#i've been really looking forward to this one

[zephyrchama]

We know there's cooking duty, and trash duty, and various cleaning duties that the brothers rotate who's in charge of. They take turns shopping for groceries. When MC becomes their attendant in Nightbrighter, some of these chores are foisted onto them.

Is there a laundry duty? Does MC have to do everybody's laundry? Does Asmodeus keep buying more and more outrageous underwear to leave on top of his laundry so he can tease MC?

---

“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Whaddya think you’re doin’?”

Mammon walked into his room and caught you red-handed with a pair of his yellow briefs. He nearly flew across the room to snatch them out of your hand.

“Uh, the laundry?” You gestured to a basket of Mammon’s dirty clothes that had been collected from all over. “This would be easier for me if you left it in one place. Getting all of your stuff every week is like a scavenger hunt.”

Mammon threw the dirty briefs over his shoulder. They landed somewhere on the opposite side of the room for you to find again later. You looked at him in exasperation while reaching for a pair of crumpled-up jeans. His face had a rosy tint.

“Why are you doing the laundry?” he demanded.

“Because it’s my job as your attendant,” you answered.

“Wh-? Like, just this week?”

“I’ve been doing your laundry for the last three months, Mammon.”

He craned his neck forward in shock and waited a beat, as if you would say psyche. It’s not that Mammon couldn’t understand you, but this was new information he did not want to process. A hand rose to his forehead, sliding upwards as he pushed in frustration. “Well... cut it out! You look like a pervert. How would you like it if I did your laundry, huh?”

That’d be nice. “Could you, please? That would be great. I don’t have a day to do my own wash, given there’s seven of you and only seven days in a week.” Chores, RAD duties, and devilsitting took up every waking moment.

Mammon sighed and ruffled his hair. He muttered, “Seven…" In an instant, his attention snapped back to you.

"Seven? You’re doin’ everyone’s laundry?” he shouted.

You were ready to pull his jacket off yourself if he wouldn't cooperate. “Yes! And I’m short on time so just give me your dirty clothes!”

--

You cracked the door open ever so slightly. Leviathan was preoccupied with a game at his desktop, the back of his chair pointed at the door. The chair shook from the intensity with which he smacked the controller. Now was the perfect time. With the goal of being as quiet as possible, you crept into Leviathan’s room and made a beeline for his laundry hamper.

“Dooooooooooon’t touch those!” The pitch of his voice rose and fell impressively as Leviathan jumped and scrambled across the tile on all fours to physically block you from the laundry. Did he see your reflection in the monitor? His headphone cord popped out of the PC, its headpiece falling down to tug at his neck, and the gaming controller clattered to the floor. Leviathan slid in between you and his laundry basket like an athlete safely sliding onto a base.

In contrast, you just stood there wide-eyed with a tub of detergent in one hand.

Leviathan stammered a few times, realizing he might have overreacted. “So, uh. You see, Mammon gave us all an earful for letting you touch our clothes,” he explained. “He clearly didn’t listen when Lucifer told us you were doing it.”

“Oh, and you knew? Good job, Levi!"

You both smiled, Leviathan chuckled bashfully at the praise.

"Now give me your laundry.”

His face fell.

“No, wait! I knew you were doing it! But… you know, I never really thought about it. And for once, I think Mammon has a point. So, please!” Leviathan pressed his hands to the floor and bowed his head to the ground. A pose he learned from anime. “I’ll do my own laundry from now on! Just don’t touch it anymore!”

“Why? I've always been careful, I check the tags on your shirts so the colors don't bleed.” All of the brothers' clothes had insanely specific washing instructions. Compared to laundering suit jackets and leather and silk, colorful graphic t-shirts were a walk in the park.

Leviathan did not budge. "That's true. Still, I have dignity that must be protected!"

---

Beelzebub goes through almost twice the amount of clothes that his brothers do due to his regular workouts. Thankfully, he helps you carry them all to the laundry room so you're not struggling alone.

Beelzebub already had everything neatly sorted into two baskets - regular clothes and workout clothes. They were all ready to go when you showed up for the weekly collection. He let you take the lighter one.

Before the two of you left the bedroom, Belphegor called out, "are you doing laundry?" His head lolled over the side of his bed.

"Yeah, do you need anything washed right now? You can put it in with mine," Beelzebub kindly offered.

Belphegor wormed to the edge of his bed and picked up an empty pillow case. "I drooled on this and stuff. Can you take care of it?"

"Sure," you said. "Pass it over."

Getting up was far too much work. Instead, Belphegor loosely balled up the pillow case. With the world's laziest throw, he tossed it in your direction. It managed to sail through the air. It smacked the side of your head and landed on your shoulder.

"Thanks," Belphegor yawned, having already turned his back to you and Beelzebub.

[nipuni]

Nipuniiii!

Did you see the new drops for Dragon Age?! How are you feelinggggg

Hello, I did!! All the news caught me in the middle of a migraine episode that I'm just starting to recover from so I've been just watching and liking the posts I find but I'm excited!!

The game looks really good. The stylization and tonal shift of the first trailer was odd but it looks great in game honestly. It made me so nostalgic for Inquisition. Solas looks amazing and exactly how I was hoping he would!! The Tarot cards are back and all the companions look fantastic. Everyone looks so fun to draw which very important to me!! I love Emmrich already. I heard the character creator is very extensive and that you have to create your Inquisitor in it too and I like the implications of that. The prologue looks like it mirrors Inquisition's almost exactly. I'm already seeing parallels and symbolism everywhere I'm pulling out some red string and pins for my cork board as we speak.

The combat looks fluid enough, the environments have a lot of verticality and grandeur to them that I enjoy, the fashion is amazing, the offline and more linear playstyle sounds promising, the facial animations look terrible but the hair looks impressive. As for the story, it looks like it's going the way I hoped it would! The prologue had a lot of awkward overly expository dialogue but it's understandable given the circumstances I suppose. I know we were all expecting the Evanuris to be released and the Veil to fall in this game but it happening in the prologue took me by surprise lmao. Rook just immediately making everything worse five minutes into the game is so funny to me.

The scope of everything and the amount of locations and factions seems so ambitious. I have to wonder what really happened during production because at one point it really seemed like Bioware was going up in flames and half the team was fired and now people are talking about how amazing an experience this was and how it was the best team they have ever worked with and I'm so confused. I guess it's not long now until we find out.

The game looks bigger than ever, so I'm excited and a bit apprehensive. I'm hoping for the best and I look forward to it!! 🥰

[kinardbuckleys]

The first time Buck spends a weekend at Tommy's, he asks for a full tour of every little corner of the house. They're both full from dinner, maybe just this side of wine drunk, and Buck can't stop pulling Tommy along to different areas of the house and asking about them even though he wanted Tommy to show him. Like oh, what's this little shelf ornament from? Why this painting over the dining table? You're a fan of Klimt? Who is that? (filing that away for a future research binge) Etc. Things get heated because Buck is so charmed by Tommy's house being so quaint, and maybe he pushes Tommy against the dresser where he'd been clearing things out. A box falls off and things go everywhere. Buck laughs an apology and gets down to clean up the mess, and thank god he's already kneeling because he finds a picture of Tommy from the army. Young and stoic and in fatigues with a bunch of team mates, and he looks so beautiful the bad lighting of the photo Buck would have gone weak in the knees. There are dog tags too, and letters. A few half shoved into envelopes without addresses. Some with addresses but without stamps. Buck tries so carefully to place everything back, and when he turns around Tommy's standing frozen and a little pale. Buck gently places the box on the dresser, grabs Tommy's hand and asks 'Do you want to tell me about it? Them, you?' as softly as he can. Tommy's mouth is a thin line and he starts shaking his head in such a small gesture it's barely there, blinking rapidly to fight the wetness that has gathered at the corners. His hand is slack in Buck's grip, but his shoulders are hitched up and tense. 'I was-' he starts. Swallows. Tries again. 'I was gonna throw it out' he admits through a murmur and his gaze cast on the floor. Buck searches for it. 'Why?' Slight squeeze to his hand, hoping it feels reassuring rather than prompting. 'Because I want to forget him. Me... then'. Oh. Buck nods, a slight tug to lead them toward the bed. Tommy follows and they sit down, one leg bent onto the bed and one foot on the floor, mirroring each other. 'I would like to know him. If you'd let me. The you, back then'. Tommy looks up at him, eyes concerned and wide. 'Why? I... I was horrible'. Buck shrugs. 'I've been horrible from time to time, ask my team. Hell, ask my sister'. Tommy frowns. 'Hopefully not like I was'. Buck: 'We won't know if you won't tell me, but you don't have to'. And Tommy takes a moment, hmpfs a little and frowning even more. 'But... why?' And Buck shrugs again, smiles and suddenly feels a little shy. 'Because the guy you were back then... is still part of you. Even if you were a completely different person then, he's still part of what's made you, you now. And I happen to really, really like you' he explains, feeling ridiculous and cheesy. But Tommy's shoulders drop ever so slightly, and Buck grows a little bolder for it, letting his free hand cradle Tommy's jaw. 'I want to know all of you' he whispers into the space between them. And that seems to be the thing that lets Tommy deflate, release the breath he was holding. He pitches forward to place his forehead to Buck's, sighing a little as he goes. 'Not... not tonight' he says. Buck simply nods. 'But, soon. Maybe. Some day'. A second or so of silence, and then Buck leans back to look into his eyes, can't help the little smile that's still playing on his lips. It might not have been how he expected the night to go, but it gave him a glimpse into Tommy's being. The history of him and all the intricate patterns in the nooks and crannies that come with the tapestry of who a person was before you entered. Buck wants to trace all of it with his fingers until he knows every stitch by heart. He kisses Tommy's nose, making sure both hands are holding him fully. Looks into his eyes and says 'Some day' before letting their lips meet. Lets Tommy set the pace, but still giving as much as he can to convey that the some day, no matter how far away is a promise he intends to stick around for, and he hopes Tommy does the same.

[silverskye13]

I vaguely remember something about Helsknight going to confessions? I’m interested as to why and what he confesses to :3

Hi, this has been in my inbox for a hot minute, but it got me thinking, and I kept thinking so. Have a snippet.

_____________________

Please read the tags for the TW list!

_____________________

The Confession room for the followers of the Saint of Blood and Steel was exactly the same room they trained and dueled in. The only difference was, at a certain time of day, on two specific days of the week, there was a little white sign on the doors that said "Confession Open." There was almost always a line. Only one person was allowed in the confessional at a time. There was no law or order or rule that dictated everyone wait in silence, but there was something particularly embarrassing humbling about standing in a line of armed and armored knights, all waiting patiently for god to slap them on the wrist.

The door opened. A knight exited with her head held high, though Helsknight noticed she clutched her arm a little too close to her body. She walked past the line down the hall, to the little room on the left where the pleasant and somewhat dissonant smell of baked goods warmed the air. The line shuffled forward a step.

The wait was long, and awkward, occasionally broken by stilted small talk, and the lethal sounds of mail and blade, and the scuffing of boots. Helsknight had gotten into the habit of bringing something to read while he waited. It gave him a good excuse not to make prolonged eye-contact with anyone, and he had grown bored of making shapes out of the mosaic tiles ages ago. He could only look at the same repeating pattern so many times before he realized they all looked vaguely like a dog lifting a leg to pee, and thinking about bodily functions while waiting in a long line was a great way to convince himself to leave the line. Then the chances of him getting home in a timely manner after his confession [or really going to confession at all] dropped exponentially.

The door opened. A young knight limped two steps down the hall before a priest, waiting at a nearby bench for expressly this purpose, dashed over and put the knight's arm around his shoulders. The knight muttered a wincing thanks, and together they limped down the hall to that same, sweet-smelling room. As soon as they turned the corner out of the main hall, the knight let out a loud curse, and there was the heavy sound of someone collapsing into a convenient chair. The line shuffled forward a step.

A twitchy squire standing in line in front of Helsknight stared at the door wide-eyed, and then forward to the confessional sign, which they regarded with the same blatant fear as someone confronting their own noose. Helsknight looked down at the little book he was holding, sighed, and decided to show a little mercy. He was at confession, after all.

"The Saint isn't cruel," Helsknight told them softly, and just the sound of his voice startled them nearly out of their boots. "Whatever your penance is, it will never be beyond your means."

The squire flashed him what was probably supposed to be a nervous smile, but which looked a lot more like a grimace. "What if I've fucked up really badly?"

Someone in the line coughed inconspicuously. Someone else cleared their throat. Helsknight fixed the young squire with a measuring gaze, and came to the conclusion this nervy kid had probably never "fucked up really badly" a day in their life. Though he supposed he'd been wrong before.

"You could start your penance early," Helsknight said, reigning in his sarcasm as much as physically possible, "by maybe not swearing in church."

The inconspicuous cougher down the line let out a much more conspicuous snort. The squire clapped their hands over their mouth and stared up at him in horror. Helsknight sighed and pinched the space between his eyes.

"Swearing isn't against our tenets."

The hallway murmured into a soft chorus of "Amens" and "Praise the gods" and one particularly ambitious "thank fuck." A few of the knights signed various salutes and benedictions to the Saint. The squire visibly relaxed.

"It's respectful not to," Helsknight continued after the murmured din died down. "Show the Saint your contrition by respecting Their home. Is your sword sharp?"

The squire seemed a bit taken aback by this sudden change in conversation topic. They unsheathed their sword a bit, showing a dull iron blade. "Uhm... it could stand to be sharper."

"You bring your kit with you?"

The squire sighed and rolled their eyes, more from disappointment at a new chore than any real defiance. They unsheathed their sword, dropped a large messenger bag off their shoulder, and started rifling through their things. The air was soon filled with the sound of whetstone on blade. Someone behind Helsknight tapped him on the shoulder. She pointed to the squire, then to Helsknight, and offered an approving thumbs-up. Good job on distracting the scared kid. Helsknight shrugged and held out his book, flashing the title in her direction. Everyone needs a distraction in this stupid line. She rolled her eyes, tell me about it, and moved her cloak to the side, showing off a little satchel with what looked to be art supplies. Helsknight smirked.

The door opened. A knight came striding out, running a stressed hand through his hair. He started to walk past the little door at the end of the hall, but a priest came dashing out to stop him before he could make it too far. They whispered amongst each other for a moment, heads bowed close together to keep their conversation private. The priest looped a consoling arm around the knight's shoulder, and together they walked slowly into the little room. The line shuffled forward a step.

No one ever stayed inside the confessional for long. Fifteen minutes, twenty. Once or twice someone dipped closer to a half hour. Then the door would open, and the line would shuffle. Helsknight had made it through about a chapter and a half of his book [an epic poem about the deeds of one of the Saint's paladins. He brought it to keep himself in a "contrite mood", whatever the hels that was] when finally it was the squire's turn to step inside. They bundled up their gear, offered Helsknight their bravest grimace-that-was-probably-a-smile, and walked inside.

The knight behind him asked politely, "Is that your squire?"

"No."

"Ah. Just being nice then?"

Helsknight offered an indifferent shrug. "It's everyone's first confession once."

She turned this somewhat nonsensical statement over for a moment, shrugged her agreement, and went back to sketching.

Time passed. The squire exited the doors with a relieved look on their face, though they clutched their right hand beneath their arm as though afraid to look at it. Helsknight sighed, closed his book, and stepped inside. The door closed behind him with a heavy click.

The room wasn't so much dark as it was simply not as bright as the hallway outside. Beside the door was a small table, and Helsknight turned and made use of it, setting down his book, then unbuttoning his tabard. He knew whoever was taking his confession today would be nearby, ready to help him doff any armor, but he wore mail today specifically so he could slip it on and off, without having to worry about all the buckles and clips that came with chest plates and grieves. When he'd relieved himself of everything he wore or carried, besides his leggings and his unsheathed sword, he walked towards the center of the fighting ring.

A knight in full plate stood in the ring's center, a great sword planted tip-down into the dirt between their feet. The sword was simple steel, as was the armor. No enchantment or ornamentation decorated the surface. There was no plume on the closed helm. They were the image of the Saint, an unremarkable warrior, all silent strength.

Helsknight knelt at their feet, laying his sword gently between them. He sighed out a long breath.

"I come to the Saint to be shriven," Helsknight said as deferentially as he could, in the face of an often repeated task. "By Their steel, and by my blood."

The confessor nodded. "Speak your confession, brother."

Helsknight winced, and barely stifled a groan. "It's always you, isn't it, Blade?"

The confessor let out a heavy sigh. "Come on man, this is supposed to be anonymous."

"Not my fault you talk like that."

"Heh? Talk like what?"

"Exactly."

The two fell into awkward silence, Helsknight probably much more awkward than Blade. He took a bracing breath.

"I... Come to confess the sin of Wrath."

There was a long pause.

"Again."

"This is normally where I ask what you did, and why," Blade said witheringly, "but it was plastered all over the broadsheets this morning."

Helsknight pinched the space between his eyes.

"If it makes you feel any better, I gotta agree with the West Side Tabloid. He had it coming." Blade said, leaning a little too nonchalantly on his greatsword. "You don't just call someone a coward like that. It's violence theater. If you bring real honor into it, you're begging for trouble."

"I... Agree."

"So, you lashed out in anger and got blood all over the nice Colosseum sand." Blade continued. "You lost your temper, but you were defending your honor. And I wouldn't even call it all that cruel. It's not like you tortured him or anything."

"Am I being pardoned?"

"Depends," Blade said, in a casual tone that suddenly didn't seem wholly his own. "Where else have you vented your Wrath, brother?"

Helsknight licked his teeth, as though he expected them to taste like blood. "I... attacked a thief today. He stole from me, and I was in my right to defend that."

"But you harmed him past self defense," Blade prompted, when the silence stretched long.

"If he hadn't escaped me, I would have." Helsknight paused, and added. "I had wanted to."

"Wanting isn't the same as doing," Blade offered charitably.

"I would not have stopped myself."

"Has Wrath consumed your life in any other ways, brother?"

"My hermit."

Blade nodded solemnly.

"We fought recently. I won. It was unprovoked. I was having a bad morning, and I needed -- I wanted to take it out on him. So I did."

"Have you asked forgiveness from the people you've harmed, in your sin of Wrath, brother?"

"No."

"Have you attempted any restitution?"

"No."

Very suddenly, the greatsword in Blade's hand was sheathed in red. It was light, bright and scouring, and it filled the air with the taste of blood. Even knowing it would happen, Helsknight flinched at the sight of it. His hair stood on end, and the air seemed charged, like the breath before a lightning strike. The Saint, alive and present, glimpsed for a moment through Blade. The confessor-turned-paladin tilted his head back slightly, and Helsknight knew if his face weren't covered in the helm, his eyes would be red, brimming with bloody tears.

In a voice that was Blade's, and something past him, empowered by faith, brutal and scouring, the Saint said, "Stand, and pick up your sword."

Helsknight did as he was bidden. His heart fluttered a little too fast in his chest, and while his hands did not shake, they felt near to it, unsteady. Helsknight was one of the best fighters to have ever crossed the Saint of Blood and Steel's threshold. If he were simply fighting Blade, there was a decent chance he'd win, though Blade had been his match many times before.

He was not only fighting Blade, though.

"As a knight of the Saint's order," Blade and the glimpse of the Saint beneath said, "you swore to uphold Their tenets, even in the face of great adversity. By raising your sword, not in Their wrath, but your own, you break that tenet."

Blade let out a breath, like someone barely keeping their head above water. Helsknight wondered if that was what being a paladin in the service of a Saint felt like: held under water, drowning under divine will.

"Yet Their order teaches that even the Saint is fallible, and once, Their will was driven, not by divine purpose, but by reckless bloodshed. As They were once challenged, now They challenge you. Do you accept?"

Helsknight didn't have to accept. This part had been emphasized a lot when he joined and took his first confession. Anyone was allowed to deny the Saint's trial and simply accept their penance. The penance wouldn't change. There was no incentive for, or against, besides maybe his own personal need to prove he really was in the wrong. Maybe it was pride made him accept every time. Maybe it was spite. Or, maybe, it was simply the need to punish himself for the lack of control he felt.

Solemnly, Helsknight nodded.

"Then Pick Up Your Sword, and Smite Me."

That was all the warning Helsknight was given. Blade, or the Saint, or the Saint's Will, or all three together, lunged.

It did not take long. By the third swing, Helsknight's blade was sent crashing from his hand, though he met the Saint's blade with all the strength and mastery he could muster. Losing to the Saint was an indescribable thing. It wasn't like losing a match in the Colosseum, or like losing a duel against Blade when they sparred. It was like an ant scratching at the heels of a giant, a kitten swatted aside by the massive claws of a dragon. If he swung his sword at a wall, at least there was the smallest chance the stone would chip. There was no chance in this. There was only the token effort of the attempt, one clash, then two, then three, and then his sword was gone from his hand. Blade slammed a palm into his chest, and Helsknight was on his back, gasping for breath, having crumpled so quickly he hardly had time to register he was watching the ceiling.

"By the divine right of contest, brother, Their will is done," Blade, The Saint, both and neither, said. Helsknight laid on his back and waited, catching his breath. "Hold out your sword hand."

A jolt of fear lanced through Helsknight then. He hated, he feared, hand wounds. It was an odd folly of his that he'd never been able to shake. Blade knew it. The Saint probably knew it. It felt unfair to punish him with it, or cruel.

Helsknight closed his eyes, and he stared down the scared little squire in his head.

[The Saint isn't cruel. Whatever your penance is, it won't be beyond your means.]

And then, for good measure, as he offered his right hand forward, [you deserve this.]

The cut was quick and clean. The blade was supernaturally sharp. The wound took time to hurt. Still, Helsknight's head spun. His breath came too quickly in his chest. Blade had to repeat himself twice when he asked for Helsknight's other hand. Then his vision tilted more, stars blooming in burst around his peripherals, edged in black.

When he found himself again, Blade had carried him to the table and rested him there, and stood bandaging his hands. His own hands were shaking, every shudder sending a jolt through Helsknight's arm. Helsknight turned this observation over distantly, curious in the way of the desperate, clinging to small details to better make sense of the world. Blade didn't normally shake when they did these sessions. Maybe he, too, had objected to wounding Helsknight's hands.

"Sorry... About that," Blade stammered hoarsely. "It's... You haven't made restitution. And it's a problem you keep having."

Helsknight didn't trust himself to speak, so he nodded.

"It's not bad," Blade said, trying to reassure both of them. "No muscles or tendons or anything. It was just a lot of blood."

"Yes," Helsknight said airily, still a little too unrecovered to explain the blood hadn't been the problem. Not really. Not that it needed explaining.

"Go see the priests down the hall," Blade informed him needlessly. "You need stitches, especially near the veins on your wrists. They need to heal naturally. Over time, as penance for your Wrath. You may lessen your time through acts of service to the church, if you so choose."

Helsknight nodded.

"Do you need help walking?"

Helsknight blinked slowly, his sluggish, shocked mind slowly crawling to life.

"Helsknight," Blade said, putting a still-gauntleted hand against his face. The cold metal felt good against his feverish skin. "Are you hearing me?"

"I hear you," Helsknight said, ashamed of how weak and small his voice sounded. "I need help with my mail.'

"Maybe we should make sure you can walk first?"

"Every other knight walks into this room and back out again fine," Helsknight said, his pride slowly crawling to life in his chest. "I just... I just need some help."

Blade, as much as a man obscured by a full suit of armor could, looked relieved. He nodded, and after a few moments of coddling, they managed to get Helsknight on his feet and dressed again. He squared his shoulders and walked with purposeness down the hall, his vision only swimming a little. The spiteful little animal in him wanted to keep walking until he was home, and he almost did. But a priest ducked her head out the door of the room at the end of the hall, and fixed him up in a concerned stare, and Helsknight, tired in body and soul, followed her inside.

The little room held tables and chairs, and a counter brimming with freshly made breads and rolls. Sweet things, prepared in advance of confession for those who might've lost too much blood, or for those who needed something soft and warm to take the edge off their penance. Helsknight allowed himself to be guided to a seat. The priest who had pulled him in checked over the hasty bandages, let out a disapproving tsk! and began organizing some supplies. She was joined by two other priests who began quietly discussing the best way to go about his stitches. Someone put a slice of some freshly baked something-or-other in front of him, and Helsknight ate it with the mechanical necessity of someone who recognizes a chore that needs doing.

Months later, Helsknight and Tanguish sat at a fountain outside the First Church of Hels, their breakfasts in their laps. Helsknight ran a thumb self-consciously along the odd, thin, centipede-like scar that danced from the center of his palm down his forearm. Tanguish must have noticed, because he asked, "How did you get that one?"

Helsknight turned his wrist so Tanguish could get a better look. "Lost my temper at something."

Tanguish ran a gentle finger across the misshapen skin, his touch cool and soothing. "It looks like it hurt."

Helsknight shrugged. "Not as bad as you'd think. It hurt more when they took the stitches out. S'why it looks like that."

Tanguish yanked his hand away like the scar had come alive and bitten him. "Why didn't you just drink a health potion?"

Helsknight chose his words carefully. "I needed to remember it."

Tanguish grimaced and allowed, "You... are very scary when you lose your temper." He reached out a hand to run his fingers tentatively along the scar again, as though he could somehow heal the long-passed harm. "You've gotten a lot better though."

Helsknight shrugged.

They returned to their prospective breakfasts, Helsknight eating with much less enthusiasm than his companion. He wished Tanguish didn't have such a preference for baked goods and sweet foods. They reminded him too much of that long hallway, and that door at the end of it -- and how long it'd been since he last stood there and waited to meet his Saint. Helsknight resolved to visit again when he got the chance. Just as soon as he ordered his list of sins. He remembered when he fought the Demon, sighed, and quietly put Wrath in its place at the top of the list.

[velariscalling]

Morally Grey - An Azriel Imagine

Characters: Azriel x Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Summary: Cassian drags the IC to his new obsession: open mic night at Rita's, and much to his delight, Azriel has been paired up to sing with the Reader.

Warnings: Alcohol, suggestive language.

A/N: My first ever imagine is HERE!! Honestly I've been so nervous to put this out as it's all very new to me, but I really hope you guys enjoy it! I'm really looking forward to see how my writing develops as I post more, but for now, I hope you enjoy my first post! It's just a load of silly fun tbh. And finally, thank you so much to @sarawritestories for helping me out with the ending, you're the best! <3

Soundtrack: 'Morally Grey' by April Jai feat. Nation Haven

Disclaimer: GIF isn't mine - credit to whoever it belongs to.

Rita’s was bustling.

As it always was on a Friday night, really. They probably should have known better than to come on a weekend, but the welcoming vibrancy of the bar was a welcome reprieve from a long week’s work. Y/N took a deep breath as the music hit her, exhaling as she let any remaining stress seep from her body and into the night.

Before she could think too much about the busy days she’s had as of recently, a hand grabbed each of hers - one perfectly manicured, one covered in swirls of black ink - and pulled her in the direction of the bar. Mor flagged down a barman who recognised them immediately - it wasn’t a rare occurrence for the Night Court’s Inner Circle to make an appearance here.

After a moment, she handed her a shot glass filled with bright green liquid. “Bottoms up, you’re gonna need it tonight,” she grinned, already having necked her own. Feyre giggled as Y/N raised a questioning eyebrow at the blonde, throwing back her shot anyway and wincing at the tangy liquid.

“And why is that, exactly?” Y/N cocked her head at her friend, who’s brown eyes danced with excitement.

“Oh come on,” she rolled her eyes playfully, already flagging down the barman for yet another shot, just for herself this time. “You really think Cassian’s going to let us miss out on tonight? He’s been preparing his song with Rhys for days.”

It’s true - Cassian’s favourite night of the week was their newest tradition, open mic night at Rita’s. Four songs, four duos, randomly selected. Or so he says, anyway. He probably matched himself with Rhysand so he could convince him to sing Mysterious Girl together.

Feyre gripped Y/N’s hand from her other side, clearly trying her hardest to hold back a squeal of excitement. “How are you feeling?” She knew that there was more to that question than meets the eye. It wasn’t a secret that Cassian’s little game had paired her up with Azriel, much to his delight.

She put on her mask of indifference that she had mastered over the months of knowing the shadowsinger, refusing to give any details away of her incessant feelings for him that prodded at her constantly. “I am feeling absolutely fine, High Lady,” she smiled, eyes shining, but a scoff from her left interrupted her.

“Please,” Mor drawled, looking at her with a face that said, don’t even try. “You literally can’t fool anyone, especially not us, so drop the act.”

Okay, so maybe she hadn’t mastered her mask as well as she had initially thought, her twin’s nod of agreement cementing that conclusion. “Okay fine, but what do I have to be nervous about? You are all the ones who should be nervous when we out-sing you.” She smirked at them, but they shared a knowing look.

“There it is, changing the subject,” Feyre chuckled, nursing her drink in her hand. Y/N scowled at her, but she could never actually be mad at her. Frankly, she was more irritated by the fact that she knew her so well. “What? Y/N, this is what happens every time we bring him up.”

She opened her mouth to argue, when an arm was slung over her shoulder, and Feyre’s. “Ladies,” Rhysand’s melodic voice sounded over the music as he appeared between the sisters. He nodded at Mor with a grin, who was already on her… third, or fourth shot? Who knows. “Cass will have a temper tantrum if I don’t drag you all over to the stage right now.”

Feyre rolled her eyes with a laugh and allowed her mate to spin her into his arms, and they both made their way over to the Inner Circle’s area of the bar. Y/N’s heart warmed at the sight of them, knowing that her twin, her double in every way, had found her happiness. Mor looped her arm through hers as they walked behind them, her eyes following Y/N’s gaze. “You’ll have that soon, you know.”

Y/N looked over at her. She was so breathtaking, her brown eyes contrasting her golden hair, and her signature red dress hugging her flawless body in all the right places. Any male or female in this room would be lucky to get her, and yet, she didn’t care. Next to her, though, Y/N felt like nothing. As if Mor could sense her thoughts, she squeezed her arm affectionately. “Come on. Tonight’s the night you’re going to show that other side of you- oh don’t give me that look, I know it’s there.”

Y/N huffed, a lighthearted sound, and shook her head softly. “I wish I had your confidence,” She murmured, a dry joke.

“Babe, you’re sexy. When are you going to realise that?” The sheer certainty in Mor’s voice had Y/N raising her eyebrows at her friend, who simply nodded, as if agreeing with herself. “Channel it tonight. I’ll be watching.” She winked, and released her arm as they arrived at their own table right in front of the stage.

Rhys and Feyre had already taken their seats at the centre, High Lord and Lady looking elegant as ever. Cassian sat to Rhys’s right, his excitement akin to a golden retriever, as Amren, who was sat next to him, clearly tried her hardest not to throttle him. Next to Feyre sat Azriel, his looming shadows making the already dark bar appear pitch black in his presence. There were two empty chairs to his left, and finally Nesta sat at the end of the table, clearly trying to make the most of as much peace and quiet as she could get before the night’s shenanigans unfolded. Mor was quick to take the seat next to her, leaving Y/N between her and Azriel. He gave her a short smile as she sat down, ever the emotionless. “Are you ready?”

The low, icy voice of the shadowsinger never failed to take her by surprise. If the living embodiment of darkness could talk, it would sound like him. She looked at him, his hazel eyes glowing even in the darkness, and replied, “Are you?”

Before Azriel could respond, a flute of sparkly champagne slid from Y/N’s left into view. She turned to see Nesta, wordlessly handing her the drink, with grey-blue eyes that told her that she, too, thought she needed an extra little liquid confidence tonight. She noticed Mor biting her lip so hard she looked as though she may explode, and she rolled her eyes, a smile playing on her lips as she turned back to Azriel. To her surprise, it appeared as though a similar grin was tugging on those lips as well.

He merely raised his glass to hers, eyes shining with a grin that he wouldn’t let fully show on his face. She picked up her own glass and clinked it against his, matching his honey gold gaze.

Let the night begin.

It’s safe to say that the performances of the night were… well, entertaining. Cassian was a little too excited dragging Rhys up to perform their number first, giving major boyband energy up on that stage. Feyre was in fits of laughter, but Nesta looked like she wanted to claw her eyes out… but perhaps secretly enjoyed it behind that mask of disgust. Y/N’s two sisters were up next with a rendition of Love Story in which Nesta was surprisingly involved, followed by Amren and Mor’s take on Lady Marmalade, which was frankly the worst thing anyone had ever heard. If the monster lurking beneath Amren’s skin was anything like her singing voice, then Mother help us all.

It wasn’t long before her friends were cheering and whooping as Y/N stood from her seat - the final song. “Get him girl,” Mor whispered as she passed her, Azriel on her heels. She felt the shadows licking at her ankles as she ascended the steps to the stage, gripping the microphone that had been handed to her on the way.

As Azriel situated himself to her left, she stole a quick glance at him. He was looking at the floor, uncharacteristically tense under the gazes of all their friends. It was no secret that Azriel had the most beautiful voice you’d ever heard, a gift from the Cauldron itself, but it occurred to her now that maybe no one else had heard it before. Aside from her, at the couple of short practices they  had done. Even then, she didn’t think he was giving his all.

Y/N faced the front and prepared for the music to play - she was more of a seasoned performer than Azriel. She had played her fair share of gigs around Velaris, a good handful of which on this very stage. If she was showing some confidence, she hoped that it would spark some inside of him. She steeled herself, breathing in deeply as she raised the microphone to her lips, and the music began.

“He’s got gold eyes, crooked smile, knows that he drives me wild,”

She felt the heat of the spotlight on her as she let her voice ring through the bar. It was soft, to begin with, giving the song room to breathe, to build. She looked over at the man she was sharing the stage with, noticing tension already lost from his shoulders at the sound of her voice. His eyebrows were raised ever so slightly, and she knew then that he’d realised how she’d changed the lyrics to fit him, those perfect golden eyes.

“Can’t help myself, no I’m not in denial,”

The smile she sent his way was telling, it spoke a hundred words. But it wasn’t just her grin that conveyed the message she sent: you’re okay, you’re with me, move with me. There was something between them, an invisible thread connecting the two of them, body and soul and mind. Certain thoughts, certain feelings - she could feel his, and he could feel hers. A bond like this had meaning, they both knew this, but neither of them were bold enough to explore it, acknowledge it. Across that bond, she beckoned him: Azriel, you’re with me, and I’m with you… play with me.

“I know he’s no good for me,”

There was a flicker of something in the shadowsinger’s eyes, as if his mind had decided to pull him down an alternative route to the one he was prepared to go down, the one where he’d back out and run. A shadow of a smirk lingered on his lips, as his own shadows danced around him excitedly, egging him on. The weaving tendrils were clearly more than satisfied with the idea that flashed through their master’s mind, whatever images Y/N’s words had conjured up. Azriel, play with me.

“But when he gets down on his knees,”

The spark in his eyes only seemed to brighten as he brought the lyrics to life, sinking slowly down onto his knees before her. The shit-eating smirk he wore on his face in response to her evident surprise could have sent her to her own knees as she beheld him, kneeling, for her. Mother spare her. A quick glance to her right at the others confirmed that they had all had the same reaction she had, and she feared that the bar staff may have to assist in picking their jaws up from the floor. Azriel’s face was challenging, knowing, yet almost the picture of innocence as she felt his response in her mind: You told me to play with you. She sent one word back at him: Bastard.

If he was going to play dirty, so was she.

“He’s so eager to please, knows the right frequencies,”

He reached a hand out as if to touch her - where, she wasn’t sure - but she grabbed it before he could make any contact. Scars felt rough against her soft skin as she walked slowly, teasingly around him and she sang the chorus, her heeled boots tugging her posture upright so her body curved in all the right places. She caught Feyre’s eye as she circled Azriel, still knelt on the floor and looking as though he was more than content to stay there forever. Y/N’s sister looked like her eyes were about to bulge out of her head, her smile growing so big that Y/N thought it would be too big for her face. Next to her, Rhysand simply winked, an encouraging smirk boosting her confidence.

“They say he’s morally grey, what can I say? Grey’s my favourite colour,”

As she made her way back to the front of Azriel’s view, still gripping his hand as he held it upright for her to use, she slowly lowered herself down to a squat in front of him as she sang the line. From this angle, she was now much closer to his face than before, and she noticed the subtle sheen of lust glazing over his eyes. It almost made her lose balance - almost. She brought his hand gently to her lips, placing a chaste kiss onto his marred knuckles, and he took in a sharp breath. Most people flinch when they see his hands, or grimace, or turn away. Not Y/N. No, she thinks Azriel’s scars are part of his story. The backstory to a warrior, a survivor. Scars are not the memory of what happened, but a testament to who you have become.

“Morally grey, what can I say? Grey’s my favourite…”

She rose to her feet, prepared to give Azriel some space to begin his verse, remembering the nerves that clung to him barely a minute ago. As she began to turn, taking the first step away from him, something cold slithered around her ankle, and one around her waist. The shadows pulled her straight back to where she was as the music lowered, and held her in place, as if they knew that hearing his voice would send her to the floor. And Mother above, they knew her well.

“What can I say? No I don’t pray, but for your body, I’ll worship,”

She could have sworn her knees buckled, but she couldn’t tell from the shadows holding her still. Azriel’s voice was like silk, so soft and pure, yet it lit her insides on fire in a way that she’d never felt, burning her up like a beautiful, dying star. If his voice was to be the thing to send her to her death, then so be it. She would die very, very happy. He reached out once again, and this time she did not stop him as he ran his hand up her thigh all the way to her waist from his position on the floor. Even kneeling, his Illyrian frame was intimidatingly large, her body standing not too much taller than his. His eyes watched his hand intently as it traced the curve of her side, as if they didn’t have an audience, one that was most definitely gaping at Azriel’s sudden brazenness.

“Girl don’t be afraid, my love’s a grenade, just be a good girl, you can take it,”

Like an angel rising from the ashes of war, Azriel stood slowly, wings flaring as he rose to his full height. His gaze was already intense when she was the one looking down at him, but now that he was the one towering over her, the darkness in his eyes shot electricity straight through her body and into her core, her head reeling with thoughts so sinful that nothing could save her. His hand on her waist squeezed on the words good girl, and she was forced to bite her lip hard to stop herself from reacting in a way that would later be incredibly embarrassing. His eyes tracked the movement, lingering on her bottom lip as she released it from her teeth with a pop.

“Call me insane but for you, I was made, I’d burn the world down if it’d make you feel safe,”

The fire in Azriel’s eyes blazed as he took one step toward her, and another, and another, closer and closer. The upper hand that Y/N had held up until now had slipped, yielding step after step backward, her control completely faltering. She had always known that doing this with Azriel would likely create some… tension between the two of them, and he must have known, but Cauldron, this was unlike anything she had ever expected. Azriel was so close that she felt his body heat, felt her face warming, likely for everyone to see under the harsh glare of the spotlights.

“It’s you that I crave, and nothing compares to your taste,”

Y/N couldn’t help but feel like Azriel meant every single word he was singing. No, he didn’t write the lyrics himself of course, but the way his eyes burned with such feeling, and… what looked to be desperation, told her there was much more to this than meets the eye. And Gods… the way his voice cracked ever so slightly with a primal need as those final words left his mouth had her praying to whatever higher powers she could to forgive her for the damning shivers he was sending straight to the very heart of that taste he craved so badly.

As the chorus rolled around once more, their voices finally blended as one, and nothing had ever sounded so right. Azriel’s shadows danced freely around the two of them, creating a tornado of darkness, of intimacy, where they were right in the eye of the storm. The song continued, and the pull between the two of them was magnetic, almost hypnotic as they completely forgot about the audience they had; their family who were most definitely gaping like fish out of water. Y/N could feel Azriel’s warm breath on her face as he sang, his angelic voice whispering less-than-angelic promises that only she could hear in the way it trembled.

Y/N honestly didn’t think that Azriel could get any closer - what she failed to consider was that the shadowsinger was in so deep that he wasn’t planning on stopping until there was absolutely no space left between them. As the song once again softened, Azriel took his chance and leaned impossibly closer, abandoning his vocals in favour of a different use of that mouth. Y/N inhaled sharply as Azriel’s lips brushed against hers, gently, experimentally. Some instinctive part of her that knew this was right pushed her forward to press her lips a little harsher against his, earning a shiver from the shadowsinger. She heard a soft rustle coming from behind him as his wings twitched from the anticipation.

As he pulled away, Azriel heard a shaky exhale escape her lips, caused only by the feeling of him, the heat of two bodies pressed close together, the rush of meeting the lips of the person who, deep down, you know is made for you. Your partner. Your mate. That shiver he elicited from Y/N was the final straw - the last thing he needed to cement his plans for the night. His face still inches from hers, he whispered with a voice so low he wasn’t sure it had even come from him, “You’re mine tonight.”

One moment, the IC were watching dumbfounded at the scene playing out in front of them, some wondering if they really should be averting their eyes (apart from Cassian, who sat with a shit-eating grin on his face). The next moment, the stage was empty, a whisper of shadows the only thing left standing in their wake. Azriel had disappeared in a flash, winnowed to who knows where, taking Y/N with him.

“Goddamn, Az,” Rhys chuckled into his drink after a beat of shocked silence. “Nicely done.”

“No! But they didn’t even finish their song!” Cassian pouted, gesturing wildly at the empty stage as the music still played from the speakers.

“Somehow I don’t think that’s their priority right now, Cass,” Mor giggled, practically vibrating from excitement and pride, exploding with glee at what had taken place since her little pep talk earlier.

Rhys set his glass down on the table in favour of throwing an arm over the top of Feyre’s chair. “It’s about time those two did something about the obvious, right?”

As Feyre’s eyes sparkled with delight for her twin, she giggled at his words, overjoyed at the knowledge that Y/N may at last feel the happiness of having a mate. A partner for all eternity.  “Yeah… finally.”

[authorhjk1]

Hello! Been loving your previous and current works and enjoyed reading them, plus this new idea of yours is kinda intriguing. I have yet to see someone make a masterpiece of Seulgi in this iconic outfit. I wish you all the best and stay safe.

Dark Red

(Kang Seulgi X Male Reader)

You both knew that one would eventually falter. While Irene placed her bet on Joy, you expected Yeri to be the first one.

But to your surprise it is Seulgi, who is know standing in front of your door. Her whole body is covered by a long brown coat. You can see the light flush of her cheeks and the slight smell of alcohol invades your nostrils. Seulgi has definitely been drinking.

"What do you mean by 'me too'?"

You pretend to be slow in catching on, wanting to hear the words from Seulgi herself.

"I-I I can't... It's just been so long since I've been with someone."

She looks up at you, her big eyes tempting you to give her a comforting hug.

"I can't keep watching the two of you."

"Well, if that makes you uncomfortable, we can always stop-"

"No!"

The color of her cheeks turns even darker in embarrassment.

"It-It did help me a little. Some material for... You know?"

"Seulgi, I don't know if I should have a conversation with you about these kind of things. You are my girlfriend's friend."

"I-I know."

Seulgi glances at her feet, a defeated look on her face.

"M-Maybe you c-could help me out this one time?"

You can tell that Seulgi is trying to gather all of her confidence. And you know it must be hard for her to ask her friend's boyfriend to cheat on her. But she seems to be really desperate.

And it's not like you are gonna cheat. Why would Seulgi think that Irene wouldn't like you to fuck her friends? She already makes them watch, when you fuck her. Irene made it very clear to you that, if this exact situation occurs, you can do whatever you want.

"I don't know, Seulgi."

You still pretend to be innocent, wanting to see how far she would go. Seulgi is unaware of Irene's kinks. So in her mind, she is actually asking you to cheat on her leader.

"I can make it worth your while, you know?"

She seems to have mustered all of her courage now.

You watch as she slowly starts to unbutton her coat. It reveals a short red dress with all sorts of different patterns. It seems like it's made out of red strings and dark flowers, which are attached to some fabric underneath.

You know for a fact that Seulgi has way more seductive outfits than this one. But she probably didn't plan on asking you for sex, when she put it on and left the house. Wait, what exactly is she asking for? She answers your question by herself.

"After I had to watch you so often, I now need the same. I want to feel it."

Seulgi steps closer. You are still very aware that you're standing in the doorframe as she wraps her arms around your neck.

"I want to know what it feels like."

She gets on her tiptoes and whispers into your ear.

"To get used."

Every man's patience has a limit. And your are no exception. Of course you could toy with her a little longer, but where would be the point?

"Get in."

You try to look as guilty as possible, hoping to keep up the act of you, cheating on Irene. Already planing on revealing it to Seulgi in the future, you walk after her. Maybe while you fuck her hard over the kitchen counter in their dorm and Irene walks in? You would love to see Seulgi's face in that moment.

She is now looking around your living room.

"You have a really nice h-"

"No talking."

You spin her around, pressing your lips on hers.

Seulgi immediately whimpers as she finally feels you touching her. Her tongue starts to invade your mouth, trying to fight yours. As she deepens the kiss, you bend your knee a little, forcing it forward, right between her thighs.

A moan escapes her mouth as you push upwards. Even without orders, Seulgi starts rubbing herself on your knee. After only a couple of moments, you feel something wet form on your jeans. You break the kiss off, pushing Seulgi off of you.

"You really are needy."

She gives you a pleading look as she nods.

"Just do with me what you want. I just need to feel you."

You reach forward, grabbing both her arms with your hands and pull her towards you again. Seulgi stumbles forward. You catch her by grabbing her naked thighs. Lifting her up, her face is now right above yours. She instinctively captures your lips with hers again. Your hands glide along her thighs as you marvel at their fullness. Hundreds of hours of dancing. All packed into these thighs of hers.

A couple of steps forward and you push Seulgi against your wall.

"Le me feel how tight your pussy is."

Seulgi gasps at your words, feeling how your hand reaches underneath her dress. No panties. They're probably stuffed into her coat. Dipping a finger inside, you hear her moan loudly.

"Damn, Seulgi. You must be way tighter than her."

You want to make Seulgi feel guilty for making you "cheat" by mentioning Irene.

Seulgi's eyes drip with lust as she bites her lip. She herself can't tell how she got herself in this kind of situation. What a bad friend she is! A bad bandmate! A bad person!

And yet, as you quickly open your pants with your free hand, Seulgi can only drool for your cock.

You don't even give her enough time to take a good look at it. It disappears underneath her dress as you take both her butt cheeks into your hands.

"Oh, god!"

Seulgi lets out a loud moan as you penetrate her. Her head falls back against the wall as you pull her onto your cock.

"Y-You are way bigger than-than I thought."

She manages to say during her up and downs as you move her body along your shaft.

"And you really are tight, Seulgi."

You start to complement her whole body while you nail her against the wall. Like an expensive painting, you admire her beauty.

"Oh, yes! Please!"

Seulgi definitely went too long without any intimacy. It only takes her a couple of seconds more and she quickly cums on your cock. Her pussy clamps down on you as you keep lifting her body up and down.

"I-I need your cum! I saw y-you filling her up."

You are aware that Seulgi avoided calling Irene by her name. Kissing her neck, you hold Seulgi in place and start trusting into her from below.

She quickly turns into a stuttering mess, while you mark her neck. It'd be fun to see Seulgi trying to hide it from Irene, despite the older one "not knowing" where it came from.

"Yes! Yes! Yes!"

Seulgi buries her head in your shoulder as she climaxes for a second time. Her pussy feels tighter now. And wetter. You feel her juices drip down your cock as you chase your own high.

Her back rubs against the wall as you keep pounding into her from underneath. Her nails start to scratch at your back as Seulgi tries to let go of the pleasure, which is overwhelming her.

"Fuck, Seulgi."

With your final thrust upwards, you simultaneously pull her down.

"Holy-!"

Seulgi's cry is interrupted by a gasp as she feels your cum flooding her insides. Her pussy is filled within a matter of seconds. Your warm cum starts to leak out of your connection, slowly dripping onto the floor.

"That was..."

Seulgi's heavy breathing stops her from finishing her sentence. You wonder if the fact that you are "cheating" is getting Seulgi off.

----------

Hi, everyone!

Hope you liked this one. I honestly did go over the limit by a couple of minutes, because I wasn't finished, since the intro got longer than I expected. But that's not a big problem, gonna try to keep it a little shorter from now on.

Stay healthy!

[it-happened-one-fic]

Might've Walked Slower - Floyd

Author Notes: So, I was actually planning on posting a different fic today, but then the Stitch even came out today so I decided Floyd would get a fic posted today instead. I've actually had this written for a little bit, but it's been undergoing polishing and gathering dust in my google docs. I had fun writing and working on this one, though I have to admit it really doesn't have any specific source of inspiration beyond NRC having an old building and me wondering if there were secret passageways. As per usual, reader is gender-neutral. I hope you enjoy!

Type: Gender-neutral reader/ sfw/ fluff/ flirtation

Word count: 1685

It started the same way a great many things at NRC seemed to start. With a task from Crowley.

To be fair, this task wasn’t particularly difficult or even that annoying. It was just returning some books to the school library for him.

The only trouble came in the form of a bored Floyd Leech, who was currently lurking in the library for unknown reasons. Luckily, Floyd had thus far opted to sit and boredly watch as you shelved books once he’d discovered your presence didn’t mean anything exciting.

But nothing could stay simple in NRC, and today served as still more evidence for that fact.

You’d simply put one hand down on a strangely empty shelf to support yourself while you stretched upwards to place a book on a still higher shelf. And that was when everything went horribly wrong.

You leaned forward ever so slightly more, frowning as you stretched just a little bit more, and all at once the shelf let out a horrible groaning sound and gave way. Your eyes widened, and you realized exactly what was going to happen.

You plummeted forward with a shriek that had Floyd jerking upright from his previously relaxed position of stretching his upper body across the top of a table, “Shrimpy?!”

His voice sounded equal parts startled and concerned, but you paid him little mind as you scrambled, catching yourself against a web-coated wall as you tumbled through where the bookshelf had just been. Your shoulder slamming hard against the cold stone in a way that promised you would have some impressive bruises tomorrow morning.

You groaned slightly as you pushed yourself back, your uninjured arm wrapping around your body so that you could press a hand to your now-throbbing shoulder. But all thoughts of how much that was going to hurt tomorrow fled as you stared at the gaping hole in the wall that was now in front of you.

You stared in quiet horror at the hole before your brain kicked into gear, noting that the edges of the opening were smooth and that this area had obviously been built this way to let the bookshelf swing open like a demented door to reveal the tunnel lined with sconces that hung on the filthy walls.

Though you’d initially thought you’d somehow caused the entire bookcase to topple, that was obviously not the case. Instead, it looked like you’d managed to somehow trigger a mechanism that had opened some sort of hidden door to a passageway that you were now standing in the entrance of.

“Shrimpy, are you…” Floyd trailed off from where he’d appeared behind you as he beheld the darkened path you’d uncovered.

Both of you stood in silence, staring down the stone tunnel whose walls bore unlit sconces before giving way into a deep darkness. You slowly stood as you continued to stare into the darkness from next to Floyd. Wondering what, exactly, this passage was and where it led.

“What have you found this time, Shrimpy?” Floyd’s amused voice snapped you out of your silent gaping, and you shot him a look only to find him staring into the darkness with sparkling eyes that spoke of an emotion that one should always be wary of if it were coming from Floyd. 

Excitement.

With a simple gesture that was not unlike snapping his fingers, magic shot out from where the young man stood, and flames began to flicker in the sconces as he stepped past you into the passageway. Before you could say anything, he’d already reached back and wrapped one hand around your wrist with a smooth rolling motion of his long fingers. 

“Floyd, wai-” You were cut off by him giving you a slight tug and pulling you into the tunnel-like space with him. He was already grinning in a way that told you that you were probably going to be stuck going with him no matter what you said.

“Come on~ it’ll be fun,” His eyes were alight, and the yellow one had a slight glow to it that reminded you of the deep-sea fish that used lights to tempt prey in closer. 

And, in some ways, it was tempting to check out the tunnel-like passage you’d discovered. After all, just finding it brought to light numerous questions. 

Were there more? What was it for? And how old was NRC anyway if it had hidden passageways like this?

You hesitated though, glancing back towards the library as your freehand fell away from your shoulder before Floyd’s sing-songy voice came from far closer than it had been before, telling you he’d stepped closer to you, “Don’t you wanna know where it leads~?”

You looked back towards him, finding that he had indeed stepped closer and was now looking at you, still holding onto your wrist and smiling in a way that told you he knew he was going to win. Because, unfortunately, you were curious about this hidden passage that you’d discovered.

“Just for a little while. I’m not spending all day and night exploring some creepy path with you,” Your tone was firm, but still drew a giggle from the tall young man who now turned to lead you down the path. His hand sliding down until your hands were interlocked.

“It's not creepy, just a little dark. Kind of like home,” You all but snorted at his utterly relaxed demeanor. Of course he wouldn’t find previously secret, web-encrusted tunnels lit only by widely spaced sconces creepy.

But then there was no telling what he was used to seeing from his time living under the sea. Creepy might be an everyday commodity for him. And he had said it was sort of like his home….

When you didn’t actually respond as you glanced around at your surroundings, he twisted, looking back at you with an amused, almost mocking grin, “Aw, don’t tell me you’re afraid of the dark, Shrimpy~”

“Hardly, I just tend to be wary of places that strike me as fishy,” If anything, your words seemed to delight him further as he tugged you up closer to him so that you were walking side by side as he leaned towards you.

“Don’t worry. I’m way more fishy than anything that’ll be in here,” He winked in a way that had you rolling your eyes, but not pulling away from him even as he giggled. Because, for better or worse, having Floyd with you while exploring some dark hole in a magical school was far better than being alone.

After all, he could probably take on anything you found.

Floyd stopped, tugging you to a stop by simply not letting you pull him with you as you came to the edge of the set of stairs. 

Glancing back, you noticed him tilting his head with a thoughtful expression before he met your gaze and smiled teasingly once more, “Reckon it goes to the dungeon?”

You couldn’t stop the snort that came from your throat as you shook your head, “Why would a school have a dungeon?”

He shrugged, staring down the stone steps and soon guiding you down with him as he kept lighting sconces as you approached them, and amusingly, it made you wonder if he really was worried that you were afraid of the dark, “Don’t know, maybe for bad kiddies?”

“Shouldn’t most of the school, including you, be down here then?” Your wry words had him snickering even as you pondered where the staircase led. 

You tilted your head as you carefully followed Floyd down the stone staircase, “Has this place always been a school?”

Floyd gave you a sideways glance before shrugging in a perfectly nonchalant manner, “Don’t know. You’d have to ask one of the history buffs about that.”

Your mind briefly flickered to Malleus’s analysis of the gargoyles on every building on the campus before you dismissed the thought with a shrug, “Either way, I hope this staircase ends with a door out of here.”

“Aw, you aren’t enjoying our date?” You grinned despite yourself at Floyd’s potentially faux pout.

“I didn’t realize this was a date?” You glanced up, still smiling, at Floyd in time to watch as he briefly went wide-eyed before recovering with record timing.

“You think I just casually take all cuties down some potentially forbidden tunnel?” Floyd’s grin was perfectly shameless, but it had laughter bubbling out of you as you shook your head at his antics.

And a large part of you couldn’t believe that you were slowly slipping into the all-too-obvious trap of flirting with Floyd. But here you were, and in no way were you uncomfortable.

In fact, despite yourself and the environment, you were perfectly enjoying your little jaunt through this web-encrusted passage. And you had a sneaking suspicion that the sole reason you were having fun was the young man next to you.

Looking ahead, you could indeed see a door at the foot of the stairs, no doubt the exit to the lengthy tunnel, “How about next time you tell me we’re on a date before whisking me off down some dark tunnel? I might’ve walked slower.”

You could’ve sworn his eyes were sparkling as he grinned at both you and your words before he turned to look at the door, “Well, let’s see where our secret path leads.”

With that, he pushed open the door, scaring the ghosts on the other sides and letting the scent of cooking food spill into the passageway. Your new location could be in only one place. The kitchen.

Floyd was laughing as the two of you entered the hot room filled with now flustered spirits, but before he let go of your hand, he tugged you closer to him and leaned down to whisper in your ear, “Next time you go exploring, make sure to tell me.”

You looked up to see him grinning at you, utterly delighted by the happenings of the day and a long way off from the bored Floyd of earlier as he winked at you, “I’ve got to hold you to walking slower on our next date.”

[berryz-writes]

It's only a game

Summary: Convincing Theo to have a snowball fight with you and your friends (he takes it extremely seriously)

Grumpy x sunshine

Theodore Nott x reader

"Come on Theo, it's snowing! Don't you think it looks gorgeous outside?"

Theo pulled me closer into his warmth not bothering to open his eyes and look through the window, where I was enjoying the view of snow gently falling onto the Hogwarts grounds. "I think your gorgeous."

I rolled my eyes but a smile still reached my lips at his sweet words. I rested my head on his chest, his body cocooning me so thoroughly that I could not feel cold ever again.

"We're having a snowball fight outside. Your supposed to be on my team but you can't do that if you stay in bed all day"

He let out a groan at my persistence and retracted his head from the crook of my neck, his hair falling forward in soft brown waves.

"I've always been on your team. We can team up in bed if you really want" His expression remained innocent his eyes roving over my face for a reaction.

I opened my mouth and closed it a couple times before covering my face with my hands, my cheeks probably a bright pink by now.

"Sorry sweetheart" Theo said letting out a small laugh at my embarrassment, slowly pulling my hands away.

After another half an hour of convincing and cuddling Theo finally relented, his hands in his pockets sending dirty looks to anyone who dared throw a snowball his way.

"Theo! Stop being a Grinch and come play. I didn't drag you out here for nothing" I dodged a snowball that came hurtling toward me from Pansy, Blaise's laughter in the back delighted that she had missed and stomped over to Theo.

"I am playing, sweetheart. I'm merely playing tactically. Do you see any of my clothes wet?"

I reached down and splatted a handful of snow onto his arm and grinned at his expression "There you go. It's better now don't you think?"

He leaned in closer to me his arms coming around my waist so there was no space left between us "I think-" He started, his voice promising revenge but was cut off by a snowball hitting him square in the back.

I couldn't stop laughing. At Theo's horrified expression and Draco's grin at his successfulness. I thought he was going to walk straight back into the castle but instead he bent down, crafted a perfectly round snowball and hit Draco straight in the face "How the fuck do you like that?"

Draco took it well and wiped the snow off his face, readying another one. He couldn't do so properly because Enzo had hit him with a snowball he had been enlarging for the past 5 minutes.

"It's only a game Theo"

He grinned at me, his hand coming to cup my cheek "And we're going to win, sweetheart"

[w2soneshots]

INside -Angry ginge

Words: 0.9k+

Warnings: none.

Summary: you enter the inside house and quickly get along with a particularly attractive ginger boy.

a/n: hello loves! I’ve had so many people asking for more angry ginge fics so here’s a one off😉. Enjoy!!💓🫶🏼

Today I'm going into a house with nine other people for a week. No connection with the outside world, no internet and with mostly strangers that I've never met. It's for the sidemen's new reality show. I haven't been told much about it so it will be quite a surprise.

The taxi dropped me off outside and I grabbed my suitcase from the boot. I pushed open the heavy door to reveal what looked like an airport security. I furrowed my brows. "The fuck is this?" I walked through the scanner then read the signs on the mirror. "Smile for the camera." I pulled a face then popped my suitcase onto the conveyor belt. Once I was finished I opened the door on the right.

The house was quiet when I made my way up the stairs. "Hello?!" I shouted out. I walked into the living room. "Hey!" Joe ran towards me. "Hi! I can't believe you're in here!" We shared a quick hug. I've known Joe for years. It was nice to know that someone I knew was in the house. Then another guy stepped forward. "Hello. I'm Morgan." He greeted me with a cute smile. I smiled back. "Hi, I'm y/n."

The next to arrive was Chloe (who I know since I was on her podcast), followed by everyone else. They all seemed nice but I could tell that there was a few people in it just for the money, which I understand but I want to make friends and just have some fun. We picked our beds. I ended up between Morgan and Manrika. We all sat down on the sofa to have a chat. After a little while Miniminter, Vik and KSI walked into the room. Everyone erupted in cheers and claps.

"Welcome to inside!" JJ started dramatically. "You will all be battling it out for a prize fund that starts out at one million pounds." Everyone clapped once again. "As you guys can see, there's not much in this house. That's because everything costs money." Vik said, putting on his best presenter voice. "No Vik no!" Joe joked. Simon began, "We're going to be opening the shop so you can buy whatever you want, but you're going to be paying for it through everyone's prize money." Vik went on to explain all about the shop, the daily challenges and food (we only get basic stuff unless we want to purchase it from the shop).

They left soon after and we continued to chat away. Until the tv screen lit up, reading 'the shop is now open'. Everyone raced downstairs. "Two grand for the pool balls?! You're taking the piss." Ginge stared at the board. "You have to pay for a shower? Are you fucking joking!" My eyes widened. I really didn't want to have cold showers every day.

After a long conversation about the shop and trying not to spend anything we all went upstairs. Then lunch arrived. It was freezing cold rice and chickpeas. I genuinely could not force myself to eat it, it was disgusting. Everyone went to eat their food then me and Ginge slipped away from the group to go downstairs. We giggled as we hurried into the shop. "I'm fucking starving." I ordered a packet of crisps and a fizzy drink. He ordered the same. We sat on the floor and ate in peace.

After the first night I slowly began to catch feelings for Morgan, and Chloe was quick to notice. "But do you find him attractive?" She asked me as we got ready. "I don't know. He's tall and he's cute." I replied, not making eye contact with her. "Oh you definitely like him!" She chuckled.

It started to become a running joke in the house. The way we looked at each other, our banter and the fact we always sat next to each other. Me and Ginge didn't talk about it directly but one day Specs was telling me about the conversation he had had with Morgan and it was very interesting. "He said that he would go on a date with you if he got the chance." "You're joking?" I was slightly surprised and I didn't want to look like a mug if Specs was just having me on. "No seriously. He likes you y/n."

Ginge left the next day and I actually missed him. It felt weird not having him around. I ended up getting into the final three before I left. I was really happy for Chloe and Manrika. I also saw Morgan again, we shared a quick hug then I gave him the rundown on what happened after he had left. We filmed tiktok's, took pictures and then said our goodbyes. I felt as though I had made some really good friends and made some interesting memories.

A few days after the final I got a call from Morgan. "Hey!" I answered in a cheerful voice. "Hi, I just wanted to ask if you were free anytime this week?" He got straight to the point and sounded slightly nervous. "Are you asking me out?" "Uh- well- yeah." He stumbled on his words. "So Specs wasn't joking." I thought out loud. "What?" "I'll explain on our date. You free Friday?" I asked. Unbeknownst to me a huge smile spread across his face. "Yeah I am." "Great see you then."

After I decided the call I quickly rang Chloe. "Babe, you'll never guess who just asked me out!" I began excitedly. "Who? Wait! Ginge?! No way!" She screeched down the phone.

[gothghostiie]

Graves getting a little too cocky in bossing his Shadows around so a bunch of them decide to fuck him back into his place send ask

you have no idea how much i love this request and how much I've been looking forward to writing it

cw: graves is fucked silly, gangbang, oral, DP (2 in one), creampie, cumshots/facial, light bondage, orgasm denial, unsafe use of zipties (seriously, don't do this)

Graves had been pushing his luck recently. he'd always cocky and demanding but the past week or so had been worse than usual, the shadows were getting fed up with him. a few of them were just relaxing in one of the common rooms when graves came in and started barking senseless orders, telling them to get off their lazy asses and whatnot - that's when they finally had enough. the group exchanged a few glances, before suddenly getting up, a silent agreement spoken as one of them wrapped a hand around the commanders neck. "H-hey, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!" he barked, gasping as the grip got tighter. meanwhile the others got some zipties from a nearby supply closet.

"Respectfully, Sir, we feel like you've been.. a bit out of line, recently." the man with the hand around his neck hummed. "we're just giving you a little.. let's call it attitude adjustment." just as he finished his sentence Graves could feel his hands get tied behind his back with the zipties, he immediately tried to get out of them.

"what the fuck-?! Get these god damn things off of me, that's a fucking order!" Graves tried to protest, but it was no use, the shadows were dead set on giving him a lesson. his voice faltered when another shadow undid the tactical vest and slid it off of him, followed by the uniform jacket being slid off his torso, back to the ties. his eyes widened when one of them grabbed their knife, cutting his shirt up and throwing the fabric onto the nearby couch. Graves struggled, his cock twitching in his tight pants. as much as he hated to admit it, he had dreamt about his Shadows taking advantage of him hundreds of times, fucking his own fist over and over to the thought. "What the hell do y'all think you're doing?" he barked, in an attempt to somehow make them stop.

"Just let it happen, Sir.." another soldier crooned softly, running his hand over the Commander's scarred chest. "Be good and we won't hurt you, yea?"

"not a lot, anyway." another chimed in, making the men chuckle. Graves looked around helplessly, grey eyes big with excitement and shock that his men seem to be serious.

"T-this is your last warning, Shadows! Stop it right now or-" he was quickly shut up, fingers being shoved into his mouth.

"You really don't know when to keep your mouth shut.." one sighed.

"Keep it up and we'll have to gag you for good." Graves' eyes widened at the words, a rush of heat running through hid body, lips subconsciously wrapping around the fingers in his mouth; making the other men around him laugh. "would you look at that? he likes it. dontcha pretty boy?" the man hummed, making the heat pool in Phillip's stomach at just how easily his usually so obedient Shadows were now taking charge, ready to absolutely ruin their Commander. He nodded softly, eyes darting between the soldiers as the fingers got pulled from his mouth with a wet pop.

"Good boy.." one of them cooed, finally reaching down and taking off Graves' pants and boxershorts in one swift movement, revealing the semi that he was already rocking. the men chuckled quietly amongst themselves, making Graves blush in embarrassment.

"d-don't laugh.." he whined, making them laugh harder.

"aww, is someone embarrassed he's enjoying himself, hm?" the words elicited another whine from Graves - almost immediately turning into a moan as one of the Shadow's wrapped their hand around the semi soft cock, slowly moving his hand. the others took it as a sign to get started too. they dragged him over to the table, one of the shadows climbed up and the others placed Phillip between the soldier's legs. he pressed the man to his chest, arms snaking around him and pulling up his legs, exposing his tight hole to everyone around. Phil blushed brightly, now fully hard cock twitching slightly.

"got it." another voice from the doorframe hummed, another shadow stepping in with a grin. "You bastards, I thought you were bluffing.." he eyed over his Commander, handing over the bottle of lube he brought to another shadow, who immediately lathered his fingers in it.

"watch it." he hummed softly, suddenly pushing 2 fingers inside the tight hole, making Graves whine out loudly. he squirmed in the other man's grip, precum already beading at his tip as the fingers slowly scissored him open. moans started spilling from his lips, cheeks flushed with embarrassment just at how exposed he was, at how much he was enjoying himself. "there you go.. look how nice and quick you get loose for us, hm, Commander?" the title almost sounded sarcastic at this point, but another finger made him ignore it. he was writhing softly, trying to turn his head away from them and hide his face, but it was no use. he was a moaning little mess within minutes, face scrunched up in pleasure until the soldier withdrew his fingers.

"n-no, what-" Graves cut himself off at the sight before him, one of his men taking his cock out and lathering it in more lube before aligning his tip with the slightly gaping hole.

"shh, it's okay.. take a deep breath for me Sir, yea?" he crooned, before slowly shoving himself in. the immediate heat made him groan, hands holding onto the edge of the table. "Fuck- didn't think you'd feel this good.." he let Graves adjust to the intrusion for a moment before starting to slowly but firmly thrust, Graves' eyes wide; mouth hanging open as his breath got knocked out of his lungs with every thrust. the others around them watched intently, pants getting tighter, breathing getting heavier. the air in the room got thicker as the thrusts got faster. Graves was a moaning mess, cock leaking and twitching as he got closer to release - naturally the shadows weren't having that.

"oh no you don't.." one hummed, grabbing his balls and wrapping one of the zip ties around it as a makeshift cockring. Phillip cried out loudly and bucked his hips, balls feeling tighter than ever as his release was denied.

"no! no! please!" he cried desperately, already far too gone to keep his composure. "please let me cum!" his voice was quivering, he rocked his hips back against the shadow fucking him, who already had a hard time hodling back; wanting to draw out his time. however, when he was met with the pleading he grunted, thrusts growing harder before finally finishing inside Phillip; who whimpered at the sensation, then again at the loss of contact when he pulled out. the sudden feeling of emptiness ripping him away from any chance of cumming soon. he cried out loudly and bucked his hips in frustration, sniffling as he softly began begging.

"c'mon, stop that crying." one of the men said, already lining up with his hole, dribbling some more lube over it. "or do we have to give you something to cry about, hm?" with that he trusted all the way inside him, making him sob out again.

"seems like he does want something to cry about.." the shadows who was sat behind Graves chuckled. "I'll give him something, don't you worry.." he muttered, letting go of him and scooting back slightly to open his pants, boner practically springing free. he took the lube and generously spread it on his cock, moaning at the coldness. "help me out here.." he said to the one who was still fucking into Graves. The guy understood immediately, with a grin pulling Phil's legs over his shoulders and lifting him up with the man behind him. he held the trembling man close to him, as the other Shadow lined his tip up along with the man. he very slowly, gently started pushing against the tight muscle, making Graves cry out loudly, body shaking as his cock started leaking again.

"f-fuck- 's too big, I cant-" He cut himself off with a loud cry, eyes shutting tightly as his face scrunched up in pain and pleasure; the other man slipping in. they held still, whispering soothing words as they held onto him, peppering kisses over his neck and shoulders. by the time he relaxed Phillip was drooling, jaw slack while loud moans spilled from his lips, the Shadows finally moving. slow, deliberate thrusts were pushing him towards the edge, overwhelmed by the pleasure and fullness of what was happening. slowly but surely they picked up the pace, the other shadows staring in fascination as more and more gathered in the room, wanting a turn - or at least wanting to watch their boss get ruined.

the men were soon fucking their mixed cum into the stretched hole before pulling out, leaving him gaping and still aching for release. another shadow stepped up, one of the recruits, pushing his hard cock between Phillip's lips, making use of the swollen lips. his grey eyes darted up briefly before he started bobbing his head; even when another shadow started fucking his sore hole again as he laid there on the table. he was a moaning mess at this point, barely able to form a coherent thought - that last bit of clearness vanished when one of his shadows crawled over him, aching cock forced into his wet cunt. his eyes rolled back, he was a complete goner now; all he could concentrate on was wanting to cum and to please the people around him.

The Shadows were taking pictures and videos as they took turns fucking the Commanders brains out, yet never letting him cum until the very end; one shadow rutting his hips into the pretty, teary face; one riding the painfully hard cock at a breathtaking pace, another plowing his hole with brutal strength. he was covered amd filled with cum, face stained with tears as the man finally came all over his face. he sobbed softly, mumbling a thank you between moans. he laid there, drooling as his tight balls were aching, the shadow riding him and jerking himself off making him god forsaken jealous. he cried softly, all he could was babble, barely even registering when the man came all over his torso.

only once he climbed down the last guy picked up the pace again, wrapping a gloved hand around the sensitive cock and matching his thrusts. "c'mon, you wanna cum don't you?" He chuckled. "you should hurry up.. cum before I do or don't cum at all." he grinned, Graves cried out loudly again. he bucked his hips up into the man's fist, the others watching in anticipation. one of them even stepped forward, pressing his lips against the Commander's in a sloppy kiss, another starting to play with the sensitive nipples.

Phillip was full on crying at this point, trying to cum as hard as he could - just seconds before he did he felt the hot sensation inside him once again. he shook his head and sobbed as the shadows let off of him, letting him cry it out for a moment before untying him, two of them carrying him to his quarters. "gonna think twice before you go behaving like that again, hm?"

[changingplumbob]

Shay McClain - Hopeful Bachelorette

Entry for Mad About Dodo by @akitasimblr

Tell us a bit about yourself. What do you do to keep busy? How would your friends describe you?

Okay, well, hi, I'm Shay. I never really fit in at school so after graduation while all my classmates headed to university I wanted something different. I've always liked making stuff so I was looking at getting into carpentry and then one of my dads had the best idea. They both know I love adventure and exploring so they suggested I travel and volunteer with organizations like Habitat for Humanity. I do a bit of carpentry when I'm home to keep the funds up. But yeah I travel the world getting to see cool places, surfing and mountain climbing, and putting my hands to good use making homes for people. Most of my friends are people I've met through that and they'd probably say I'm confident, my dads would probably say over confident, have a passion for making things, especially out of junk but in my defense people throw a lot away too quickly, and... just... a lust for life. But have you looked around? There's beauty in everything.

And why have you applied for Mad About Dodo?

My dad's are worried I'll die alone so have been trying to sort out a way for me to meet people, of course they can't exactly organize a blind date for me when we're in different continents. Don't get me wrong, I would like love in my life, it's kind of the piece that's missing you know. Anyway they sent me the entry details and I have to admit, Dodo is cute. Not that I would just apply because of an attractive person but I was reading about how he's tried other challenges before and I admire his perseverance to keep trying. That's what we have to do at the job sites. So if he's looking for someone to sweep him off his feet I'll do my best.

What do you think of your outfits?

I'm happy they're not just draping us in leaves and calling it a day. I think we've managed to pull together some stuff that'll fit in on an island. But why did we do a cold weather outfit? Aren't islands warm?

How do you see yourself getting on with other competitors?

I've honestly no idea. But I can tell you right now they better keep their pranks away from me. Seriously, a joke that's made at the expense of someone else isn't a joke. Learn how to be funny without punching down.

If you're the kind of person that can spot the good things in life I think we'll get on. I do hate small talk though, let's get to the good juicy stuff! Life's too short to be commenting on the weather constantly.

Tell us about some of your likes and dislikes

Well like I said I really like making stuff. I enjoy fabricating but my favourite is when I can carve stuff like sculptures or furniture. I'm also big into fitness, I like to keep myself in shape. I like yoga to even if I can't balance right half the time.

Dislikes... juice fizzing. I'm not going to go into detail but I had a bad experience. Mischief obviously, I'll crack jokes anytime you like but don't expect me to tie you to a voodoo doll. Programming is also something I just find boring as well as research, so it really is best that I didn't go to university.

What are you looking forward to?

Getting to know Dodo. Hopefully he can be more than a friend. I'm also looking forward to testing out my survival skills. I think they're pretty good with the work I've done but you never know until you're in the situation I guess. But yeah, mainly getting to see if this guy is the one for me, if I can be the one for him.

What are you dreading?

Sunburn! And walking around not realizing I've been pooped on by a bird.

I know most people would probably say lack of bedding and plumbing but I've gone without them before, I can handle going without them again.

Do you have a message for Dodo?

Hey Dodo, if you want someone who can work wonders with their hands I'm here *laughs* No, I'm kidding, please don't tell him I said that. Umm... Hi Dodo, I'm looking forward to building this next part of my life with you in it. See you on the island!

Download SFS

[lemoncrushh]

Comfort Food

Summary: Jessica, a self-proclaimed foodie, helps her classmate Harry study for their Biology test.

Warnings: None. Pure fluff.

Word Count: 4.9k+

A/N: College/Uni Harry x OC written in first person. Originally posted in 2019. I realize I've been reposting a lot of fluff lately, but apparently that was the mood I was in back then. I feel like this story is very relatable though, no matter your age. We all want to be liked, but sometimes we let our own insecurities stop us from believing we deserve it.

Most people didn’t notice me. Guys especially. They didn’t see me. I don’t mean they didn’t look at me exactly, but when they did it was like they were looking through me. There might as well have been a prettier girl standing behind me that they were really looking at, and I suppose at times that may have been the case.

“Five eighty,” the tired woman at the register said with a sigh. I handed her a five and a one before waiting for the clinking sound of two dimes that dropped from the side of the register into a little metal dish.

I gripped my tray with both hands and made my way to the farthest end of the cafeteria, choosing the booth next to the window where someone hadn’t already taken it upon themselves to open the blinds. I hated sitting in streaming, hot sunshine while I ate my food.

I’d just taken a bite of the macaroni and cheese - the main reason why I frequented this cafeteria - when I heard someone speak.

“Hey, I know you.”

I jumped as I looked up at the boy who stood near the restrooms, thinking surely there was someone behind me he was greeting instead. His name was Harry. I had a class with him, I knew that much, but there was no way he even knew I existed. He was tall with a curly mop of hair on his head and big green eyes that if I wasn’t careful, I could get lost in. I quickly blinked and looked back down at my lunch.

“I have a class with you, right?” he continued, stepping closer to my table. Okay so obviously he was talking to me after all.

I shrugged. “I guess.”

“Yeah. What is it, Psych?”

“Bio,” I muttered.

“What was that?” It was then that he took it upon himself to slide into the booth across from me.

“Biology,” I answered, glaring at him.

“Oh, right! Biology. Professor Graham.”

I nodded, sucking in my lips.

“You sit in front of me, end of the row. What’s your name again?”

“Jessica.”

“Jessica,” he repeated with a lopsided grin. “That’s right.”

Harry rested his elbow on the table, his chin in his hand as he stared at me. He seemed to be studying me for a while, though I wasn’t sure if he was really looking at my face or thinking of something else. Either way, he was silent for so long, even as I tried to ignore him and eat my mac and cheese, I began to get nervous. Finally he spoke again.

“Is that good?” he inquired.

“What?”

“That,” he pointed. “What you’re eating.”

I nodded emphatically. “Mhm. You wouldn’t think so, coming from a cafeteria, but it’s really good actually. It’s just like-”

“Hey, Harry!”

I turned my head to see a table full of people, one of the guys waving Harry over. I recognized him from class too. He sat next to Harry. I narrowed my eyes.

“You have your friends get your food for you?”

He made a face as he leaned forward to whisper, “Only 'cause I had to wee really bad.”

A giggle slipped from my throat before I could stop it. I quickly covered my mouth in embarrassment, but Harry only gave me another lopsided grin.

“I guess I should go,” he finally gestured toward the other table.

I nodded.

“Maybe they got me some of that,” he pointed at my mac and cheese as he rose from the booth. “Good to see you, Jessica. Have a nice lunch.”

“You too,” I managed a smile.

“Oh,” he stopped suddenly, his sneakers squeaking on the tile as he backed up. Then he turned to me, his big hands spread out across his chest. “I’m Harry, by the way.”

As if I didn’t know.

I could hear his voice before I saw him. I was already at my desk, concentrating on my notes from Friday when I heard Harry talking to Sam, the boy who sat next to him. I didn’t listen to what they were talking about, however, until I saw Harry’s legs stop on the step next to my desk and I heard my name at the same time a pen poked me in the shoulder. I removed my eyes from my notes and followed the long, denim clad legs up to a black t-shirt and finally green eyes.

“Sorry?” I asked.

“Just saying hi,” he smiled before bringing his pen to his mouth and biting on it. Then he took the final step and took his regular seat on the row behind me.

“Oh,” I whispered, though I figured he didn’t hear me. “Hi.”

“How was the rest of your weekend?”

For some reason I thought Harry had returned to his conversation with Sam, but then he said my name again.

“Huh?” I twisted in my seat.

“I asked how the rest of your weekend was,” he smirked. “After I saw you.”

“Oh,” I shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

“Good.” His dimples displayed in his cheeks which made me quickly look away.

“Oh hey,” I heard him add. “I did get to try that mac and cheese. And you were right. Surprisingly good.”

I felt myself smile just as Professor Graham took his place in the front of class and began his lecture.

I’d just slung my backpack over my arm when Harry said my name for the third time in an hour. I turned to look at him, his long arms slipping through the straps of his own backpack.

“Yes?” I asked timidly.

“I have a favor to ask,” he said, taking the top step down to my level. I noticed he was picking at his bottom lip before he tucked it between his teeth.

“Favor?”

“It’s kind of embarrassing,” he admitted. “I’m a fairly decent student. So I don’t usually ask for help. But this class...well, I’m not doing as well in it to be honest. And we got that test next Monday.”

My stomach lurched as I realized what he was implying.

“You need a tutor?” I asked.

Harry tilted his head and a curl fell over his eye.

“I was thinking more like a study partner?” He said it in a question, probably out of nerves. I thought it was cute.

But I knew the truth. Cute or not, Harry was wanting help to get a good grade. Guys like Harry didn’t ask girls like me to “study”. Study partner was a term used for pretty, bubbly girls who were probably making the same grade the boy was - an excuse to be with them without actually asking them on a date. Harry was not asking me for that. He wanted a tutor.

“Um…” I sucked in my lips, then nodded. “Yeah, sure, okay.”

Harry let out a deep breath and his shoulders dropped. “God, thanks Jessica. I really appreciate-”

“I’ll be at the Franklin Library tonight at seven,” I interrupted. “I can stay as late as you need.”

“That’s...that’s perfect actually. I’ll be there.”

I nodded sharply. “Okay.”

I turned to make my way down the steps, feeling Harry’s presence looming behind me.

“Thank you, Jessica,” he said again when we reached the bottom. Then I felt his hand on my shoulder for a split second before he turned for the door. For some strange reason I froze in my spot, watching him reach the exit, then look back one last time and smile.

With the sleeve of my sweater, I covered my mouth and made an inaudible squeal into my arm.

“No, see that’s where you’re getting confused,” I pointed to the diagram in the book.

“Tell me about it,” Harry let out a frustrated sigh. “Actually it’s not so much confusing, it’s just a lot of names and shit to memorize.”

I chuckled slightly and sat back. “Science is a lot of memorizing,” I agreed.

“If I have the book in front of me, I get it. But obviously I can’t do that for the test.”

“Then we’ll keep studying until we get it right,” I offered as Harry scribbled some notes.

Looking up from his paper, he peered at me behind the curl that had fallen over his eye again. It took all my gumption not to reach out and push it away.

“So, Jessica, can I ask you something?”

I instantly felt myself blush and looked down at my own notes.

“Um...if you’re asking if I was a straight A student in high school, the answer is yes. But no, I wasn’t valedictorian. That title went to Joseph Larkin.”

Harry snorted and I glared at him.

“I wasn’t going to ask that.”

“Oh.”

With a smirk that I would have deemed cocky if Harry didn’t seem like such a nice person, he sat back in his chair and crossed his arms.

“Why the macaroni and cheese?”

“What?” I asked incredulously.

“From that cafeteria. You’d barely said two words to me until I asked you about it, then all of a sudden your face lit up and you were eager to tell me how good it was.”

With another pink blush to my cheeks, I pretended to doodle on my paper.

“It’s my ultimate comfort food,” I admitted.

“Why’s that?”

“It’s the closest to my grandma’s that I’ve found anywhere. The rest of the food there is…” I shrugged, “it’s okay I guess. But I go there just for the mac and cheese.”

“Ah, so it’s sort of sentimental for you.”

I tilted my head from side to side.

“That...and...I’m sort of a foodie,” I explained.

“Yeah? Do you cook?”

“A little. But I’m more of like...a connoisseur of particular things. Like I have favorite items that I like to order from almost any restaurant in town, even if it’s not particularly what they’re known for.”

“Oh!” grinned Harry, leaning forward on the table, his arms crossed in front of him. “I’d be interested in picking your brain, then.”

“Go for it.”

“So if I name a place, you can tell me what to eat?”

“Pretty much. Except that Mediterranean place on 5th Street. Nothing is good there, trust me.” I made a gagging noise which made Harry laugh.

“Alright then. How about…” he tapped his chin with his finger, “that steak place by the cinema.”

I rolled my eyes. “Are you kidding me? The double fudge brownie a la mode.”

“That’s a dessert!” Harry quipped.

“Doesn’t matter. It’s the best thing on the menu. Plus I’m not a big steak person.”

“Noted,” he raised a brow. “What about Michaelangelo’s?”

“Chicken Marsala. And the stuffed mushrooms are good. Unfortunately there’s something in their marinara sauce I’m allergic to.”

“That’s too bad. What about Chinese? Do you like Asian food?”

“I like most of it, yeah,” I replied. “Oh! The best is this amazing chicken soup from that place on 8th and Morton. My mom used to get it for me whenever I was sick. I don’t know what they put in it, but I almost always feel better the next day.”

Harry smiled at me, his dimples dipping in his cheeks. I felt myself blush and looked down at the table.

“We should go get some,” I heard him say.

“They’re probably closed now,” I commented before I realized he probably didn’t mean right then.

“Oh! Yeah!” Harry looked at his phone. It was after eleven. “Shit, I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Yeah I should get home.”

I shoved my book in my backpack and zipped it up.

“Can I walk you?” Harry asked.

“Oh, um...no, I have my car.”

“You don’t live on campus?”

I shook my head.

“Oh.” Harry looked disappointed. Or maybe I was just hoping he did. “Can I at least walk you to your car?”

I tried to hide my smile. “Sure.”

Stepping out into the cold night, I was glad I’d brought my winter coat instead of just my hoodie. Harry, however was only in a light jacket. I did notice how he walked a little closer to me, but I didn’t say anything until he did.

“It’s changing seasons now I reckon.”

“Yeah. Is it far to your building?”

“Nah, just over there,” he pointed across the street.

“Oh, that’s good.”

We made it to my car and I thanked him for walking with me before I opened the door and climbed inside.

“Jessie,” he said, his voice low, his arm on the door. “Can I call you Jessie?”

I bit my lip and nodded. Nobody else called me that, but I would gladly let him call me anything he wanted.

“Good,” he beamed. “You look like a Jessie to me. Anyway, do you think we could do this again? Studying, I mean, at the library.”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

“It’s just...the test isn’t for a week but I really wanna make sure I know this stuff…”

I reached a hand out and touched his bicep. “It’s no problem, Harry. I’m happy to help.”

“Great!” he said. “Is tomorrow too soon?”

“No, it’s fine with me. Same time?”

“Yeah. Thanks Jessie.”

“You’re welcome. Goodnight, Harry.”

“There’s no way Danny’s has better donuts than Esther’s,” Harry argued. “I’m sorry Miss Foodie, but I will have to disagree with you there.”

I laughed at his nickname and shook my head. “Not all the donuts,” I pointed out. “Just the jelly-filled. If I want a jelly donut, I go to Danny’s, no contest.”

“But have you had the cinnamon cake donuts from Esther’s?”

“I have,” I nodded. “And I agree, they’re good. But jelly is the best.”

Harry rolled his eyes which made me laugh harder. I covered my face with my hands, remembering we were in a library.

Harry and I had been at it since seven, studying for the Biology exam, but somehow we’d made it to the subject of food once again, just like we had almost all week, except for a couple days when we couldn’t meet.

“Alright, Harry,” I said once I calmed down. “Test is tomorrow. What do you think?” It was Sunday evening and the library closed early.

“I think I want another week,” he groaned.

“Harry!”

“Okay, okay, I think I’ve got it. I’ll at least squeak by and get a C.”

“Gee, thanks,” I scoffed.

Harry smirked, giving my chair a tiny shove under the table. “I’m teasing you, darling.”

I blushed for the upteenth time that week and gave a gentle grin. “Oh.”

“You’ve been a tremendous help, Jessie,” he added. “I’m actually sad the week is ending. I’ve enjoyed spending time with you.”

“Oh,” I repeated.

“You know,” he raised a brow as he packed up his books, “since we’ve been talking about food so much, I was thinking after this test is over we should go out.”

“What?” I stared at him in disbelief.

“Out to eat,” he offered. “Someplace you like. Not that Mediterranean restaurant or the one by the cinema, obviously.”

“Um...really? Um...I don’t know.” I stumbled.

“Yeah. Why not?”

“Um...I’m...I’m kind of busy,” I said.

Harry pouted, then blinked. “Every day?”

“Well…” I hesitated, knowing fully well that was a lie. “Maybe not. Um...yeah, sure we could do that...sometime.”

“Cool,” Harry beamed, “wanna give me your number?”

I stared at him while he pulled out his phone. Touching a few things, he looked up at me.

“Go ahead,” he urged. But I was frozen.

Guys like Harry didn’t ask for phone numbers from girls like me.

“Jessie?” he asked.

Finally I cleared my throat and recited my number. With a genuine smile, Harry typed it into his phone.

“I just texted you,” he said. “So now you have mine.”

“Okay,” I breathed.

Harry walked me to my car like always and waved goodbye as I drove off. When I got home and dropped my bag on the chair beside my bed, I quickly dug out my phone. I didn’t use it all that often; no one ever called me. It was more for emergencies. But there it was. A text.

Hey Miss Foodie. Good luck on the test tomorrow. And thanks for all your help.

Text me when you get home please.

I bit my bottom lip to keep from smiling as big as I wanted. But it was no use. The smile won out. He’d said please for gosh sakes.

I’m home.

Hey, thanks for letting me know. Just wanted to make sure you got home safely.

Ok.

Goodnight Jessie. See you in the morning.

Goodnight Harry

I could tell my texts were short and bland, even for someone who doesn’t text much. But I didn’t know what else to say.

The test went smoothly, at least I thought. I finished mine a little early and turned it in to Professor Graham. When I reached the door, I looked back and saw Harry with his lopsided grin. I waved and he gave me a thumbs up.

That afternoon I heard my phone buzz which startled me since that didn’t happen often. Harry sent me a short text saying he thought he might’ve aced the test. I told him I wouldn’t doubt it.

Professor Graham said the scores would be posted that night online. Just after I checked mine, and gave myself a mental high five for the perfect score, my phone rang.

“Hello?” I answered.

“A ninety, Jessie! I got a ninety!”

“Harry, that’s great!” I cheered.

“Well, it’s not acing it, but close. Definitely the best score I’ve ever gotten on a science test.”

“I’m happy for you!”

“Couldn’t have done it without you, Jessie!”

I smiled, though he couldn’t see me.

“I really appreciate all your help,” he continued. “Although we probably spent at least half of the study time talking about food.”

I chuckled. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I like talking to you.”

“I like talking to you, too,” I said before I could stop the words.

“Good. So let’s talk now,” I could practically hear the lopsided grin in his voice. “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just checked my score.”

“You aced it, didn’t you?”

I was silent.

“Of course you did,” he teased. “Smarty pants.”

“Well I was your tutor,” I quipped.

“Study partner,” he corrected.

I laughed louder.

“I like your laugh,” he said. “It’s cute.”

For the next hour, I was not myself. I was some other person, some other version of Jessica. I was Jessie, I supposed, Harry’s study partner. A girl with a cute laugh who got phone calls and texts from curly headed boys with lopsided grins. I didn’t recognize myself.

By the time I got off the phone, my face was flushed, and my smile seemed permanently glued to my face. Washing up before bed, I stared in the mirror, reminding myself who I really was.

Girls like me didn’t get phone calls and laugh for over an hour with boys like Harry. Most people didn’t notice me. Guys especially.

Wednesday morning when I walked into Bio, Harry was already there, which was a first. In fact, he was sitting in my seat, a white paper bag in front of him on the desk and a goofy grin on his face like he had a secret he was dying to tell.

“What are you doing?” I asked with a chuckle.

“Brought you something,” he replied, pointing to the bag. Then he slid into the empty seat next to mine that was usually occupied by Omar.

Taking my seat, I grabbed the bag and opened it, the sweet aroma hitting my nostrils immediately.

A jelly donut from Danny’s.

“What is this for?” I asked him incredulously.

“For helping me with the Bio test,” he said. Then a wide grin spread across his face as his cheeks blushed a rosy pink, much like mine had been doing since last Monday. “And maybe because I kinda like you.”

“What?” My eyes widened like saucers.

He looked down at the desk and back at me. “Alright. Truth? It’s not a maybe. And I don’t just kinda like you. I do like you. A lot, actually.”

“No you don’t,” I snapped before I even realized the words had left my lips. I regretted them instantly, especially after seeing the hurt look on Harry’s face.

“I don’t?”

“Well...I mean...you can’t.”

“Why can’t I?” He leaned closer to me. “Do you have a boyfriend?” he whispered. Then he seemed to consider something else. “Or a girlfriend?”

I shook my head. “No. I mean...guys like you don’t like girls like me.”

Harry narrowed his eyes, his expression looking like all the gears in his brain were turning around all of the words I’d said.

“What exactly are...guys like me...and girls like you? As far as I can tell, I’m a guy...no, not even that. I’m a person. And you’re a person. And I like you. What’s wrong with that?”

“Because it’s…” I stumbled. “I don’t know. You’re just...well you’re you.”

“I am me,” he agreed. “At least I hope I am.”

I tried not to laugh as I shook my head. “We’re different, Harry.”

“How so?” Harry crossed his arms over his chest. I glanced over towards the door and saw Michelle Young walk in. She was tall and pretty and when she walked into a room, people noticed.

“Have you looked at you?” I sighed.

Harry looked down at his lap and held out his arms, pretending to inspect himself. He was really making this hard for me.

“Her!” I gestured toward Michelle who was taking her seat. “That’s the kind of girl that gets attention. Guys like you go out with girls like her.”

Harry seemed to study Michelle longer than I would have liked, but when he turned back to me, he merely shrugged.

“She’s okay, I guess. But I haven’t gotten to know her and spend time with her. She may be a lovely person, or she may be a bore. I like you, Jessie.”

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Being around Harry definitely made me feel a certain way, but I didn’t think he would ever in my wildest dreams feel the same about me. I needed time to process it.

Professor Graham walked into the room then, and the class quieted. Omar shuffled in after the Professor so Harry walked around me to his seat behind me. For the next hour I was grateful he didn’t have to see my face. Because I had no idea what emotions they revealed.

When the lecture was over, Harry asked if we could talk. I told him I had to get to my next class, but he could text me later. And I told him thanks for the donut.

I didn’t get a text from Harry that afternoon, which was rather disappointing, but I tried not to dwell on it. I knew he was out of my league anyway and figured he finally decided for himself.

That night, however, after I ate dinner with my mom and did some homework, I realized I had a voicemail.

“Jessie…” he hesitated. “I’m not exactly sure what I did. But whatever it is, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you off, if I came on too strong. I just...I like you and um.... I don’t really understand this ‘girls like you’ thing you mentioned. But...I think you’re great. And I wish we could go out. But...if you don’t want to, it’s okay. Text me if you want...or call...or whatever. Bye.”

I sat on the edge of my bed with my phone in my hand for nearly twenty minutes. I was too chicken to call. I didn’t know what I would say. And apparently I didn’t know what to say in a text either because everything I’d type I’d just end up deleting before I could send it. Finally I just typed four words.

I like you too.

Harry didn’t reply to my text that night. Or at least not before I fell asleep. But I awoke to new messages Thursday morning.

Thank God!!!

When do you wanna go out??

Oh by the way, how was the donut?

I laughed as I got ready for school, sending him a quick reply that we could go out that weekend if he was available and that the jelly donut was the bomb.

I felt different all day. I seemed to have a hop in my step and a smile on my face at all times. For the first time in a long time, something - other than food - made me...happy.

But the hop and smile were short-lived. That night Harry called me and he sounded terrible.

“I think I’m getting a cold,” he moaned.

“Oh no.”

“I wanted to take you out tomorrow,” he added.

“It’s okay,” I assured him. “We can do it another time.”

“I’m sorry, Jessie.”

We talked for a little longer, but Harry’s coughing was getting worse so we said goodnight.

Harry didn’t make it to Biology the next morning either. I felt awful for him, but more than that, I missed him. Granted, he sat behind me, but just knowing his seat was empty made my heart ache.

After my next class, I had a plan. Taking a detour to 8th and Morton, I made a special purchase before heading to the dorms across from the Franklin Library. I didn’t know which one exactly was Harry’s, but as luck would have it, I saw Omar from Bio walking up to the building and I asked him.

His door was at the end of the hall. Taking a deep breath, I knocked three times. I heard some sort of sounds coming from inside before a latch was released and the door swung open.

“Jessie!” Harry exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

He sniffled, then brought a tissue to his mouth which he coughed into. He looked like Rudolph with his red nose. I had the sudden urge to kiss it, but instead I made myself speak.

“I came to check on you,” I admitted.

“Oh. That’s sweet of you. I’m sorry I’m…” he paused to cough again, “...sick.”

I frowned at his obvious look of disappointment as though he really was more upset that he was sick under the circumstances. I found it endearing.

“Harry, get back inside,” I said, pushing him into his room and shutting the door behind me.

“You brought me something?” he asked, eyeing the bag in my hand.

I smiled, holding it up. “Soup. Now sit.”

Mustering up a smile of his own, he followed my orders and sat at the desk behind him. I opened the bag and pulled out the large container of soup and a spoon.

“Eat up, buttercup,” I sang. Then I sat on the nearby bed as I watched Harry dig in. After the first spoonful, he made a sound and looked at me with wide eyes.

“‘s so good!”

“Told ya! It’s my favorite comfort food. You’ll probably be feeling better by tomorrow.”

“I thought the mac and cheese was your favorite comfort food.”

I rolled my eyes. Okay so he paid attention. “Fine, second favorite.”

Despite his illness, Harry smirked before focusing again on the soup. I smiled and started to lie back on the bed.

“Is this your bed?” I asked.

He nodded.

“Okay, good. Didn’t wanna lie on someone else’s,” I joked.

“But you might not wanna lie on mine since I’ve been sick.”

He had a point. I sighed. “I don’t care.”

Harry ate a little more than half the container before he had another coughing fit. He grabbed a nearby water bottle that he’d apparently been drinking from and guzzled it down.

“‘m Sorry, Jessie,” he whined. “I think I need to lie down.”

“Oh, of course,” I agreed, sitting up. I was about to stand when he stopped me.

“Lie with me,” he said. “Just for a little bit.”

I blinked before he practically pulled me down with him, not having the chance to argue. Harry wrapped his arms around me and I instantly felt warm. I laid my head on his chest and felt his breaths, a nice steady rhythm that soothed me.

“This is so nice,” he murmured. “No one’s ever done anything like this for me before.”

I hummed against his chest and he pulled me tighter.

“You know, the soup was great. But if I do end up better by tomorrow, I reckon it’ll be because of you.”

I lifted my head to look at his face. His eyes were bloodshot and his cheeks were flushed, but more than anything I saw...something else. Sincerity.

“Me?” I whispered.

Harry pushed a strand of hair away from my cheek.

“I really like you, Jessie. I think you’re kind and thoughtful, smart and funny, cute and sweet.”

I smiled at him as he traced the back of his hand across my cheek.

“I think you might be my comfort food,” he grinned.

I couldn’t help but giggle at that.

“Smooth, Harry,” I poked.

“Hey, you liked it, admit it.”

It was cheesier than the mac and cheese I so loved. But it was also sweeter than a jelly donut. I could make my own silly analogies. But regardless, it was great to hear.

“I do admit it,” I nodded. “And I like you, too. A lot.”

Tilting his head, Harry leaned in, his lips grazing mine before taking my face in his hands and kissing me tenderly.

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[shesalittlelost]

I've noticed this that most Nesta stans treat Nesta less like a character and more like a vehicle that they can use to be as misogynistic as possible and live their own mean girl fantasy on the internet. And the saddest thing is that it's not just her fans who do it, the author did the same to her so I'm gonna talk to about the latter first.

Nesta in ACOTAR wanted to go out and carve her life on her own because the realisation that she still hadn't found a purpose for herself while her sister already did and that she owed her whole life to her chafed at her. That's why their reunion in the first book was so touching. I was so looking forward to see what Nesta does with her journey but she isn't allowed that. Fast forward to ACOMAF, she's just... a mean girl, unnecessarily poking at her sister for no reason at all. This scene is used as a way to start Nesta and Cassian's “banter” and “romance” (lol) and in order to do that SJM basically walks back and kills whatever little but extremely significant development Nesta had in book 1. Her concern for her sister that made her risk her own life is forgotten and instead she's made to be petty, antagonistic and stupid and incredibly shortsighted even (when in book 1 she was the only one in the family who listened to Feyre & understood the threat Fae posed to the humans) to Feyre for no reason other than to clash her with Cassian. And since then it's been like this. SJM keeps obliterating everything that made Nesta, Nesta. Her ability to resist glamour? forgotten. Her not wanting to become a warrior? LOL her whole personality is just being fandom's cookie cutter sword and armour girl now. Her being averse to casual sex? Well.... you see... she lavvvvsss sex so muchhh that she starts daydreaming about having a threesome with her bf and his brother to a point that her brother-in-law can tell that from her face and gets awkward (🤮). Her wishing to explore this world on her own? Yeah lol that's not happening. Like ever.

This girl really just got moulded into someone that Miss Maas can conveniently use to live her own fantasy in the ACOTAR world. Maas is known to not get along well with other women in the field who are as popular and successful (if not more) than her and allegedly called one an ableist slur. It's public knowledge that she was horrible to her other author friends until they cut her off. She now lives in her own bubble and picks some two or three new people, less popular than her to befriend, who just hype her up. Sounds familiar? Yeah. Nesta too can't ever get along with any other major female character who is as equally relevant in the story as her. Elain was her best buddy until she stopped being Nesta's side chick. Feyre, she was always jealous with, in her own words. She looks down at Mor for not being dressed modestly causing the men to laugh at that insult (Sara, you're very obvious). That scene where Rhys aka SJM gasses her up by calling her an illyrian (warrior) as a compliment while comparing her to Elain and implying Elain doesn't count coz she just isn't one. Like there is such a big “she's not like the other girls! she is ✨different✨” energy going on with the way she's written, especially her relationship with every other women in the story, except for the two girls who are written solely to be her hype girls, that I literally can't stand it.

It starts to make sense why she appeals to a certain kind of fans here who also suffer from the “i'm not like the other girls” syndrome. A lot of these people don't even like or care about Nesta's character or story that much no, they just latch onto her to hate on every other character, especially the female ones, that they can't self insert as. Calling Feyre the nastiest things, hating on Elain for apparently being a “selfish bitch” and Mor for idek what. Like these people are physically incapable of talking about her or praising her without comparing her with or bringing down other women in the series and it's genuinely nasty how they talk about every woman who isn't her or the ones who suck up to her. I wonder if they realize how crazy they look to others coz they are very transparent.

[rimeswithpurple]

Good morning! Thank you @monbons (love seeing your doll making process pics), @orange-peony (I'm loving your accidental baby acquisition fic) & @messofthejess (looking forward to chapter 2 of Camp Watford!) for the tags! School ended on Friday and this is the first week of Camp Mom, so I haven't gotten much drawing done. I've managed to make some progress on my cardigan. It's been a slow process now that one row is 200+ stitches. I've done one of four buttonholes and added 2 3/4" of length. I really like posting this weekly so I can see how far I've come because it doesn't feel like I've done much from day to day. I might start adding buttons as I go, for funsies.

Tags and hellos below!

@talentpiper11 @blackberrysummerblog @valeffelees @artsyunderstudy @you-remind-me-of-the-babe @youarenevertooold @bookish-bogwitch @facewithoutheart @thewholelemon @larkral @run-for-chamo-miles @roomwithanopenfire @fiend-for-culture @cosmicalart @mooncello @that-disabled-princess @cutestkilla @noblecorgi @iamamythologicalcreature @best--dress @emeryhall @ileadacharmedlife @drowninginships @supercutedinosaurs @whatevertheweather @rbkzz @ebbpettier @whogaveyoupermission @theimpossibledemon @katatsumuli @thehoneyedhufflepuff @theearlgreymage @theotherhufflepuff @onepintobean @hushed-chorus @fatalfangirl @ic3-que3n @bazzybelle @nightimedreamersworld @martsonmars @aristocratic-otter @shrekgogurt @alexalexinii @prettygoododds @ivelovedhimthroughworse @raenestee @skeedelvee

[brandwhorestarscream]

He's really going to die this time

That's what Starscream thinks, the thoughts half-clouded behind the incessant tinnitus blocking everything else out. It had started about halfway through Megatron's tirade, when the heavy handed old gladiator had back handed him so hard he flew back and hit the wall with enough force he bounced forward onto the floor. The ringing in his audials had started then and soon after the sluggish pulsing of his spark joined it, and combined they were so loud he could barely hear his own thoughts when all was said and done.

...it's cold. It's wet. He hurts everywhere. He's bleeding in six... no, maybe seven places? His visual feed is corrupted with static. Seems something was shaken loose in his processor. His left optic is out, and the remaining right one won't stop flickering. It hurts.

The ceiling looks so far away. It's dark. How long has he been laying here? It feels like an eternity since he was thrown down onto the floor and Megatron finally stormed out, satisfied with his punishment. Time always passes sluggishly like this, and he's so, so tired. Exhausted, even. He can't muster the will or the strength to sit up, or even try to drag himself to the door. He doesn't know if he can. He can't feel his legs. Or his arms. Are they broken? It wouldn't be the first time his struts had snapped over the course of the war.

A wave of vertigo hits him even though he's laying down. It feels like the world has tilted at a 45° angle and now he's falling. Speckled colors dapple his vision and it begins to cloud over with darkness. Is he dying?

It feels like he's dying.

Panic jolts his spark then, because fragging pits what if he is dying?! No, no, not yet! He can't die yet! He's not ready, this can't be how he dies, alone and cold in a bloodied heap in the darkened command center, this can't be it!

Despite his desperation and straining he can't even lift his helm, and darkness swallows his vision. The falling sensation returns with a vengeance, and then... nothingness.

...

Starscream jolts awake and thrashes in panic as he flies into an upright position, chassis heaving as he gasps and heaves for air to cool his overheated frame. He's sticky and wet with condensation, and he grabs at his chest. His mind is racing along with his spark, and he barely has time to wonder what happened when the darkness is banished with a sudden flood of light.

He flinches back with a hiss of surprise, servos coming up to shield his optics. They're fluorescent, bright white, nothing like the somber violet of the Nemesis he's gotten used to.

"Rise and shine, Your Highness!"

That jars him. His helm jerks in the direction of the voice so quickly his neck cables nearly kink, and he's greeted by another seeker, quite a rare sight indeed. He's a cheerful bright green and blue, yellow optics set in a silver face and already bustling over toward him.

"Up and attem, time's a wastin'! Your bath is ready, and once you're clean I've got Finery doing your paint today--Prim's out sick, poor thing," he's talking a mile a minute and Starscream is nothing short of flabbergasted. Is- Is he hallucinating? Surely, he must be! Yes, that's it, he- he's in the medbay and is so doped up on medication he's having vivid hallucinations. The other mech keeps talking, completely unbothered by his slack-jawed expression as he opens up the bureau on the opposite side of the room. "-and then you've got breakfast with your parents and immediately after that you're scheduled for archery. Don't forget you've got a meeting with the House of Diplomacy and then a soiree with Lord Thundercracker, and you know how Lady Permafrost gets about tardiness so let's try to be on time today, hm? After that- come on, chop chop! Out of bed, come on! Up, up! We don't want to fall behind!"

"Wha-"

The stranger hurries over and all but throws the covers off of him--silver, imported silk by the looks of it, painfully familiar--before reaching to place something on his helm. A circlet retrieved from the bureau, that's what he had been doing. "Come on, Highness, you really shouldn't lollygag. Didn't you hear me? Your bath is already prepared, and-"

Wait! "Cloudbreaker...?!"

The busybody finally stops for a moment. "Yes, Your Highness?"

Starscream's spark starts hammering again, and he leans so far forward he nearly falls off the berth. "You're really Cloudbreaker?!"

"I- yes?" The other mech tilts his helm. "Who else would it be?"

He hadn't seen Cloudbreaker since the day before Vos fell. He died in the fall, as so, so many of them did. More than 90% of their population had perished in the massacre. His optics move on their own to examine the room, and his audials start ringing again.

It's his room. His room, his suite, from so long ago. There's all his shelves with all the things he's collected, his countless personal bookfiles and pretty trinkets and, Primus, he can spot one of his old, soft toys from when he was very small. He glances down at the berth and it's his berth, he's under his blanket, these are his fancy cushions and pillows. He reaches under one of them and, sure enough, an old, raggedy piece of cloth with his name embroidered on it, far too small to be used anymore but still so precious. Handmade and woven by his carrier, before he had even been born.

There's no way.

It- It isn't possible.

But...

He nearly trips over himself in his haste to get up, almost tangling himself in the berth's cushy mesh fabrics as he dashes for the window. It's not real. It can't be! He's hallucinating! But-

He throws the curtains open and bright, glorious sunlight streams in. Towers of white and gold and silver greet his optics, platforms and of all shapes and sizes stretching into the distance as far as he can see, all suspended in the air and flying amongst the clouds. He sees seekers by the hundreds, thousands, zooming through the skies and going about their days. He presses his servos to the glass, then his face, and tears well up and spill over before he can even think to stop them. He hears the city singing, the whistling wind rushing through the flying architecture making a unique symphony he hasn't heard in millions of years. It's so startlingly clear, so crisp, so real.

He sobs as he realizes just how beautiful Vos is, realizes how much of its' wonder he had forgotten, realizes how his memories had been dulled and diluted. He'd forgotten the breathtaking depths of the colors, he'd forgotten all the ways the light sparkled and shone off the buildings. He'd forgotten the distant sounds of their people going about their days, he'd forgotten this beautiful view.

"...Your H-"

"What time is it?!"

"Uh, well, it's nine-"

"No!" He whirls around and finds Cloudbreaker has approached him, and he grabs the other's face in his servos. Staring him down gravely as he demands, "Not just the time of day! What year?! What cycle, what lunar phase, what day, what time?! Down to the millisecond!"

Cloudbreaker rattles it all off, looking startled, and his spark jumps in his chassis. It feels like it's caught an updraft, suddenly elevated as a foreign sense of hope and elation tries to anchor within him.

There's still time! The bombing hasn't happened yet, and there's still time!

[softpascalito]

I To Dig a Grave I Chapter 3 I

Summary: Twenty-one years after the outbreak, you come to Wyoming looking for something and end up in Jackson after a stranger saves your life.

But he doesn't stay a stranger.

Turns out Joel Miller is looking for something too. It feels like a fresh start. But when bad luck seems to follow you, Joel is the only one to turn to, forcing both of you to confront your feelings about your pasts- and each other.

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader Rating: Explicit / MDNI Word count: 12k+ Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Age Difference, Smut, Explicit Content, Grief/Mourning, Mental Health Issues, Canon-Typical Violence, Chose not to use Archive Warnings, Tags to be added

AO3 LINK // Series Masterlist // Playlist

notes: very excited for this chapter because you guys finally get to see what a big part of fic will deal with. keeping everyone who reads on in my prayers <3 (you'll need it)

i've also added a small playlist for this fic. in case you'd like to dive in the link is above!

this fic will deal with heavy topics. please note that it doesn't use archive warnings and tags will be added as we go in order to avoid spoilers. each chapter will have detailed warnings in the end notes on ao3.

Chapter 3 - The Sky

‘‘The sky here’s very strange. I often have the sensation when I look at it that it's a solid thing up there, protecting us from what’s behind.’ ‘But what is behind?’ Her voice was very small. ‘Nothing, I suppose. Just darkness. Absolute night.’’

- Paul Bowles, The Sheltering Sky

The body is resting against the only intact wall of the cabin, to Joel's left. Propped up next to the fireplace, the scene around it leaving no doubt about the finality of it. Blue hair drenched in red, thick liquid pooling below and running through the crevices of the weathered and beaten wood.

He barely registers Tommy’s footsteps behind him nor that they come to a sudden halt.

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters under his breath. 

Joel is the one that steps forward, kneeling down next to the fireplace, his hand gently reaching out to touch the pale skin of her hand. “She’s already cold. Must’ve been a few hours,” he whispers, his voice dangerously close to cracking.

“We need to alert the others. What if these guys are already at the gates? Maria has no clue-”

“Tommy-” Joel gently tries to stop the rambling of his brother, but he can't bring himself to take his eyes off her. But the other man is barely listening, his feet shuffling anxiously as he reaches for his rifle.

“Joel, goddamn it, I mean it. Get up. They may be waiting for the moment to attack-”

“There is no attack,” Joel says, again, and his voice feels too calm for what he’s implying. 

He stalls for a moment, the realization coming to him that he’s gotten too good at this. He’s gotten too good at being in the presence of death, likely better than he ever has been in the presence of people.

He carefully leans forward, using his free hand to gently push the fabric of her hoodie out of the way, glancing down at the wound and giving a small nod. He doesn't need to see the way Tommy’s shoulders fall. He feels the air shift as his brother comes to the conclusion Joel has found much faster. They both know why he got there quicker. Takes one to know one.

“Why would she-” Tommy breaks off, turning his gaze away from the thing he doesn't understand. “I don't know,” Joel mutters under his breath. It hasn't hit him yet, the full force of what this means. Of the consequences it will draw. “We need to get her back to Jackson.” But he can’t really focus on that. Not when he has your best friend’s lifeless body next to him without a clue where you are.

“Do you think-” There's a heavy pause. “Did she do this alone?” Tommy asks, placing his rifle next to the door and beginning to look around the cabin for something useful.

Joel immediately knows what he's asking. But he shakes his head. “I don't think she would have- There's no sign anyone else was here.”

His head is spinning, screaming at him to do the one thing he knows. He needs to find you.

And then he doesn't. Because before they can even begin to move the body, he can hear hooves approaching outside. He recognizes the fast gallop of your horse even before you call their names.

“Lane?! Joel?! Tommy?!” Your lungs hurt from calling them. It was easy enough to follow the tracks, spurring your own horse on much more than you dared on any patrol so far. The mare almost seems relieved when you reach the two other horses and you slide off her back in one quick motion.

It's at the same moment that the door flies open, Joel crossing the small veranda in a few strides. You freeze in your tracks. “Where-?” The words die in your throat. Joel carefully makes his way towards you, his steps slow and controlled. Your eyes fly to his hands. They’re bloody. He has almost reached you when you find his eyes again. There is a gentleness in them that confuses you for a split second.

And then it all makes sense. You don't want the blood, you don't want that look in his eyes, you don't want any of it once you realize what it means.

“No.” Your voice comes out all wrong and you don't know if he heard you. If anyone can.

“It's okay. Come here,” Joel mumbles as he reaches you, carefully sneaking his arm around you. He tries to pull you close and he's not sure whether it's for your or his sake. Maybe both.

“No. Joel, where is she?”

He shushes you again, readying himself to catch you if your knees give out, his grip around you tightening ever so slightly.

Joel Miller has come to know you fairly well over the past years. At least he likes to think he does and you've rarely caught him off guard. But today you do.

“Where is she?!” Your knees don't give out. Not even close. They bend just enough for you to slip past the broad man in front of you, taking off with a run towards the door of the cabin.

It takes him a second to register what has happened. Then, he’s storming after you as fast as his legs will allow him.

“Tommy!” he yells out, hoping that if he won't be able to stop you, at least his brother will. But it's he who catches up with you just as you take the first step onto the veranda, roughly pulling you back by your arm, hard enough that it sends both of you tumbling to the floor.

He barely registers the way the wooden step digs into his ribs and knocks the air out of his lungs. Instead, his fingers stay tightly wrapped around your arm. “Fucking let go, Joel! Let me see her!”

He doesn't know what to say. He can't tell you that he simply can't. That it would stay with you forever, even more than this will anyway.

“Come here,” he just repeats weakly, bringing his other arm around to pull you in. One of your knees is bleeding, your jeans ripped open where you hit the floor with full force. Joel makes a mental note to clean the wound later.

Your body is trembling much harder than you thought possible as you let Joel pull you into his arms. It has nothing to do with the cold. You don't even feel like you're able to recognize temperature. An absurd concept, that your body would adjust to any of it, that it would ever stop shaking and trembling. Joel's arms feel like he's all around you, wrapping his body around yours, sheltering you from what is only a few feet away. 

Your lungs that were burning just a minute ago seem to not be a part of you anymore. They in- and exhale in their own rhythm, one that feels too fast and too slow all at once. You hear Joel muttering into your ear, but you can't make out the words. Your cheeks are wet. You don't know why.

The world dissolves around you and you briefly wonder if you’re dying. It's not a shocking idea that gets you up and fighting. You wonder about death the same way you would about whether or not they have soap at the store. The world has almost gone dark when you realize you are not, in fact, dying. But, even as the strength leaves your muscles and you collapse against the body next to you, you are aware that something has.

***

You regain consciousness, just for a moment. There is a steady rise and fall around you and at first you think it's your lungs expanding and deflating. But as you open your eyes enough to catch a glimpse of your surroundings, they move. Up and down. Slow and steady.

You're on horseback, pressed against a broad chest that has to be Joel’s. His arms are pulling you tightly into him, keeping you upright, making sure you won't fall off. You don't think you could bring yourself to care. It probably wouldn't even hurt. In fact, every part of your body should hurt with the way you were running earlier, with how you fell onto the stairs, bone crunching as it took the blow to your side. But oddly enough, it feels like you're floating, like your mind is far away from your body and equally far away from Joel. There is a disconnect, a faulty wire. One that simmers, undetected, till it snaps one random afternoon and sets the whole house on fire.

You still feel like you’re drifting in and out of consciousness when the movement below you slows and you feel yourself being lifted down by strong, steady arms. They are a constant around you, a shield that protects you from what is beyond.

Word about your disappearances has traveled fast but not fast enough for no one to ask any questions. There have rarely been any runaways in Jackson, except for the occasional teenagers who usually show up again the day after- and the couple last year. The bodies Joel had found in the abandoned hotel. Why was he always the one to find them?

People approach, some calling out to the odd group arriving. Tommy leading both horses and shushing those who call out to them while Joel holds you close, staring down anyone who so much as tries to approach him.

“I’ll go and fetch Maria and we can-” Tommy pauses, his gaze wandering from his brother's face to the curled up body below it. He can't bring himself to say it. Not like this, not in front of you. 

Joel gives a curt nod, understanding. “Tell Maria we're at my place. And-” A small sigh escapes his lips. “Make sure she arranges for a group immediately.”

The younger man swallows hard and turns away. Infected will happily devour any meat they're given, no matter if they've hunted it down themselves. He doesnt think he could bear going back and finding a scene like that. His steps speed up.

You only catch glimpses of the people around you, words being whispered, conversations being started and then abruptly breaking off. And you still feel light, so light that you think you could just float away, disappear into the blue until you’d reach the horizon and whatever lies beyond. But you're wrapped in the dark leather coat that keeps sliding off your shoulders, wrapped in Joel’s arms, and so it won't happen. He won't let you float away. 

For all you know, all of the sounds and glimpses could be figments of your imagination, something like a dream or a fleeting memory of a book you’ve read as a child, one that you remember the cover and smell of, remember that it made you feel something, and yet, the story won't come to mind anymore. Above all, this can be, needs to be, something that is unreal. Because otherwise, you dont think you’ll be able to get through it.

You don't move. You let Joel carry you down Rancher Street, you let him nudge your head further into his chest as you realize you must be passing the corner of the graveyard. It seems impossible that you walked by it just a few hours ago, with your mind on the library and which exams to set and dinner this weekend. It all feels like a lifetime ago, a memory that doesn't belong to you but rather someone else.

The morning fog sunk back into the earth hours ago, the rays of the sun forcing it to clear. The sky above you feels close enough to touch, a vibrant and comforting shade of blue spanning from the tops of the wooden houses to the mountains in the distance.

You were just a baby when your father put up a swing in your backyard, strong ropes tied to the branch of an old oak tree. You must have heard the story a million times. Him, getting out his tools while you were watching from your blanket on the grass, not quite able to move your head on your own yet. But he insisted that your large eyes followed him around, contently staying where you were as he worked. 

You didn't understand, when hearing him talk about it, why he'd build a swing for someone too small to play on it. It only set in years later that he'd simply been that excited to bring home a little daughter and build something for her and fill the backyard with children's and adults' laughter alike.

That evening, he put you on his lap, one arm securely wrapped around the tiny form that was your body then, gently moving both of you back and forth. You’d fallen asleep almost instantly.

It became your favorite spot, and the way he talked about it years after you had left the house and the garden behind, it had been his too. You loved kicking your feet or spurring your father on to push you harder, watching as your legs soared towards the blue sky.

It seemed to you, back then, that you were miles above the ground, imagining what it'd be like to let go and drift off into the sky, to go up, up, up until your house would be nothing more than a small square below you, surrounded by green.

Joel carries you into the living room. He doesn't seem to want to leave you alone. And he seems restless.

He gets on his knees in front of you, soft brown eyes taking in your face. You avoid meeting them, curling further into the couch. His lips are moving but you can’t hear what he says.

After a few moments pass, you can tell he’s waiting for a response so you nod, almost in slow motion. He seems satisfied with that, saying something else before getting dinner started. It probably smells good, but you don't think you know good anymore.

You get through two potatoes, a bit of salad and chicken before you push your chair back, hurrying down the hallway as Joel scrambles after you.

You make it to the bathroom just in time, falling to your knees in front of the toilet as your stomach begins emptying itself. A sharp pain shoots through the knee that collided with the stairs of the cabin earlier. At the thought of the cabin, another wave of sickness hits you. It's violent, the way your throat convulses, your body trying to empty itself of whatever is inside.

But there is no purging the things inside of you. The thoughts and the memories and the images- god, the images. Lane, hunched over a table. Lane, holding a knife while you make dinner. Lane, laughing. Lane, placing a gun to her head. Lane, crying.

The steady flow of scenarios provided by your brain is broken by another wave of nausea, even though this time it is just dry heaving, your stomach already empty. Your head is not.

You don't hear the rushed footsteps behind you, but you feel the calloused hands pulling your hair out of the way and rubbing your back.

“There you go, get it all out,” Joel coos quietly. It's not his fault. That he doesn't immediately connect the dots as you start sobbing, choking for air. The sobs, your lungs demanding air, your stomach blocking the way, clearly insistent on getting everything out of your system.

You’re positive that the noises coming out of your mouth do not sound like yourself or, for that matter, sound human at all. They're a mix of gasping and heaving, back and forth, as your fingers clench around the toilet seat so hard you feel like it may break.

Joel is very lost and very determined not to let you notice. He has never seen you in this much pain, not when he washed you in the bathroom upstairs nor when you were seconds away from being ripped apart by an Infected. He cannot know that on the first night spent with Lane you were hunched over a toilet just like this, throwing up the blueberry muffins that had been too much for your starved stomach to handle. He cannot know she held your hair like he holds it now, fingers firmly wrapped around it, occasionally sweeping a loose strand behind your ear.

You're not sure how long you sit there like this, the cold tiles uncomfortably pressing into Joel's already sore knees, when he carefully leans you against the wall as he fetches a few towels, letting the water run until it's warm, to wet one of them and wipe your face.

His eyes fly over your features, concern etched into every part of his face. You weakly try and raise your arm to take the towel from him, unwilling to just sit and watch. But he shakes his head firmly, his gaze determined. “Let me, okay? You just focus on breathing.”

As he reaches for another towel, you feel your empty stomach filling again. With a heavy, uncomfortable guilt, one you wish you could throw right back up. Tears shoot into your eyes again but this time Joel doesn't hesitate.

“What's going on? Tell me what you're thinking,” he mutters, his thumb brushing over the side of your face as his other hand uses the towel to dab over your chin, carefully wiping the remainder of the vomit away.

“I wasted your food,” you half-whisper, your voice raw. Joel's face falls, for a moment.

“Nothing is ever wasted on you, you hear me?” he mumbles quietly, moving on to wipe your cheek. “I can always make more.”

He doesn't seem to mind that you cry again at that.

***

It must be past midnight when you wake up the next time. The room is only dimly lit now, and a blanket is tucked around you, your eyes facing the worn-out fabric of the couch Joel set you down on earlier. Earlier feels very far away.

You turn, slowly, glad to find that your stomach seems to decide to give it a rest for now. It still lurches slightly as you squint into the dining room, seeing two figures hunched over the wooden table.

“Joel?” you try to call his name, quietly, but your throat feels dry and the word turns into a cough instead. Your fingers rub your throat, willing it to calm down and relax, as Joel appears in front of you, kneeling down beside the couch and offering you a glass of water. You nod your thanks, using both hands to bring it to your mouth and take a few sips.

“Better?” He hums softly, taking the glass back. You give another nod. If he minds the non-verbal communication, he doesn’t let it show. Instead he turns around, returning with the glass refilled. You gratefully accept it again.

It's only after he's placed it onto the small coffee table that your eyes land on Tommy, leaning against the wooden column separating the two rooms as he watches the scene in front of him. He gives you a swift nod when your eyes meet and something that seems like it was supposed to be a smile but, given the circumstances, fails miserably.

Joel motions for him to come closer. “Come on, it's- have a seat.” Their eyes meet and they seem to communicate silently, no doubt continuing the conversation where they left off.

Tommy sits down. He shuffles his feet, his fingers anxiously tapping the lid of a plastic container that holds some food. Courtesy of Maria, no doubt. Joel takes the spot next to you on the couch and you inch towards him, glad for any kind of support even though you have no clue what is about to happen.

“We- We’re still trying to piece everything together,” Tommy says, his voice quiet and solemn. You tense ever so slightly, listening intently. You're not sure you want to know how or why or any of the other details that will undoubtedly make this more real.

“There was a note in- with her,” he goes on, seemingly choosing his words very carefully. “She said she left you a letter, back at home.” Your eyes automatically fly to Tommy’s sides, half expecting him to pull a piece of paper out of his pocket. He seems to notice your train of thought.

“We're still going through her room, just to make sure- we just want to be certain this happened the way she says it did,” he finishes quietly. You can feel two pairs of eyes on you, but you just nod. Of course. Someone could’ve murdered her and staged it as a suicide. Somehow, that idea didn’t cross your mind. Maybe because you don't think anyone could ever truly hate Lane nearly enough to wish her harm or maybe simply because you already seem to feel in your stomach that her life ended on her own terms.

Joel and Tommy exchange a few glances until Joel awkwardly clears his throat and reaches out to take the plastic container from him. “I'll put this in the fridge.”

The younger brother keeps his eyes on you as you listen to Joel rummaging in the kitchen. His hand awkwardly reaches for your shoulder, hovering above it for a moment before patting it lightly. “I'm so sorry, kid.”

“Thanks, Tommy,” you manage to press out, your own gaze fixed on the opposite wall. You don't want to see the look again, the same one Joel had back at the cabin. In fact, you think you may never want anyone to look at you ever again.

You're still staring at the same spot when the two men head towards the front door a few minutes later. Their voices are low and they must be standing half outside, if the cold creeping into the house is anything to go by. You know their words are not meant for your ears but you still stay absolutely still, listening.

“I’ll bring the letter by tomorrow, okay? Let her get it over with,” Tommy mumbles and you think you hear him shuffling his feet again.

“Yeah, yeah, you do that,” Joel responds, equally quiet. There is a moment of silence. They haven't had a moment to talk about all this, for Joel to consider if he of all people should be the one to take care of you. 

Tommy seems to think along the same lines, even though you can't begin to guess the depth of their seemingly simple words.

“Are you okay to-?” 

Joel gives a shaky nod. “Yeah, ‘ts fine. She needs someone and- Ellie’s staying with Dina for a few days, until we've figured things out.”

Tommy doesn't know what to say. He carefully takes in Joel's face, or at least what he can make out of it in the dim light of the porch. He goes for a hug instead, wrapping his arms around his brother for a fleeting moment, a hand rubbing over the older man's back. “Either of you need anything, we're all here.”

His voice has dropped enough for you not to overhear the last part.

Maybe it's because Joel's own hearing is bad, but he doesn't seem to realize you've been listening when he comes back into the room a few moments later. “I'm sure they'll be done tomorrow. But we should all try and get some sleep now.” He takes a step towards you, gently running his hand over the top of your head. “I put some fresh sheets onto the bed upstairs while you were out. I don't want ya sleeping on the couch.”

You're too tired and exhausted to protest. Besides, you know it would be a waste of time. So you let him help you upstairs, let him wait right outside the bathroom door as you brush your teeth and let him tuck you into bed, the soft sheets a stark contrast against your dirty and scratched up skin. Joel looks down at you for a moment, his fingers tapping against his leg.

“Do you want me to stay here?”

It's almost embarrassing how fast you jump onto the offer, nodding as you finally meet his eyes again. He looks concerned and sad and you hate that you're the cause of it. But you also want his company, more than anything.

Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you shortly afterwards. He’s changed into pajamas, made up of a pair of brown plaid pants and a cream-colored, worn shirt. Compared to you, he actually looks put together. You can see his outline beside you, the candle on his nightstand the only source of light left in the room. It gives everything a dim, orange glow, distantly reminding you of a sunset.

You're suddenly aware of how very heavy your head feels, far too heavy to be held up by your neck. There are too many thoughts in there, you think, they don’t have enough room to breathe. Or to make sense. The faulty wires are back. And they keep your synapses from connecting correctly. Nothing makes sense. 

‘We just want to be certain this happened the way she says it did.’

“Can I ask you something?” Your voice comes out small and still, it seems too loud in the quiet around you.

“Anything,” comes the response, equally quiet even though Joel's voice sounds more steady than yours. You ponder your words for a few moments and you feel him shift beside you, propping his head up on one arm to get a better look at your face. “What is it, darlin’?”

“They brought her back to Jackson, right?”

Joel seems to consider his words for a moment, then he nods slowly. “Yeah. Yeah, they did.” Even in the dim light, you can feel his eyes on you, searching your face. You turn your face away from him, staring at the stacked records in the corner instead.

“Why would someone go through all that trouble? Bringing her so far out?” The words coming out of your mouth seem as much a surprise to you as they are to Joel. You can hear him suck in a breath beside you. The mattress dips below his weight as he sits up.

“Can you look at me for a moment?”

You obey, turning your head and resting your cheek against your shoulder. You can see Joel's face above you. He looks like he's about to cry. You must be very tired, you think to yourself. Joel Miller doesn't cry.

Before your eyes and mind can drift away again, he swallows and speaks up again, the southern drawl in his voice more present than ever.

“Honey- No one made her go.”

His words are slow, carefully chosen. He knows he is treading a fine line here.

“She did it herself, darlin’.” A small frown has spread over his face, his eyebrows knitted together. “I told you earlier, downstairs. Don’t you remember?”

You shake your head, painfully aware that the gentleness in his tone is back, the same one he’s had earlier at the cabin. You think you know all the things he’s telling you, but you can’t recall Joel saying it. The picture of him in front of the couch appears before your eyes, but you can’t make out the words coming out of his mouth. Again, you find yourself surprised that you're the one who speaks instead.

“Did anyone check her?” 

He pauses at that, the frown deepening. “What do you mean?” 

You take a small breath, your fingers pulling at a loose thread of the sheets below you. “I mean, did they check if she's really-” You pull a little harder and the thread breaks, the thin piece of fabric remaining in your palm.

You wonder if they have wrapped her up yet. If someone’s put fresh clothes on her. If anyone has checked her pulse.

“What if she's not dead?”

“I need you to listen to me.” His voice is slightly more urgent now. “I saw her. And she's gone. I'm so sorry and I wish she wasn't and I know-” His voice comes dangerously close to breaking but he only gives a tiny shake of his head and presses on.

“I know how difficult this must be but you need to understand this. She's gone. She's not coming back.”

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