listen to him? The two of you had gotten into an argument this morning, so you didn’t care about what he had to say. He could handle himself, so could you. 

The reason why you left, and you would never let Jace find this out, is because you were being harassed by a man over text. After blocking his number countless times, he would still text you using other numbers or even send you letters. If you didn’t know this man personally, you would have thought to go to the police instantly, to report a stalker. But this wasn’t just anybody. This was your ex. 

He had tried to get back with you recently, and you declined it, telling him you weren’t interested in him anymore because you weren’t. You were interested in Jace. Probably the only person in this town that wasn’t interested in you. It pained your heart to know the feelings would go unrequited, but as long as he didn’t find out, you wouldn’t get hurt. Crushes are fun, anyway, especially when you live with the person you’re crushing on. 

Everything Jace did just made you fall for him more. The way he showed no fear, the inappropriate remarks he would make about Simon that would cause you and Clary to almost choke on your drinks. And when you would be walking down the halls at the same time he would be coming back to his room after a shower, towel wrapped around his hips, revealing his v-line… 

You knew deep down that he was too good for you, so you decided to finally give in to your ex and arranged to meet him tonight. Although you had no feelings for him anymore, maybe he would take your mind off of things. 

But this wasn’t the case. Instead, he had set you up. There was a group of people there, and as you cautiously approached, one of them attacked. You suspected they were going to attempt to kidnap you, but you worked faster than them, and you were clearly smarter than them. By the end of the night, you were left with a broken arm, broken nose, swollen lip, black eye, bruised legs… the list goes on and on. You drew a healing rune onto your skin, but it didn’t heal everything, leaving the bruises and swollen lip visible to all. But the others ran away, fucking cowards.

You had finally gotten back to the institute at around 4am. You were exhausted, and your bed was calling your name right now. But there was one thing stopping you. 

“Look who finally decided to come back! Where the hell have you been?” Jace asked, sitting on the edge of your bed. 

The only light in the room came from the moon and a street light outside your window. So he wouldn’t see your injuries until the light was switched on. 

“I, uh… went to see a friend.”

“At this time of night?” He smirked, standing up, “you’re going to get into trouble if I let anyone know you…” suddenly his face dropped, his brows knitted together and his eyes focused on your face, “what’s… what’s this?”

He reaches his hand out, wiping off some of the half-dried blood from your nose, causing you to wince in pain. He examined his now bloody finger in part anger, sadness and disgust. 

“Jace, it’s nothing. I just fell up the stairs!” You try to reason with him, turning so he wouldn’t see you. 

“No. You’re lying to me, y/n. What the fuck happened? Who did this to you?” His voice was now full of just anger, but you knew it wasn’t directed at you. 

You took a deep breath and sat on the edge of your bed. Jace sat beside you, waiting for an answer. 

“Y/n? Who the fuck hurt you? You know I’ll find out one way or another, and when I do I’m going to kill the-”

You interrupted him, bursting into tears as you explained what happened. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest and placing a small, comforting kiss on your forehead. 

“Wait here, I’m going to clean that up for you before I leave.” He says suddenly, referring to your bloody face. He leaves to go his bathroom, collecting his small medical box before returning to you, “since this is basically my fault…” He stands in front of you, towering you as takes your chin in his fingers, lifting your face to look at him, examining the injury so he knew what he had to use from the box before kneeling in front of you.

“It’s not your fault.” You say with a frown, “why would you say that?”

“If we didn’t get into that argument you wouldn’t have left. That’s pretty much what you just told me.” He says, beginning to wipe the blood away, causing you to wince as he wiped over a new bruise, grabbing onto his bicep. 

“Well, when you put it like that…” You say with a chuckle, looking up to meet his eyes. 

He had a soft expression, and his touch was so gentle as he took care of you. When he had finished cleaning your face up, you had to stop yourself from pouting and pulling him back towards you. 

“Thank you.” You say, standing up from your bed. 

“No worries, y/n. Just please don’t sneak out like that again… I was really worried.” He admits, walking to the door, “and I should probably let you know now that whilst you were gone I read your diary…” Your face drops in horror, “only the pages where I saw my name mentioned… if anything, darling, you’re too good for me- oh, and you were right about living with the person you’re crushing on.” He smirked, opening your bedroom door, “but it isn’t fun when they run away in the middle of the night.” 

And the door was shut behind him, leaving you a mixture of happy, confused and also quite mad- the effect that Jace seemed to have on everybody.

[azandsstuff]

soulmate that is not destined to be together

Summary : Yuu already return to their own world while leaving their partner With nothing to remember them. While there was a sudden rumour about a soulmate going around.

A/N : I was reading this while suddenly think about dangerously yours and remember that one Greek myth about soulmate :v

My other work

"Do you know that humans do not always look like this. We used to have one body, 4 hands , 4 legs and 2 heads. Until one day we make god mad and punish us two separate from our other half. After that we are always searching for our soulmate" said some student. "Really, then my soulmate must be from another world since I never found them" reply by other student. "Shut up, dude. We need to go to sir Trein class" said that student while trying to move faster to go to they history class.

What they didn't know was that certain people heard them from all around the corner. Among them all that people who heard them are ...

If that was true then he would wonder if his soulmate is from here. But what does he care about anymore after all the people he is in love with are you and yet you move on so easily.

He remembers during the shooting star event. He asks you a question that the answer still lingers in his mind.

"Look ,(Y/N) . A shooting star!"

"Did you make a wish?"

He asks you while looking at you with a star in his eyes .

"..."

"I don't have time to wish"

You answer with a sad tone.

"Really, What did you wish for?"

"I was wishing that we were two other people who were meant to be together forever and I was wish that I meet you during our childhood so you won't feel lonely anymore"

He remembers the look in your eyes. Your eyes have a sad look but also have a hopeful look in that. Only if he knows how short the story both of you have.

"If I betray you, I betray myself"

"If I betray him, I betray my world"

"My world is very dear to me"

"Dearer than I ?" He asks while looking at you with hopeful eyes.

You answer nothing.

"Dearer than you" you answer his questions while looking straight to his face. He can't believe the answer that comes out of your mouth. After all those months you guys have been together, after a year you guys have met."

If only he knew

...

It has been 2 months since you went back to your own world. Up until today he can't move on from you. He still remembers the word that you give to him before you go back.

"You live a long time yet, (You S/O)"

"An eternity without me?"

"You will look at the face of that passers by hoping for something that will, for an instant, will bring me back to yours"

"You will find the moon at night strangely empty because, when you call my name through them there will be no answer"

"Always your heart be aching for me"

"And your mind will remind you how soulmates never existed in the first place and how your heart will never recover from the fact that I choose to leave you alone instead of staying together with you"

"That's how broken your heart are, trying to forget our memories together"

If only he knew how true those words are then he will wish that he never fall in love with you in the first place. And now he left with nothing to remember you. Not a single thing but his memory of both of you when you guys are together.

Past forward a few days later, there a strange rumour at school about a soulmate. But how does he care when the person he wants to be with forever is already gone and choosing their own world than him.

Until Crowley decided to show a mirror that whoever looked into the mirror could see their soulmate. He tested it. To see if his soulmate here perhaps he can move on from you and perhaps he can look forward to be with a 'new soulmate' he can fall in love.

Oh...

How weak he leg is when his saw who that mirror shows who his soulmate is. Of course it is none other than you who he sees in that mirror. How tears fall immediately from his face seeing you there. Oh, how he wishes he can turn back time just once and make you stay with him. And perhaps if he shows you this then perhaps you can stay together with him. And then he sees the mirror start to show some sort of memories being replayed of you and a certain someone.

"Tell him the truth?"

That other person nod.

"Tell him the truth so that he will watch the star through tears?"

"Instead of following the one cold star that hid destiny?"

You ask that to another person who is beside you. To only answer with simple nods.

"No ... No I can't do that"

"Perhaps I let him think that I never loved him"

"Or let him think that I never love him from a start and make sure he hates me with full might when I leave from this place"

"So perhaps when I go he moves on better and lives a normal life again without remember me"

It stops. Video or the memory that play from the mirror stop.

Oh, how cruel are you leaving him like this. Leaving him thinking that you never love him from a start thinking and how cruel of you that you decided that the best way to walk off from his life like that.

Oh, how cruel of you.

...

Fast forward to a few more days.

(At Ramshackle Dorm)

Here lies all both of your memories together and here also lies you beloved monster who is already gone from this world. Perhaps that monster is too scared to live alone and decide that following you to the afterlife is better. At his grave he lies a bouquet of yellow roses to symbolise their friendship. On the other hand, near the monster grave he lies a bouquet of carnations. There are many colourful carnations in that bouquet.

Pink in that symbol gratitude for you.

White in that symbol pure love and how lucky he is to have you.

Dark red is how affected he is with your love that you give to him.

Meanwhile light red in that show how he admired you from the moment both of your eyes meet from eyes to eyes.

But there is also Yellow in that to show how disappointed he is when you choose your world over him and how the fact you reject.

Oh, if only you choose him over that world of yours. And perhaps he can understand you better.

[woltourney]

ROUND 3 / SIDE A / POLL 4

Galvin Foixewesfv (@elizabethrobertajones) v. Eisha Pantera (@umbralaether)

Galvin Foixewesfv:

q. What is your WoL name and pronouns? a. Galvin Foixewesfv

q. What is your WoL's species? a. viera

q. What is your WoL's class? Or classes? a. Black Mage, Summoner, Reaper

q. What data centre/server are you on, if you want people to find you? a. Goblin (have been in alliance roulette with other Galvins this is very important)

q. Tell us a bit about your WoL! a. A forest prince, eighth child with seven sisters, Galvin felt spare and at odds with his family as he became fascinated with dark magic after early encounters with voidsent that left him confused about their true monstrous nature. As he grew up and realised he was a rare son and due a life as a roaming forest warder and trophy husband, he felt too nerdy and bad at climbing trees for one and too gay for the other. After less than a year training with the other men of the forest and sensing they were growing sick of his poor aim with a bow and weedy lance arm, he slipped away in the night, travelled by boat to Limsa, and devoted himself to learning the forbidden maths of true magic. Drawn by the calling of the Echo, he joined the Scions on a whim despite having been warned by his eldest sister he was extremely susceptible to falling prey to a cult some day, and it was with much relief he realised they were not evil so his next letter home would not be met with a furious rescue party of dozens of furious armed viera storming the Waking Sands. He then picked up thaumaturgy and found one of his true loves. The other was teasing Urianger from across the Waking Sands, and flustering the shy elezen. Somehow, this has turned into a loving and stable relationship, mostly because they make up each other's deficits in a perfect puzzle piece joining and not because they are much alike, book learning aside. Though clumsy, brash and frequently knocked down, his determination to not be anything he once dreaded about his fate and to carve his idiosyncratic path, his raw stubborness got him through every trial thrown at the WoL. Barely. The only rules: always take them on as black mage and never give in and take the easy path (ooc: hit the 'very easy' button the trial is begging me to do by take 8) His witchcraft and void lore honed, he stumbled into the art of the reaper, and formed a pact with the voidsent he had felt himself bound to since youth, a keening sad creature that aimlessly wandered and wailed; these cries having once pierced his heart, he found it easy to reach out and make the connection once more, and binding the voidsent to his purpose, it found direction and he found a combat art that he excelled at - provided you allow that it's really the voidsent doing all the work lifting that heavy scythe, and Galvin is merely casting the spells. Having surmounted the main story, he retired immediately to the island farm, and spends his time pulling turnips and lazing about, often with Urianger at his side, and it is important to say, for Galvin, achieving doing nothing at all is in itself the most incredible achievement for a lifelong avoider of - well, everything - who crawled and moaned and complained and fussed so hard to get there.

q. Why should YOU win? (Answer IC!) a. I have never, ever won anything in my life, and I think I should be allowed just one. Please.

q. Anything else you wanna add? a. =:{)> moustache bnuuy

Eisha Pantera:

q. What is your WoL name and pronouns? a. Eisha Pantera, she/her

q. What is your WoL's species? a. Female Keeper of the Moon Miqo’te

q. What is your WoL's class? Or classes? a. Astrologian, Summoner, Reaper

q. What data centre/server are you on, if you want people to find you? a. Aether DC, Midgardsormr

q. Tell us a bit about your WoL! a. She’s been a part of more adventures than the ones told in storybooks— and she never asked for any of it. Even with the odds stacked against her, she’s somehow made it this far. Perhaps plucked by fate and sent off in pursuit of glory, or perhaps she’s just lucky. Either way, she’s had her taste of fame and would really just like to be obligation-free, for once.

q. Why should YOU win? (Answer IC!) a. “Why shouldn’t I win? Not even the Twelve could beat me, after all.”

[etruatcaelum]

Summer stings, she’ll admit that to herself if no one else, even as old habit digs itself out from a shallow grave to strangle the flinch and keep the hurt off her face. “I was,” she says, and slaps down the nervous impulse to say that she’s not one of the few who can come back from the dead so she’d have to be alive the whole time—time and a place for jokes.

How hard it’s been. She hoped—but the edge in Yang’s tone says everything, a bladed snap trying hard not to be so sharp, and hindsight makes it all feel more like wishful thinking.

“I don’t know.” It’s quiet. Summer thumbs her eyes, mind whirling. “I thought–”

There had been a caustic bite to the way Yang repeated a long story, and from that alone she guesses the girls were raised on secrets and lies. Her blood might boil, if she let herself think too hard about it.

She shakes her head, swallows hard, looking up again. “I’m sorry. I should have—I…” should have stayed, should have been there, should have found a way to carry it all for you. Summer’s gaze shifts to the cabin behind Yang, like the looming den of a monster she couldn’t defeat, and then flits back to her face. “I left,” she says, voice small, “because I thought I was going to die and I wanted to– to make it count. Um. I went after the oldest grimm in the world, alone—stupid—but, I– um. She’s a person.”

Gods help her. It’s impossible to explain without sounding like a lunatic. Summer inhales, hands twitching upward to clasp over her stomach.

“…Salem. Is her name.” Her eyes are bright, intent on Yang’s face, alert for any shadow of recognition. “That’s where I’ve been. I- I should have come back for you and Ruby once I—I’m sorry. For leaving, for…” Shoulders drooping, she concludes rather pitifully: “Everything.”

yang realizes her eyes are trained on summer without truly seeing her. ( for a moment, she's scared the woman will fizzle out of her vision, leaving her—— alone in the clearing. she's already so tired of being haunted by her mothers, she thinks she's relieved this one is real. ) she exhales, a fragile sound, shaking her head as she tries to think of something, anything to say. ❝ a long story? ❞ she's grown up on that phrase, this is nothing new. ❝ more like ten years overdue. you're—— ❞

she tries to bite down on the surge of pain and anger. ❝ mom ... summer. ❞ that name sounds foreign, foreign, on her tongue. but what does she call her, now? summer was always mom, in ways that yang's real mom never could be, but mom died years ago; she doesn't get to come back like this. yang feels herself tear up and leashes that even tighter—— holds onto it tight with the frustration in her gut—— bites her lip hard enough to bleed because—— SHE DOESN'T GET TO COME BACK LIKE THIS.

( she doesn't get to see yang cry. )

❝ you were alive this whole time, and yet you—— you were—— do you know how hard it's been? for us? for me? ❞

[theowritesstuff]

Okay so I’ll admit I haven’t seen the entire movie (American Werewolf in London) but your post gave me an idea of Werewolf!Steve faking being an injured wolf looking for help and only allowing Reader to help.

- 🐉

Please send me werewolf!Steve thoughts

The movie was so good, v sad ending but so good

Omg I’ve literally thought about this!!

Warnings: mentions of scars

So in the movie David is super hostile to others while he’s in his werewolf form that’s why it’s a horror movie And what if werewolf Steve was the same? Like the werewolf part of him has taken control and he isn’t really aware of what he’s doing, so anyone that tries to get anywhere near him ends up hurt. But one night he’s the one who’s hurt and you find him and attempt to help him with his wounds.

He growls at you at first, but once you start actually helping him, he’s no longer growling, maybe just whining from the pain. You take him home and let him sleep at the foot of your bed.

When Steve wakes up completely naked the next morning he’s confused, and panics when he sees you. He leaves while you’re still sleeping, hoping to not get caught. Needless to say, you start to find the same wolf hanging around your house every full moon.

Now if werewolf Steve is craving attention, he’s absolutely going to fake an injury. He’ll do something like walk with one paw lifted from the ground, or whine and keep his ears down, just so you’ll spend some time caring for him.

And now that I’ve written all of that and re-read what you wrote, I actually understand what you said, sorry I just got excited about werewolf Steve

Let’s say that Steve knows you, and you know Steve, but you don’t know about his furry little problem.

Steve tries his best to stay hidden during the full moon, but sometimes hunters like to go out at night in Hawkins, and when they see what looks like a large wolf they try to get it.

Steve had a close run in with a hunter, nothing too major, but he did get injured from having to speed through the woods. He’s tired, and knows that when he wakes up in the morning as himself again, his injuries are going to be a pain to deal with.

He goes to your house, knowing that you won’t hurt him, softly pawing at your door, hoping your neighbors don’t spot him.

When you open up, your heart breaks just a little bit. Standing on your doorstep is a large wolf, beautiful brown fur, and chocolate eyes that can’t seem to stay open for very long. You slowly reach out and pet the wolf. It leans into your touch, nestling it’s head in your hand.

You bring the wolf inside, and gather things to help clean it’s wounds. Once you’ve finished, it falls asleep on your floor only drooling a little bit.

The next morning Steve wakes up and sneaks back out of your house, silently thanking god that you helped him, and thinking of ways to hide the new scars on his body.

[etruatcaelum]

[ @sustraing // for cinder ]

The very quiet knock makes her tense, hunching over with teeth clenched to cage another wheeze. Cinder doesn’t… want company, not like this, not right now. Her hand goes to the fissure where waxy burns and discolored skin meet scabrous black flesh; gripping hard.

She drags herself upright, exhaling shakily. Everything is fine. Her abysmal failure to—how had Salem put it? make it dread you—is only temporary. She will claw her way forward through this pain and master it in the end, make it hers, and what feels like a humiliating struggle now will turn to pride in the fruit of her perseverance.

Cinder breathes in, and out, and then rasps, “Come in.” Her voice, at least, is better—even if still raw-edged and sore. Not being able to speak except in that fragile, gasping whisper had made everything so much worse.

She settles back in her chair, glancing over as Emerald slips inside. Lifts her remaining eyebrow, as imperious as she can be when she’s pouring every ounce of her willpower into stopping herself from shivering. There’s cold sweat beading on her brow. Cinder knows damn well she’s not fooling anyone.

“…Did you need something?”

[agentrouka-blog]

Do you think we will see any further interactions between Sansa and Harry in TWOW?

Yes. Nothing much is gained by pretending their single interaction is enough to resolve that plotpoint from Sansa's POV, no matter which direction it would go.

Ser Hugh's death at the Tourney of the Hand is given too much very specific and peculiar focus not to foreshadow Sansa's relationship with Harry.

The most terrifying moment of the day came during Ser Gregor's second joust, when his lance rode up and struck a young knight from the Vale under the gorget with such force that it drove through his throat, killing him instantly. The youth fell not ten feet from where Sansa was seated. The point of Ser Gregor's lance had snapped off in his neck, and his life's blood flowed out in slow pulses, each weaker than the one before. His armor was shiny new; a bright streak of fire ran down his outstretched arm, as the steel caught the light. Then the sun went behind a cloud, and it was gone. His cloak was blue, the color of the sky on a clear summer's day, trimmed with a border of crescent moons, but as his blood seeped into it, the cloth darkened and the moons turned red, one by one.

Jeyne Poole wept so hysterically that Septa Mordane finally took her off to regain her composure, but Sansa sat with her hands folded in her lap, watching with a strange fascination. She had never seen a man die before. She ought to be crying too, she thought, but the tears would not come. Perhaps she had used up all her tears for Lady and Bran. It would be different if it had been Jory or Ser Rodrik or Father, she told herself. The young knight in the blue cloak was nothing to her, some stranger from the Vale of Arryn whose name she had forgotten as soon as she heard it. And now the world would forget his name too, Sansa realized; there would be no songs sung for him. That was sad. (AGOT, Sansa II)

I think Harry's role in Sansa's arc is meant to shake her out of the mild complacance she is clinging to over what war means.

She knows better.

The women were wives, daughters, mothers, and sisters. Their men had gone out to fight Lord Stannis. Many would not return. The air was heavy with the knowledge. (...)

She sang for her mother and her father, for her grandfather Lord Hoster and her uncle Edmure Tully, for her friend Jeyne Poole, for old drunken King Robert, for Septa Mordane and Ser Dontos and Jory Cassel and Maester Luwin, for all the brave knights and soldiers who would die today, and for the children and the wives who would mourn them, and finally, toward the end, she even sang for Tyrion the Imp and for the Hound. (ACOK, Sansa V)

"Men must be very brave, though," said Sansa. "To ride out and face swords and axes, everyone trying to kill you . . ." (ACOK, Sansa VI)

Littlefinger's supposed plan of letting Harry win back her birthright means exactly that, it means war and fighting and dying for the knights and soldiers, and mourning for their women and children.

Sansa has spent a lot of time planning a lavish tourney for Sweetrobin, but she hasn't spent a lot of time thinking about what is supposed to happen later.

A few moments later and the big man sprawled dazed in the dust with his helm askew. When his squire undid the fastenings to bare his head, there was blood trickling down his scalp. If the swords had not been blunted, there would be brains as well. That last head blow had been so hard Alayne had winced in sympathy when it fell. (TWOW, Alayne)

So it's likely that these words will come back to haunt her in a way that isn't related to the tourney itself, but to the kind of fighting that is serious.

And may your horse stumble, Harry the Heir, so you fall on your stupid head in your first tilt. 

And it will make her make her think much harder before she ever asks men to fight wars for her.

Because no matter how rude, Harry is not a bad man. And his story will end far too soon. And no one will sing songs about it. But someone will mourn him:

 "I have heard that you are about to be a father." It was not something most girls would say to their almost-betrothed, but she wanted to see if Ser Harrold would lie.

"For the second time. My daughter Alys is two years old."

Sansa will have to remember that. Forever.