#it's just such a complicated and special and tender dynamic between them

[firein-thesky]

|| zhongli x afab!reader || E/18+ || smut/a touch of angst/comfort || wc: 7k || ao3 ||

minors and ageless blogs do not interact, 18+ only

You have never been patient enough for worship. Sometimes, he thinks you always expect to be scorned or feared or hated. As a god of hunger, you are not beloved or worshiped by many, if any at all.

You’ve never known the sort of worship that he gives you. 

✧ meet fruit collab masterlist ✧

a/n: this is apart of @willowser 's house server summer collab, meet fruit!! i took plums as my prompt!! this really got away from me and i had a lot of fun with this dynamic and i WILL be writing more of godly wife!reader and zhongli. i have a whole backstory. a huge massive fic i shouldn't work on but will fjdkslfdk i also need to give a special thanks to @itoshisoup , @lorelune , and @petrichorium for helping me with brainstorming and riffing earlier! also finding some godly names for the reader! in particular, mao came up with the name Tanai Zhenjun, which i will leave a note at the end about!! i hope you enjoy this sweet taste!! thank you for reading and let me know your thoughts <333

tags: afab!reader referred to as wife, and has several godly titles that mortals have called her, etc., a complicated relationship between zhongli and reader, mentions of past fights/canon typical violence, erotic fruit eating and feeding, finger sucking, biting, oral sex (f!recieving), some over stimulation, praise, maybe a little sex pollen because the reader causes feelings of hunger/lust/etc. but its consensual and zhongli can withstand it if he wanted, scratching, unhealthy godly dynamics, let me know if i missed anything!

In the shadows of his home, he would know you anywhere. 

(He would know you even if you didn’t appear to him like this, fully formed, and in the visage of mortals. He’d know you in the thunder and the wolves’ howl. He’d know you in autumn’s bitter wind and the fox’s cry. Across all of time, he’d know you.) 

You slip, serpentine, slow and with the easy grace of a predator into the last falling light of the sun; bronzed, honeyed, and appearing before him like you did decades ago, perhaps a hundred of years ago. 

Has it been so long already? 

The sight of you–perhaps simply you, yourself, spark an ache in his chest. Fierce. Hunger pains. 

And after all these years, he welcomes it, savors the pit in his stomach like a sweet fruit. 

You, his god of hunger. 

You, his divine wife. 

He tips his head back, leaning further into the chair at his deep, mahogany desk, as if he could fix his eyes to better see you. As if he could take in more of you, somehow, greedily, hungirly. 

“Hello, my Morax.” You hum and the sun catches in your eye as you step into his life again, after so long without. 

“Hello, my love.” He responds, as if it could’ve just been yesterday.

As if you are his wife and you’ve come home to greet him. As if he is your husband and he’s been working all day without you. 

“It’s been a long time,” he says then, “you’ve been away a long time.” 

You meander closer, on the other side of his desk, peering at the scrolls and papers there. His hands are stained in ink. He catches the downturn of your lips, the small quirking of them in displeasure. Such mortal things, he can hear your voice, the little hiss you get when you dislike something. 

But then your eyes roam to the bowl of fruit, now untouched, that had been brought to him in hopes of eating;

Slices of plum, gold and orange and tender on the inside, their moon-dark skins still curved to them. One still has the pit attached to it, carefully nestled within its flesh. 

Plums always remind him of you. 

(In truth, anything with pits, with bones, with something that can be picked clean and left behind reminds him of you.) 

In an instant, your fingers, nimble–adorned with his jewels, the jewels of his earth, snag a slice.

He watches as you sink your teeth into it, juice bursting, caught on your lip. 

You chew only a moment, swallow slowly as you watch him. 

“I thought I wasn’t allowed around Liyue Harbor,” you begin, “I thought I wasn’t allowed around your precious mortals.” 

His voice, low and soft, rumbles in affirmation. “Yes, that is true.” 

“And yet you speak to me like I’m welcome.” You hold the last bite of your slice to your lips, speaking against it, “like I should’ve visited sooner.” 

You bear down into the fruit again. 

“You’ve come to pick a fight?” He asks, “I can feel you’re trying to stir trouble.” 

And it's true; your ability as a god of hunger, to spark it in others. To sharpen and change it from starvation to bloodlust to desire to despair to greed–to any form of hunger. 

You caused whole towns to be decimated, driven mad with just the residuals of you, the feeling of you too near, like a wraith haunting their doorway. You turned tides in the Archon war for him and against him. You have always been one of the biggest threats to Liyue’s peace—to the world. Perhaps even beyond.

You perch on the corner of his desk prettily. 

“I can’t visit my husband?” You purr.

He quirks a brow, “you only ever call me husband when you’re trying to kill me.”

Your grin is a wild slip of excitement, a fissure of heat in the clash of your gazes.

“I am trying to kill you,” you agree, but perhaps you have always been trying to kill him. The battles between you two carved the very land of Liyue and at the end of them, no matter what had transpired, he was still your husband. And you, his wife. “But I don’t feel like fighting tonight.” 

You pluck another slice of plum from the bowl and bring it to your mouth. He watches your lips part to take the fruit in again. 

He thinks of replacing your hand with his own. He thinks of the sticky sweet taste he would find if he licked into your mouth, he thinks of being between your teeth again like the little piece of plum.  

Something inside of him yawns open. 

You’re toying with him. 

“You’re in rare form, then.” he hums and does not deny your draw. He has long since stopped trying not to be swept up in you–he realized it was inevitable at some point. You would always pull at parts of him none of the world had, and like a puppeteer did you play with those strings. “To what do I owe the pleasure?” 

You gaze down at him, almost lovingly, if he didn’t know better. 

Then you shift slightly, adjust yourself. 

And the first touch he has of you in decades, perhaps a century, is just a brushing of your calf against his forearm from where you sit atop his desk. Your bare skin beneath the pooling silks of your skirts. 

Heat rips through him like a tearing wound. 

His gaze flicks up to yours. 

“Did you know I was in Liyue?” You ask. 

“I always know the moment you enter my land again.” 

I always know the moment you come home. 

You shift your leg again, this time, a steadier press to his arm. 

He can’t help himself–he shifts his arm, opens his palm up against the curve of your bare calf to fully feel you, to hold you, in any minute way you might let him. Rough calluses scrape up  against the soft skin of your leg, the silk of your dress pooling around his arm, cool and like spun moonlight. 

You let him hold you like this, curl against the contour of you. His hand moves, dips down almost to your ankle, and back up to the bend of your knee. 

“You missed me,” you accuse, your voice a teasing lilt. 

Perhaps it’s you and the heady rush you cast on a room, on him, “yes,” he agrees honestly, “I always do.” 

“So sentimental in your old age. You’ve spent too long around these mortals.” You tell him, looking away so all you give him is the profile of your lovely face. The upward tilt of your chin, the haughty way you look down your nose. 

“Did you miss me?” He asks and he isn’t looking for you to placate him, but his hand is broad and inching up the back of your thigh. He pulls at you, urges you to the edge of the desk, where his other hand fits around the curve of your waist. 

“Don’t get greedy,” you chastise gently, but you still go with the pull of his hold. 

You slip into his lap like you were always meant to be there, fitting to him the way the moon fits into the sky, or the land against the sea. It’s an ancient feeling, bone deep, soul-cut. 

You let your arms fall around his neck loosely and to have you again in his embrace, after so long, does in fact, make him feel greedy. 

“I can feel it,” he says instead, perhaps just to spite you a little–to move another piece in this eternal chess game with you. “I can feel how you ache. I can feel the way you missed me.” 

“I always feel like that,” you snip, deft fingers slipping the band in his hair out so that it all falls free, loose and flowing over his shoulders in a wave of inky black. “I am always hungry like that.” 

“No,” he says and his voice is low like a wolf’s growling, a tiger’s purr, “I know your hunger. And I know this hunger of yours. You missed me.” 

“If you’re looking for a heartfelt confession, you won’t find it in me.” You tell him, proud little god that you’ve always been, “perhaps you’ll find it in your precious mortals.” 

Your voice takes on an edge, just shy of a sneer.

He laughs, a low rumble from his chest, amused, and pleased.

“Oh, that jealousy of yours. I missed that, too.” 

“Don’t get full of yourself,” you hiss like an asp and now, he worries you’ll bring your claws out. Your eyes glint in the last rays of light, like a bolt of lightning, like a spark of flame in a cold night.

He reaches up to touch your face, thumb sweeping over the arc of your jaw bone in a possessive hold. He forces you to look at him. “Come now, I thought you said you weren’t in the mood for a fight.”

“Then don’t test me.” You snap.

He fights back another fond smile in order to not test you further than he already has. 

He leans closer, his nose almost nudging against yours, “if you’re not here to fight. What are you here for?” 

“To eat through all your land until it is barren again.” You murmur and he knows it is just to pester him. Your fingers are winding in his long, silky hair and your eyes have gone half-lidded, so he knows you are not nearly as waspish as you’re pretending to be.

“If I could satiate your hunger, I would.” He murmurs darkly, lips brushing against yours as you carefully hold yourself back, a dog on a strained leash. At your best, you have always been a caged beast, pacing and desperate for escape. At your worst, you have been nothing short of desolation, teeth upon the earth in a vicious grasp, shaking hard, tearing it to shreds. Your bite never compared to your bark. You’d threaten destruction and deliver devastation; even you, surprised with your own vitriol, your own capability for demolition. 

He threatened to muzzle you once, long ago. 

You rear back slightly to look at him, “no, you wouldn’t. What would you have me be? Content?” 

He laughs softly again, low and warm, terribly fond of you despite it all, “yes,” he says very frankly, and then, “soothed, for once in your life.” 

“I won’t ever be soothed while you walk this earth.” You tell him and he cannot tell if you mean it with vengeance or with love. Are you being romantic? Or threatening him? Sometimes, he felt that your violence was supposed to be more like a kiss, and your kiss the type of violence that leaves him ruined for decades after. 

“And you would be after?” He asks, “I don’t think you’d know what to do if you finally managed to kill me in a meaningful capacity. You’d be bored.” 

You move to pull away from him with a snarl but he fastens his hold onto you tighter to get you to stay, he touches your face again, coaxing. “I only tease you.” 

“I said don’t test me.” You respond, but again, there is nothing nearly so vicious in you tonight. 

No, he knows the hunger in you tonight is a soft creature, a warbling, tender one. He’ll be kind to it, he will feed it and tend to it, even if he knows it will only grow larger still. Like caring for a tiger cub, only for it to grow into all those teeth and muscles, to bite the hand that fed it. 

“Forgive me,” he rumbles, and this time, he angles your head so that he can skim the strong line of his nose against your jaw, “let me make it up to you.” 

“You will not be able to,” you say indignantly and his own smile now feels sharper with the challenge, with your throat so near. He settles himself into a burning kiss against your pulse. Inside of him, something catches and sparks. Your hands curl around the muscles of his shoulders. 

“I know,” he coos, low and soft, almost sympathetic. “Then at least indulge the hunger you’ve caused in me.” 

This, in the least, you settle into. 

He pulls away barely to sit back, to look at you fully in all of your glory a moment. 

You look back at him, perhaps taking him in as well. 

The smoldering turns into a flame. 

The decades of years unspool inside of him and give way to a racing mind, images of what he wants, how he wants you. 

It is always like this, he thinks, eternally, desiring you, and never getting enough.

He thinks he must know how you feel. 

And then he gives into one of several of his desires that are rearing their large, horned heads inside of him. The beasts of his desire are all chained to you, he thinks. He reaches for the bowl of fruit. 

Perhaps it's your turn to be amused as he brings a slice of plum to your lips. You must know how he was looking at you earlier, you must know his desires if you are the one to stoke them. 

Still, you accept the fruit easily, minding your teeth as his finger slips against your lips. Sticky and soft and warm. You draw his finger into your mouth briefly, closing around it. He can feel the edges of your teeth as he pulls it out. 

The moment you swallow around the piece, he surges up to kiss you. 

To finally kiss you. 

He wishes he could call it something of a greeting or reunion, but it is too desperate and too vicious for that. Your teeth click together, coming up against one another, like an old key coming up against a lock. 

He tastes the plum in your mouth, sweet and a little tart, and can’t help the groan that rumbles out of him. 

Your hands disappear into his hair, tangle in the strands so that he can feel the press of your nails against his scalp. He feels the way you arch into the slide of his hands along your torso, bending to them, as if he is a sculptor. It pulls you closer, opens your hips wider in his lap in a way that makes heat rip through him.

When he pulls away, you’re already hazy-eyed, heady with the quick-burn of this sort of hunger, this lust. 

It pulls at him like the tide on the shore to drag him under. 

This time, when he places his lips to your throat, he sinks into a bite at the tender flesh there. 

Sometimes, he wishes he’d treat you more tenderly. As if that might be all you ever needed; more gentleness, and less teeth at your throat. 

But you arch and from your mouth spills your own moan finally, fingers tightening in his hair as if to hold him there. He feels your hips twitch forward, into him, an aborted rock of them, perhaps unknowingly or subconscious.

He wishes you inspired patience in him. 

(Usually, he claims to have a great deal. Unfortunately, he cannot claim the same with you in his arms again. Forgive me, he thinks again, but I haven’t seen you in nearly a century.) 

He stands suddenly with you still wrapped around his waist, hands fit beneath your thighs to lift you and place you on the broad expanse of his desk. Papers get pushed aside, some topple onto the floor in a fluttering mess. You laugh when the bowl of plums rattle precariously, but his mouth covers yours again, and he swallows the sound eagerly. 

He kisses you hard again, hitching your hips up to fit snugly to his, fitting his broad hands over the curves of your waist. You respond in kind, though, and twine your leg around his waist to pull him closer, arch your back to press your chest up to his.

When he pulls away this time, he takes you in, splayed out beneath him. 

“I did miss you,” he gets out roughly.

“Then show me,” you respond, stretching out beneath him, as if to tempt him. 

His hands move over the silk of your dress, bunching parts of it, tangling it. He decides in an instant that he doesn’t actually wish to deal with it, so he sets his hands on the bust and simply pulls. It tears like paper beneath him. And again, you laugh, amused with him now, with what you do to him.

“So impatient.” 

“It’s been a long time, my love.” 

And this time when he kisses you, perhaps you give into him more, feed what he wants. You mewl into his mouth, arch against him, drag your nails down his covered back. 

“Touch me,” you get out, demanding, a little fussy. 

“So impatient.” He mocks dryly. 

For his trouble, you pull harshly on the hair at the nape of his neck, baring his throat to you. 

His broad palm roams up the expanse of your side, your bare stomach, and to your chest. He cups your breast, thumb brushing against the peak in a way that makes you hum and squirm beneath him eagerly. 

You bury your face in his now exposed neck, nudge your nose there, which turns into your warm, open mouth. 

For a moment, surprisingly gentle, until he feels the quick flash of pain from your teeth. He rolls your nipple between thumb and forefinger with a little more pressure than necessary, just to hear the little noise of pain you make. 

He drops his face to the crux of your chest, lips dragging along the skin there, above your beating heart. And for all your bite and bark, you still offer yourself up to him for the taking. You still draw your hands over his shoulders, pushing at the clothes still on him. He doesn’t indulge you, but draws lower, hair spilling over your chest as his mouth opens against your breast. 

He nips and marks, sets his teeth against the tender flesh and sucks a bruise into you. 

“I miss your sharp teeth,” you admit.

He huffs, breath fanning against your skin. He raises his eyes, molten gold, to meet your own, “there’s no pleasing you.” 

And then he captures the bud of your breast in his mouth and at least manages to pull another sound from you, meandering, growing in your own desire. You squirm beneath him again but something inside of him (old and draconic) blinks its eyes open and he seizes your waist to still you the way a predator subdues their prey, sharply, and with a slow rolling of muscle, a flex of their strength. A serpent squeezing down around a mouse. A tiger bearing down on the deer. 

You don’t go easily, though. 

And the moment you feel his resistance, you squirm and push harder, straining. Arching and impatient. 

He nips, he fights back the more base urge to growl, and readjusts his hold on you.

“Stop squirming,” he commands.

“Stop teasing,” you reply, stubborn, and disobedient. 

“Let me enjoy you.” Zhongli responds, watching his own hand sweep over your breast, cover it, and toy with you. 

“Enjoy me later.” You snip, fastening your legs tighter to his waist, hitching him closer. 

And he feels a head rush of your ability pour through him, the tightening of your desire and lust, of your hunger spilling from you. It’s purposeful. He feels the dull thud of his heart kick upwards, the warmth that simmers beneath his skin. He blinks hard with it, but does not succumb. 

“You’re so insolent.” He finally gets out, just shy of a growl, “now hold still for me.” 

His lips skim the top of your stomach as he lowers himself to his knees in front of you. 

You sit up onto your elbows, eyeing him, inching your hips to the edge of the desk eagerly. 

“I’ve always liked you best on your knees, Morax.” 

He sinks his teeth into your inner thigh in a more ruthless bite, forcing your legs open even as they threaten to close with the sudden jolt of pain. Hard enough that you hiss through your teeth, twitching towards or away from him, he can’t tell. 

(Images of days long past flash hotly in his mind, in another form, with those sharper teeth you’d said you missed.) 

He feels your hunger burst open like a ripe fruit, like the plum between your teeth. 

He soothes the bite with a slow, lingering pass of his tongue. 

His eyes flick upwards towards you. 

You look a little shaken finally, eyes glassy, teeth stuck in your bottom lip. 

He drags you closer, pulls you flush so that your hips are almost off the edge. You fall back with the movement and he doesn’t give you a moment. He isn’t feeling generous or very kind anymore. 

His mouth opens against you in a crush of heat, eager, perhaps impatient himself. 

A groan, low, from the back of his throat, works out of him at the first taste of you. 

Again, you try to squirm, and something ancient and vicious in him squeezes hard enough on your waist that if you were a mortal, he might sincerely hurt you. He doesn’t care if you’re trying to squirm closer or away, he realizes, he doesn’t care if it hurts a little, as long as he can have you like this. Open. His. 

Ah, he realizes, perhaps he isn’t ignoring your sway as well as he thought he was. 

He delves between soft folds, already slick, but he’ll make it worse still. 

(Perhaps, at one point, he had ideas of being a gentleman of some kind with you. Perhaps, at some point, he thought he would carefully work you open with mouth and soft tongue. He’d be loving and gentle with you. But you’ve always done something horrible to him, something he can’t tame, something he wishes he feared more.) 

You whine a little and the sound pools straight into his own desire for you. 

He fits himself closer, keeps your legs wider apart with his shoulders. 

“Morax,” you gasp and it’s with more heat and desperation than he is anticipating.

His eyes, heavy and gold, flick up towards your face, looking up at you beneath the dark fan of his lashes. 

Oh, you’re closer than he thought, he realizes. 

He doesn’t slow or stop or lessen himself, groans a little, and fits himself tighter to you. He digs his fingers into your skin and keeps you close. 

To his surprise, that is all it takes. 

Your gasp is strangled, perhaps a little surprised, as you arch off the desk in a bow-curve, poised to snap.

You fall to pieces as a cry loosens from your throat. 

He feels you pulse against his tongue and without thinking, he growls a little, a pleased rumble, and doesn’t stop.

He tastes you, savors it, and doesn’t let you hide or pull away from him.

Your hips twist and he follows the movement, wrestling you still, so that he can still enjoy you. 

You’re out of breath, hiccuping a little, trying to squirm away from him but there’s nowhere to go.

He won’t let you go.

He pulls away to rest his head on your inner thigh a moment, “so quick.” He teases, “you must’ve been pent up for it to be that easy.” 

He thinks, I wasn’t even doing that for you yet—I was still enjoying myself. I was being greedy. Hungry in my own way, in the way that you inspire.

“I should leave you now.” You huff, picking yourself up on your elbows to gaze down at him, but your eyes are simmering.

He squeezes at your thighs, “you’re not going anywhere tonight.”

And before he can hear your protests, he dips forward again and flattens his tongue against your folds. Slow, broad licks that make you twist and twitch. 

“Morax—“ 

“I’m not finished with you yet, my love.” He says lowly, somewhere against where you’re most tender and sensitive. 

He takes his time teasing now. 

Enjoy me later, you’d said, and he doesn’t think this is what you meant. 

You have never been patient enough for teasing–for worship. Sometimes he thinks you always expect to be scorned or feared. You were always Deus Inanis, Tanai Zhenjun, and later, Rapax Regina to the people. You have many names from them, none particularly kind or cherished. You were always the ghoulish god, the bad omen, the drooling maw of a starved predator. Your myth is not a beloved one by most. 

And some dare not even speak your name at all, for fear of inviting you. 

You are not a welcome god in the home and hearth, you are not for protection or courage. You are feared and warded off. You are, at best, used as a condemnation. 

(To him you were always softened with affection, even at your worst; little god, my curse, my love, keeper of my heart.) 

You’ve never known the sort of worship he gives you. 

You struggle with it, keen sharp and broken when he gives it to you. 

Sometimes you have all-out tried to refuse him or hasten him, poured your lust and impatience into him to get your way, to sway him to your own will. He can feel it again now but it never manifests in him the way you’d like it to. You assume his desire is one of his own pleasure. But it has always been this; 

You, belly-up and vulnerable, only for him, delicate in a way the rest of the world will never know. Pleasure-drunk and hazy. Lost to what he can give you–he wants to gorge you. He wishes he could fill the empty place inside of you. 

He’s spent an eternity trying. He’ll spend an eternity more. 

He focuses his intentions, strengthens the pass of his tongue with what he wants. He wants your pleasure. He wants it again and again. 

You curse a little, an ancient word, from when the land was Archon-less and free. 

He lifts his mouth from you briefly, “you are already cursing like that? This will be a long night for you then.” 

He opens his mouth again to taste you, to suck gently, your legs twitching over his shoulders as your breath hitches. 

This time you curse him, hissing through clenched teeth.  

He laughs against you in amusement, low and dark, and smooths a broad hand over the soft plain of your tensing stomach. As if he might soothe you, or perhaps because he wants to feel all of you, have you in his palms, in his arms. Against his mouth.

The next time you fall apart, he doesn’t let up once. His eyes have gone half-lidded and burning, a flint-strike of amber. You try to fight him again, wrestle out of his hold, but he strengthens himself. He steels himself, even, to your pulling of his hair, to your fussing and snapping–all of that melts to whining, to near-crying, as he continues. 

You’re too stubborn to cry for him now–there have been only a handful of times he’s broken you down that much. 

Perhaps if he were feeling crueler, he would try. 

(These instances have always come in the wake of something worse; your largest fights, or worst transgressions where he felt the need to punish. To strip you bare. These are saved, not for his desires, but for your catharsis after all your grief.) 

But your voice has gone higher with desperation, more broken, and he is pleased with that. 

Pleased enough that when you burst on his tongue again, your nails digging into the back of his hand as he holds you, he finally rises. 

Instantly, you twine yourself around him, legs around his waist, arms pulling at the front of his clothes to drag him down into your arms. You are always more desperate for affection like this, softened by pleasure, hungry for more. 

He goes down easily for you.

 Kisses you hard and open, so that you’ll taste yourself from his mouth, the way he tasted the plum from yours. 

You groan weakly and manage to gasp when he pulls away, “please–more. I need more. Need–” 

Always need, you say, when you get like this. Never want. 

“Need you.” 

He hums, the noise lumbering from his chest in a pleased, dark sound. 

“You have me,” he soothes, even as he feels dizzy with your own desire, a headrush of desperation–of need that rushes from you to him. 

Feed me, need me, fill me, possess me, take, take, take me. Fill. Aching–so empty, I’m so empty. Please, please, it hurts– please, I need more, need, need, need–

He lets out a harsh breath. It aches, almost sharply, almost on the wrong side of pain and pleasure. 

He does not torment you any longer. He does not torment himself, either. 

With fingers far more nimble than he feels, he loosens his slacks, he pushes his clothes out of the way just enough, enough to take himself in hand and hiss through his teeth as the head of his cock touches your slick folds. 

Molten. Fluttering still with sensitivity, with desperation. 

Your hips roll, eager, trying to urge him closer, inside–

“Morax–” you cry and the sound twists something in his chest, blooms like a bruise being pressed on. 

 He presses inside you and fills you in one, deep thrust. 

You gasp sharply, you pull at him, force him to collapse over you nearly, cover you completely. You cling to him, you wrap yourself around him like a serpent, now constricting him–

(He’s never been able to tell who is the serpent and who is the mouse, anyways. Who is the tiger or the deer? Was he capturing you? Or were you always capturing him?)

You hold him so tightly, calves flexing around his back, that he can hardly pull out from you to thrust.

He groans, almost in frustration, or maybe some form of defeat. 

“Darling,” he gets out roughly, “my love. My little god.”

The old, affectionate nickname burns through you and he can feel the desire like a knife’s blade in his own stomach. You moan– a soft, warbling sound. 

He manages to move his hips, barely leaving the hot clutch of you, to push back in deeper, harder. 

“Please–” you gasp, “more–kiss me. Touch me.”

“So demanding,” he scolds, but he kisses you hard, with too much teeth and roughness, and fits his palms over the sides of your body. He takes handfuls of curves, of your waist and your breasts, rough hands bending over the lines of you the way the light of the moon bends over the hills and valleys of his land. 

His next thrust is harder, a little rougher. You turn your face into his throat after you break the kiss and your teeth sink down into him hard. 

You always draw blood. You always have to leave your mark on him, on all that you’ve touched. 

But then you draw your tongue over the wound, licking softly, perhaps in apology. Perhaps to satiate another need that winds around inside you. 

Your hand tangles in his hair again and he bites back another raw groan as he thrusts, in and out, on a slow, rough drag. You’re clinging to him, tight and so wet that it’s making his thoughts bleary and clouded. Your lust shadows any rationality; your hunger possesses him. 

“Harder,” you gasp, you beg, you plead. 

And he thinks who am I to deny you? Who am I to deny the god of my hunger? 

His hand slips over your arm, your free one clawing at his clothed back still. He knows you will mourn not getting your nails into his skin after, but he will let you satiate the need all you like later. He’ll savor the way you try to tear him apart, like he always does. 

(And sometimes, he swears, you’re just trying to tear down his skin to be closer. Deeper in him. Scratching at his ribs and his sides like you want in, in, in. A bad dog at his door. A wraith that claws at his soul.)      

As he pulls at your forearm, flattening it out against the desk beneath you to pin you beneath him, he knocks into the bowl of fruit. 

The last of the plum slices tip out onto the desk and the remaining juice at the bottom of the bowl pools in a sticky mess over the wood, some over your forearm and wrist, over his own, too. 

He thinks you move without thinking, bringing his wrist up to your lips where you lick up a stripe up into his palm, against his thumb. 

You take his thumb into your mouth with ease and he cups your cheek in a possessive hold as he lets you suckle, tongue soft and warm and gentle against the pad of it. You groan, lashes fluttering, and this seems to please some part of you. 

His thumb in your mouth, cock lodged deep inside you. 

He pushes himself deeper on his next thrust, enough that you whine a little, eyes going glassy, cheeks hollowing around his thumb. 

He can feel the spit pooling in your mouth, wet and slick, can feel the way your walls squeeze and flutter around him desperately. 

He presses on your tongue, thrust growing a little faster, but still hard, deep–a little ruthless. 

But it’s what you need–so it’s what he gives you. 

You hold his wrist, little nails digging into his skin, desperate to keep his thumb between your lips. He can feel the press of your teeth in the meat of his hand. 

He readjusts, tries to draw his thumb out barely, only for you to latch down tighter on his wrist, and slide it back into your mouth with a noise of protest. Saliva spills a little, slick and messy against your bottom lip, against his hand. 

He coos, but it’s too dark to sound reassuring, and sounds more like a rough purr, just shy of a pleased growl. 

“I won’t go anywhere,” he soothes lowly, but it sounds like less of a comfort from a husband, and more of a promise from the beast you shouldn’t have let in in the first place. It’s loving in the same way a possession is. “My little god, I have you now.” 

Your peak this time makes something inside of him roar open. He feels your inner muscles bear down on him, fluttering desperately. 

Your eyes tip behind your eyelids, hiccuped breath against his hand as it twists into a guttural sound that he feels against his palm. 

“That’s it,” he murmurs, turning your face so that he can press open mouthed kisses against your throat, suck a bruise there, turn the flesh tender, “I’ve got you. Good girl–that’s it.” 

Perhaps he draws blood when he bites you this time, too. Tastes it sharp on his tongue, the blood of a god. He lifts his head from your neck and finally draws his thumb from your mouth, spit slick as he traces your bottom lip. He pulls himself up from you to gaze down at you, slack jawed and messy, near feverish with your lust. 

His hips quicken, harder, and you reach out to splay your hand out against his tensing stomach, to push at him a little. 

But he doesn’t stop, feels you nip at his thumb, still making a mess of your lips and chin. 

Your legs are still hitched tight around him, drawing him in, keeping him close. 

He squeezes your hip with his free hand, he loses his rhythm when you draw his thumb back into your mouth, suckling softly on it. 

He groans, feels his own pleasure in a rush down his spine, a burst of heat that unfurls like a supernova. Collapses inward. Expands outwards. He buries himself inside of you, as deep as he can manage, deep enough that you make a little noise of pain maybe, but you hold him tight to you. Again, you constrict around him, dragging him back down by his clothes to slot your mouth against his as he fills you. 

It’s your turn to hum, pleased, almost purring, tightening your hold around him, locking him against you.

The kiss this time is slower, but dirtier, all tongue, open and messy. He groans into it, holding your jaw, feeling himself twitch inside of you, his own eyes fluttering with pleasure, lashes against your cheek. 

When you both pull away, you’re out of breath. Chests rising and falling against each other. 

You seem subdued now, heavy-lidded, but your lips drag to his cheek, down to the curve of his jaw. 

You roll your hips a little.

“More–” You murmur, “I want more.” 

His laugh tapers into a moan. He flexes his hips a little, heat simmering beneath his own skin. 

Your hands pull at his clothes finally, tugging at them, pulling at buttons until they snap and burst beneath your fingers, until you reveal bare skin. Instantly, your hands are on him, nails scratching into his chest gently, over his shoulders. 

(He’s going to take you to bed after this and he’ll rid you of the scraps of your clothes and the rest of his. He'll get rid of anything between you.) 

The ache in him builds again and suddenly he’s rocking into you again, deep and slow, watching the way he disappears inside of you. The mess he’s already made of you, the way he wants to make it all worse. He feels feverish himself now, a little lost to the sight– his desire suddenly feels inhuman. Monstrous. Too big for his own skin. 

You always seem to remind him of his divinity. 

“Hold me,” you demand now and as if commanded, he goes to you. 

He gets his arms around you and he tucks his face into the crook of your neck. His desire unwinds. Time unspools from him. He loses himself in the pull of you, in the undertow of desire and hunger. He tries to satiate the ache you have carved in him. The ache you always have nestled inside of you. 

You beg him of more–more pain and more pleasure and more of him–until he feels near mindless with it. Gone with it. 

Shuddering with sensitivity and feeling you tremble with it, too. 

He doesn’t regain himself until another peak has been reached and fallen from, until he realizes the hour; the moon hanging in the window of his study like a copper penny. He forces himself to slow. To lodge himself deep and go still inside of you and let his head fall to your chest.

You cradle his skull, fingers slipping into his hair, catching your breath as the haze fades for a moment. 

He picks his head up barely, shifts only so he can catch your gaze. 

“Stay for a while.” He demands now. 

 You let go of a sigh, deep, perhaps tired. 

“I thought I wasn’t allowed.” You hum softly. 

“Will you behave?” He asks and you lean down to kiss him–sweeter now. Perhaps apologizing. He accepts your affection with warmth, though. 

“You know how I get restless.” You respond, fingers tracing along the nape of his neck, one of them trailing down the bend of his jaw. 

You are softest now, like this. It’s a rare sight; one he savors, one he will stay hungry for his whole life, he thinks. 

“Yes,” he agrees, perhaps fondly, perhaps sadly. “If you could keep mortals out of it, I wouldn’t mind.” 

“Even if I tried to kill you again?” You ask, finger tracing the bow of his upper lip. 

He smiles faintly and you touch the corner of his mouth, “yes,” he agrees, “even then.” 

“Or tried to steal your Gnosis again?” 

He snorts softly, picking himself up further to hover over you, to gaze down at you with more love than you have ever known what to do with. “You can certainly try again.” 

“Perhaps I should try harder this time.” The threat is fangless this time and you are at least soothed somewhat for now. He knows it won’t last long. 

But for now, he takes advantage of it. He cups your cheek, brushes his thumb along your jaw affectionately, and for once, you nuzzle into the touch. You rub your cheek into his palm like a cat. 

A flash of your teeth. You bite down into his hand. 

He laughs softly, but pulls his hand from you, dislodges your teeth from his flesh. 

Slowly, he tries to detangle himself from you. You are reluctant, but he appeases you with promises of more, of his bedroom. Of a bath and whatever you want. 

“More plums,” you say, letting him carry you to his bedroom like a young bride, cradled in his arms. “I’ve always loved plums.” 

He smiles, “I know. They remind me of you.” 

The admittance is a tender one, one that he has held for centuries that has finally loosened from his mouth like a bird taking to flight. 

In the morning, when you have slipped from him and his bed and his life once more, all that’s left are the marks you left on him, the deep scratches and latches of your teeth on tan skin��

And the pits of plums you devoured before you left. Not one is spared and he thinks his heart never has been, either. 

Not from you, his wife, his curse, his love–not from his god of hunger. 

***

a/n part ii: thank you for reading!! here are those notes on the reader's godly names:

There are three titles the reader is referred to. Two of them are latin, similar to Rex Lapis, and the third is from @itoshisoup, and is Tanai Zhenjun, which mao explained as such: "贪爱 (tanai) is a Buddhist term that is often translated as "craving", and refers to desire for both physical and mental things. From my understanding, tanai is sometimes considered a cause of suffering (苦 or ku), but is sometimes considered closely related to suffering in other ways. Given the motif of hunger, I would name the god Tanai, and additionally give them the honorific "Zhenjun" (a title associated with Taoist gods - much like "Dijun", which is the honorific in Zhongli's Chinese title, Yanwang Dijun; however, it is a lesser title than Dijun). Tanai Zhenjun is therefore what I'd call them."

The other two are Deus Inanis and Rapax Regina, which mean "empty god" and "rapacious/ravenous queen" in Latin.

i plan to write more of this reader and use these godly names again soon &lt;3

[sunnyupsidedown]

Thoughts On: The Last Binding Series

by Freya Marske [goodreads]

Basic Summary of Book 1: Un-magical Robin Blyth takes on a civil servant job that suddenly throws him into the middle of a magical conspiracy. With the help of his coworker Edwin Courcey, they begin to unravel and hopefully attempt to prevent a plot that will change magic as the world knows it.

Books in the Series:

A Marvellous Light

A Restless Truth

A Power Unbound

Book Recommendation For Those Who Like:

Historical Fantasy

Found Family

Mysteries

Rating: M for the nsfw scenes.

Unorganized thoughts and many spoilers below

This might just turn into a ramble on how much I like Jack Alston.

Anyway. I love the way Marske writes romance and interpersonal relationships in general. The characters feel real. Like, things get emotional and they hurt each other, but they come back together. Apologize when needed. Talk. It's an emotional maturity between lovers, between friends, between family, that I enjoy reading. Those hard conversations are on the page and not glossed over and magically fixed. (thinking about Maud and Violet where Maud didn't accept Violet running away. Thinking about Jack apologizing to Edwin. Thinking about Jack and his mom.)

I particularly like the complexity of the relationship between Edwin and Jack. Like. From the first book, you just have the sense that Jack was a bully, which he was from that side of things, but it's more complicated than that. But you don't know that then. The second book you get that Jack just doesn't care. He's mean to everyone so it's not like Edwin was particularly special. And in the third, you can see the growth from Jack, seeing that not everyone he has in good regards speak the same language of insults as he does. And from Edwin, you can see the strength he's gained from learning to love and to be loved. Seeing them interact kept reminding me that they were, in a loose sense, lovers once but they were childhood friends before that.

Seeing the the characters from different POVs was fun! I wish there was more Edwin and Robin from Maud and Violet's POV in the second book, but seeing them from Jack and Alan was nice. I didn't notice in the first book just how much of a nerd Edwin is. Makes my jock instincts want to shove him into a locker (affectionate). It's so cute how much Robin loves him and to see the ways different people notice.

So that's enough about all the other things. Time to gush about Jack lol

First book, didn't even register him as important. Second book, loved him instantly. HE'S SO MEAN!! But he helps out anyway out of some sense of responsibility!! And because Maud reminds him of his dead sister!! And they just won't leave him alone.

Watching Jack slowly finding a reason to live again was so cathartic. My chest hurts just thinking about it. To be hurt and to heal. To push on the wound and realize that at some point it has scarred over.

I genuinely really like characters who have gone through something awful, are a little unpleasant, and at some point learn to heal. I LOVE angst so much!!

Also the romance between Jack and Alan was interesting. I did like it a lot, but I also kept thinking "Give me something tender!!". Which was there between the lines of their play and the respect they showed each other. And then the last bit of the book, but at the same time, I wanted to see more of it.

Another thing that was pretty meh was that I wish Alan and Alan's nullification did more. Yes he did a lot to move the plot along as needed, but at the same time, a lot of sections in his POV, he was just a spectator watching everyone else do things. This kind of happened with Jack a little too.

Other little bits of thought

Love that it was brought up how Jack has slept with half the friend group. I was thinking it but was shocked when he was thinking it too lol

Wish we could see more with Addy and her dynamics with Robin and Edwin

It's so funny how the roman tracks became more important to the plot with each book

Took me waaay too long to realize the great threat is WW1

Wish there was more with Lady Dufey and the fae. I think it would be fun to explore and to hear more about her long life and also what happened after the contract was broken

The first chapter of the third book was so hard to read. Kept having to put it down in case I burst into tears. Haven't had such a strong reaction to a first chapter since The Song of Achilles.

I like Marske's prose. Like her word choices and sentence structure. It's both playful and devastating and I look forward to reading everything she writes.

Okay that's it. Those are my thoughts!

[bayofwolves]

struggling with how to address the nature of conor and abeke's relationship in path of the heroes. it deeply saddens me that coneke will not be happening, even though shaneke has always been my endgame. even so, conor and abeke have a really special relationship that i don't feel can be brushed off as simply platonic. i'm keeping the forehead kiss and all the other tender moments they shared before that. in fact, shane is supposed to notice how close they are, which causes doubts to form in his head.

i was thinking of having a scene where conor and shane just talk about this, but this is where the struggle begins. i'm not sure if i want there to be explicitly romantic feelings between conor and abeke. i fear it could needlessly complicate things, especially with the fact that i plan for conor to end up with someone who is very close to abeke in particular! plus, the love triangle is a tired concept -- a perceived love triangle that ends up all being in one guy's head is much more fun. like, shane spending literal years (since seeing them together in the second devourer war) stewing in repressed jealousy and doubt all for conor to cheerfully break the news that he and abeke never felt that way about each other and shane never had any competition? that's great. it's just great.

i feel like this path would be a lot more satisfying and less awkward than if conor were to say he did have feelings for abeke but he won't pursue them for shane's sake, or he knew abeke would choose shane over him, or some "maybe in another life" type shit. that, or they just start fighting over her for real. this would make the reveal of conor's endgame partner feel very odd, which i really do not want because i love the dynamic and potential these two have. it's become one of my favourite rarepairs and i cannot wait to explore it. but if conor did have feelings for abeke prior to this, their relationship would be... questionable, i'll put it. (and no the mystery person is not soama! don't worry! i could not care less about her)

so yeah, obviously i'm leaning towards the first option, but like i said above -- i can't say with certainty that conor and abeke can be called platonic. since taking up this project, my view of their relationship has slid very far into platonic territory (compared to how i used to ship them romantically), but it's clearly still something a lil bit more! i just can't label it for the life of me.

besties who cuddle and forehead kiss to help with the Trauma? besties who have deep talks for hours into the night when everyone else is asleep? besties who are intrinsically connected in a way that makes most people think romance but they know for a fact it isn't? platonic soulmates??! platonic soulmates. i found it. i found the term. conor and abeke are Platonic Soulmates.

this is what i love about making a long tumblr post as i think. i figure things out along the way

** i also feel the need to note that the shane-conor feud will not take up much of the plot at all. no matter how you execute it, jealousy subplots are too overdone. shane's real rivalry is with rollan.

[sharki-leftishark]

les mis fic recs

i’ve spent WAY too much time over the past two months diving back into exr and other les mis fic and want to share some of my favorites. it’s been really fun to discover the all of amazing fic written in the past several years since i was last reading in the fandom!

FLUFF/HUMOR

you can't spell confess without con by serinesaccade (7k, T, eponine/combeferre and exr)

a chaotic comedy of errors in which fake confessions are made to conceal real (supposedly) unrequited love. incisive eponine POV doesn’t hold back on how ridiculous everyone is. really fun to read!

Irreconcilable Sartorial Differences by Elenchus (3.5k, G, courfeyrac/marius)

Marius gets a new hat, Courfeyrac gives him shit for it, Courfeyrac regrets it and tries to make amends with the help of all his friends. warm, funny canon era fluff for the soul.

Works of Nature by Elenchus (1k, T, marius & grantaire)

if you didn’t know you wanted to read about marius and grantaire teaming up to find secret messages encoded in “special texts,” now you do. excellent canon era dynamics between this odd couple, plus an enjolras cameo to top it off.

The Twelve Days of Les Amis-mas by PieceOfCait (21k, G, exr)

be gay do crimes read christmas fic in august. enjolras and grantaire are roommates pulling a holiday party together with borrowed decor from their friends, including mistletoe that enjolras keeps finding himself under. pure domestic fluff, a perfect pick-me-up! 

that's your horoscope for today by tothewillofthepeople (5.5k, T, exr)

a discussion of astrology at courfeyrac’s birthday dinner ends up leading grantaire to enjolras’s place. i really liked the more subtle characterizations, and how light and gentle this slice of life fic feels.

call me, maybe by wellavellan (7k, T, exr)

halloween costumes result in mistaken identities, in which enjolras thinks he’s just met the guy in the boba fett costume. cute and fun!

Terms of Agreement by TrollingfromtheBarricade (13k, E, grantaire/oc with exr endgame)

probably the most I have laughed reading a fic?? brilliantly hilarious, wholesomely scandalous. i can’t describe it much without spoiling it, just give a read if you can withstand secondhand embarrassment.

In Service by juanjoltaire (19k, E, exr)

stuck in an elevator: one of those premises that you’d never want to experience irl but makes for delicious fic. i really enjoyed the softer exr dynamics and the evolving chemistry between them.

FEELS

Armillaria by revocableperil (42k, M, courfeyrac/marius)

a ghost AU with all the amis that links canon and modern with incredible tenderness for every single character. this fic has it all: grief, love, death, life, transcendental friendship, and mushroom metaphors galore. it made me love marius and now i am an wholehearted courfeyrac/marius shipper.

overdue by Tegami (9k, E, exr)

grantaire jokes about how he used to be obsessed with enjolras, until enjolras makes them reflect on their relationship seriously, and they find that their feelings are aligned. a more mature perspective than one often finds, refreshing and tender.

The Season Underwater by andtheheir (73k, E, exr)

i’m a sucker for niche aus, and this swim team au absolutely delivers with immersive writing that deeply explores the physicality, the psychology, and the emotionality of swimming.

i’m not the moon (i’m not even a star) by serinesaccade (40k, M, exr)

an amazing mishmash of tropes, heartwrenching and heartwarming by turns. grantaire loses his memory of the past 5 years, including his super hot apparent boyfriend, who describes their relationship as “complicated.” a buffet for mutual pining enthusiasts!

OTHER GOOD STUFF

Second Fitting by revocableperil (4.5k, M, exr)

“sexual tension” is the last tag in the list but it really defines the fic. grantaire is a tailor fitting a suit on enjolras, who he hooked up with last night--who was blindfolded, and doesn’t know it was grantaire. do not underestimate the intimacy of pinning fabric.

I Think That It's Best If We Both Stay by sevenimpossiblethings (15k, E, exr)

enjolras is experimenting with self bondage; grantaire becomes his safety checker. generous, tender, and intimate, lovely to read! 

[fuckmeyer]

My favorite thing about the Jasper/Maria ship, dynamic, or whatever is how complicated and mysterious they are, like we don’t know much about them but what we DO know speaks to something deeper going on that isn’t quite explored. Like they make each other worse but they also make each other BETTER! It’s insane to think about really. Everyone’s usually like “they make each other worse!” but you’re like the only person to point out just how much they also make each other better and your points are so solid it got me thinking!

Like it’s honestly crazy to think about how they’re both in such bad circumstances and they’ve done bad things together; but there’s also the fact that they’re so tender and forgiving towards each other, how much they’ve learned from each other (especially from Confederate!Jasper’s side considering he had a LOT to learn/unlearn), and how they made each other stronger, smarter, etc.. while being from two completely different worlds yet they met and bonded through a similar core experience: War.

They became winners together after having lost so much before and they both chose each other naturally. Jasper could have chosen to follow Lucy or Nettie at any time but he chose Maria and he knew from the moment he met them that she was the special one, the leader. “It was immediately clear that the brunette was somehow in charge of the others. If they'd been military, I would have said that she outranked them.”

Maria was able to pick apart his compelling nature and knew he would be special/useful to her too, that’s why she chose to keep him and changed him herself bc one of the others said they were more likely to kill him. She probably didn’t expect to develop feelings for him later down the line but that’s for another conversation lol. They met by chance and they chose each other. They saw something.

I think both characters know this deep down and that’s why they still have some leftover feelings for each other. To me it’s the only thing that explains their out-of-character behavior towards each other. Like come on there’s no way Jasper is just thinking and talking about Maria like that if she didn’t still have an impact on him and there’s no way Maria’s just randomly thinking of him enough to want to find and visit him if he didn’t have some sort of impact on her too.

That speaks to so much potential between them. If they were so powerful and successful and hung-up on each other in the unfortunate situations they were in, imagine how powerful and strong they’d have been if they were in better circumstances. It gives me such a “right person, wrong time” feeling with them. Idk just my thoughts. You seem like the only person I can share these with lol.

- same anon btw

ANON it's wonderful to see you in my inbox again!!! you know i'm always here for Loving María Hours 🥰

you're right, there's so much deeper shit going on between Jasper & María, it's kinda crazy that all these other characters/ships get so much more attention when Jasper/María literally have a built-in story! (no hate to those who create content on minor characters ofc — we're all out here doing the lord's work LMAO)

you really hit it on the head. like the fact that their story is so "evil" and their characters are so "bad" speaks to the gentleness and goodness that obviously came out of their relationship considering Jasper is now a vegetarian Cullen freak. & the idea that the external conflict (war) is used as a vehicle AND as a symbol for their own internal conflicts & the thematic discussion at hand?!?!?! THE STORY 👏 WRITES👏 ITSELF👏👏👏

bro ofc Jasper followed María!! bad bitches only. & at the end of it all Lucy & Nettie AINT SHIT! they betrayed their covenmate! smh. tbh it spoke volumes that she had no problem killing them YET took so long (& ultimately did not) kill Jasper. girl can sniff betrayal from a mile away & even though she let the paranoia get the best of her, in the end she didn't let it control her 😇 it's not a perfect cutesy HEA, but dammit if it's not GROWTH

only semi-related, but the fact that Jasper mentions she had a good judge of character, and the fact that she seemed to look specifically for humans who would be gifted/powerful, makes me wonder if she didn't have some sort of gift herself. i like to think that Nettie & Lucy didn't betray her bc of something she did but rather bc they simply couldn't cope with the way María always chose Jasper & her country above all. María's gift is that she sees the good & the strength & value in people. even when they don't see it in themselves. war is simply not a good medium for people to reach their full potential...& once María draws it out of them, they discover want more for themselves than what death & violence can give them. in Nettie & Lucy's case, they lash out bc they assume they will never live up to María's vision. in Jasper's case, he defects so he can live up to the person she sees in him ❤️ María's weakness is she gets so focused on her mission she gets tunnel vision, so these are all seen to her as betrayals

but i imagine María realizes this down the road & works on healing herself instead of her country. obviously the Southern Wars haven't gotten out of control, & wtf does Jasper know about the South's situation after his 150-year absence? maybe the fact that she hasn't gotten herself in trouble lets him know that she's more focused these days on looking out for herself, finding potential within instead of working in vain to fix something that can realistically never be repaired in the way she always dreamed. & that's ok :)

all he knows is she's got a softer side & that he's rooting for her on her own journey to healing, & he will always wish her well 😌

TLDR TRUE TRUE, ANON. right person, wrong time.

all hail María ❤️

[msfbgraves]

Instead of Daniel meeting Miyagi in KK1, he meets Terry. How do you think that changes the story, their relationship. And even Daniel’s relationship with the Cobras (especially Johnny).

In my book, you no longer have a kids' movie then. I think that if Terry found Daniel on a trip visiting Kreese, he'd enjoy the drama between Daniel and the Cobras; he'd make Daniel his special boy because Kreese has Johnny Lawrence; the boys would be set up against each other constantly because Terry loves to see Daniel get hurt. Kreese does it too, putting a green belt against a black one, after all. Daniel takes it as a price to pay for being left alone at school, and with Terry's guidance, pulls some actual revenge tricks on Johnny that work. He's told to give up Ali, and the relationship with Lucille gets strained ("it's just until the tournament Ma, please") because Terry wants him for himself. Terry's hard on him, with enough tenderness to keep him coming back; he'd slowly play that game until he has Daniel to the point of kissing and sex.

Now Daniel at this point is a bouncing bundle of nerves, until one day this building handyman, Mr. Miyagi, asks him to help carry his bonsai trees. And Daniel is so all over the place he drops one. And then Miyagi shows him a little exercise that "helps learn focus".

Fast forward to montages Daniel thinks are bonsai trimming sessions, but soon Daniel decks Johnny with a move Terry didn't teach him. Johnny is extremely humiliated and impressed.

Terry's furious.

The boys have tried to talk to each other but they haven't really the words for it and their senseis try to keep them apart, using the rest of the Cobras to rat on them when they get too close. All the kids are weirded out by this, sensei Kreese and sensei Silver have been getting strangely intense these past months.

This escalates, it's a mess, Daniel may hurt Johnny badly and wants to quit, Johnny may want to quit, somewhere, somehow Miyagi still takes a stand against the Cobra Husbands.

But this would all get way too complicated, you could tell it from six different perspectives, Johnny, Daniel, Terry, Kreese, even Bobby or Miyagi and I'm not sure it'd be a fun ride.

I mean I think Johnny would love to befriend Daniel and would have, if he'd joined Cobra Kai, but Kreese would make it a mindfuck - seeing Daniel as bait - and with Terry and their dynamic in the mix too it'd be a clusterfuck, I fear.

I mean hey, as an HBO teen drama sure. But not as a Karate Kid movie.

[denimbex1986]

'At the premiere of All of Us Strangers , there was a moment towards the end of the movie where there was absolutely nothing in the room. The silence was broken only by the crying of those onlookers who were not too shocked to react after what they had just experienced. This is also the basic experience of the film . If we had to sum it up in just two phrases, those would definitely be, punch in the stomach and diving into the void , not knowing when your body will hit the ground. Just as such a landing is always abrupt, so is the return to reality after the end of the particular projection.

For about two hours Andrew Haigh makes us witness a tender and at the same time heartbreaking story, which we watch with bated breath. The film follows Adam (Andrew Scott), a lonely screenwriter, who accidentally meets his charming neighbor, Harry (Paul Mescal). The latter comes to give a breath of fresh air to Adam's hitherto monotonous life. Alongside the development of their relationship, we see Adam 'return' to the house where he grew up and visit his parents, who died when he was a child. From the first minutes, we understand that All of Us Strangers is a very special story.

Although the film starts off slow, it manages to keep our undivided attention along the way. One of its strongest points is definitely the excellent chemistry between the two protagonists. In a story like All of Us Strangers, which is driven by characters rather than plot, human interactions are undoubtedly at the heart of the film. Indeed, Andrew Scott and Paul Mescal are the most suitable people to bring these characters to life. Throughout the film they are in perfect sync, complementing each other in the most beautiful way. Each of their scenes is captured on camera in such an unassuming way, that makes us feel as if we are in the same room with them.

The romantic element is intense from the beginning to the end of the film. We see scenes of tenderness and eroticism between two men who are experiencing something completely new. The mutual affection and genuine interest they show for each other reminds us how easy it is to fall in love if you just let yourself go. When the right person is found, love seems as natural as breathing itself. We don't think about it, we just do it, like it's something we've been doing all our lives. What is more beautiful than this feeling?

In addition to the romantic element, All of Us Strangers also touches on issues such as identity. Queer sexuality is one of the film's driving forces, as it also affects family dynamics. Relationships with parents are complicated anyway, not to mention issues of sexuality. However, for many queer people, family interactions are strained to say the least. In this particular case, however, the focus is not exclusively on Adam's acceptance by his parents, but more generally on the relationship between them. Above all, the film deals with grief and how to deal with loss.

Adam himself returns to the past, wishing to rebuild, or rather 'pick up' the relationship with his parents from where they left it when they died. Through these 'visits' he tries to make up for lost time, giving himself and his parents the opportunity to get to know each other again. His refusal to move on with his life and intense attachment to a reality that does not exist, -nor will ever exist-, testifies to the deep human urge to cling to anything that prevents us from feeling the unbearable pain of loss. So for Adam, these mental 'visits' are a form of escape and at the same time management of loss.

Interestingly, even in his own mind, Adam does not attempt to construct a perfect picture of his parents, as most of us do. Instead, he chooses - consciously or unconsciously - to portray them in their true dimensions. Thus, even their mental depiction is characterized by imperfections and mistakes, the consequences of which he himself bears, even as an adult. Perhaps these scenes are proof that none of us can really escape from our parents. Wherever we go, no matter how many years pass, we will always carry them inside us. Whether they are alive or not, they still haunt us. This can be both a blessing and a curse.

This is exactly the case with Adam. He himself lost his parents at a very tender age, so what haunts him is the sudden break in their relationship. So he is forced to live forever with this sense of unfulfillment, tormented by "what if things had turned out differently?" . In his quest to find the answer to this question and bridge the gap between him and his parents, he decides to return to his old home. It does not matter whether this return takes place inside his mind. A person who is still tormented by grief uses any means that can ease, even for a while, the pain he feels.

Those of us who have lost loved ones can understand the excruciating pain of loss. The human mind cannot accept that someone we love suddenly ceases to exist. That's why we do everything in our power to keep him alive as long as we can. We cry, we mourn, and we fight not to forget. Because at the end of the day, isn't mourning the greatest proof of our love for another human being? The fact that his presence is still felt, even if he himself is no longer here, does not testify to the posthumous survival of love? I think the answers are redundant.

It does not matter how many years have passed since the death of our loved ones. We continue to carry them with us wherever we go. At some point, the sadness we feel because of their loss learns to coexist with the joy we felt just because we were lucky enough to know them. The unpleasant feeling does not last forever. Over time it changes form, allowing us to move on with our lives, without forgetting those we love. Because at the end of the day, mourning is nothing but the insistence of love to continue to exist.

Although All of Us Strangers and Andrew Scott himself were overlooked at this year's Oscars, the film itself undoubtedly holds a special place in many people's hearts. Of course, this does not mean that certain flaws are not found. Even so, it's still a great addition to modern queer cinema. So grab your tissues, hold the hand of our loved ones and run to your nearest cinema.'

[tiderideraa]

𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐂𝐀𝐍𝐎𝐍:  siblings  .

*  disclaimer:  this  headcanon  is  subject  to  change  depending  on  my  roleplay  partners  and  the  way  they  interpret  harriet  and  cj.  this  is  just  how  i  interpret  their  relationship  /  dynamic  according  to  my  perception  of  harry  and  his  relationship  with  his  family  aka.  the  “default  canon”  according  to  this  blog.  trigger  warning  for  mentions  of  child  abuse.

The  Hook  siblings  are  all  considered  illegitimate  children  due  to  there  being  no  way  to  confirm  their  blood  relation  to  Captain  Hook  as  well  as  Captain  Hook’s  refusal  to  acknowledge  any  of  them  as  his  children.  They  all  also  have  different  biological  mothers  and  were  raised  predominantly  by  the  Jolly  Roger  crew  as  Cabin  Kids.  Cabin  Kids  were  children  taken  aboard  ships  as  servants.  They  ran  errands  for  the  crew,  delivered  gunpowder  during  battle  /  conflicts,  and  performed  other  manual  labors  aboard  the  ship.

While  all  three  of  the  Hook  siblings  have  experienced  child  abuse  in  some  way,  Harry  has  suffered  the  worst,  especially  at  the  hands  of  Captain  Hook.  Captain  Hook  fluctuates  between  seeing  Harry  as  Peter  Pan  or  one  of  Peter’s  Lost  Boys,  and  as  a  direct  and  impending  omen  of  his  own  mortality.  The  stronger,  faster,  smarter  and  better  that  Harry  became,  the  worse  Captain  Hook  treated  him.  Captain  Hook  hates  Harry,  he  always  had  and  he  always  will  and  that  is  reflected  in  the  way  that  Captain  Hook  has  treated  him.  While  Harriet  and  CJ  also  suffered  at  the  hands  of  their  father,  it  was  nowhere  near  the  same  level  of  abuse  that  Harry  endured.

HARRIET:  Harriet  is  the  eldest  of  the  Hook  children  and  is  two  years  older  than  Harry  and  five  years  older  than  CJ.  Harriet  was  five  years  old  when  Harry  was  abandoned  on  the  deck  of  the  Jolly  Roger  and  alongside  Smee,  cared  for  Harry’s  every  need  growing  up.  Harriet  developed  a  very  strong  protective  instinct  growing  up,  especially  as  she  witnessed  much  of  the  physical  and  psychological  abuse  that  Harry  and  the  children  of  the  Jolly  Roger  crew  endured.  Harriet  molded  herself  into  something  resembling  a  mother  figure,  demonstrating  care,  love,  affection  and  tenderness  only  to  her  siblings  and  the  other  kids  aboard  the  Jolly  Roger,  while  projecting  a  personality  of  a  furious,  mean-spirited  and  conniving  adversary  to  her  enemies.

Harry’s  personal  relationship  with  Harriet  can  be  complicated,  despite  Harriet’s  obvious  care  and  consideration  for  him,  she  stretched  herself  thin  attempting  to  protect  all  of  the  children  around  them  and  as  such,  Harry  was  sometimes  overlooked.  Due  to  Harriet’s  need  to  care  for  everyone,  Harry  taught  himself  to  care  only  about  himself,  not  trusting  anyone  else  to  do  it  for  him.  Harry  would  grow  to  hide  and  conceal  the  abuses  that  he  endured  because  he  didn’t  want  Harriet  to  worry  about  him  or  feel  guilty  for  not  being  there  to  help  him.  Harriet  and  Harry  have  a  fairly  comfortable  dynamic,  they  perceive  each  other  as  equals  and  respect  one  another’s  decisions  and  choices.  Harriet  wishes  that  they  were  closer  however  and  she  recognizes  that  Harry  keeps  her  at  arms  length  when  it  comes  to  his  emotions  or  personal  feelings  and  she  is  almost  always  actively  attempting  to  mend  that  gap.  From  Harry’s  perspective,  he  still  thinks  Harriet  has  enough  people  to  worry  about  and  does  not  feel  that  he  can  unload  his  burdens  on  her  when  he  can  deal  with  them  himself.

CJ:  CJ  is  the  youngest  of  the  Hook  children  and  is  three  years  younger  than  Harry  and  five  years  younger  than  Harriet.  CJ  has  always  been  incredibly  gifted,  she  picks  up  things  quickly,  is  resourceful,  innovative  and  extremely  ambitious,  however  she  was  the  youngest  child  aboard  the  Jolly  Roger  and  as  such  she  was  often  excluded  by  the  older  kids  and  she  had  to  constantly  fight  and  prove  herself  in  order  to  be  taken  seriously.  As  the  youngest,  she  was  also  somewhat  spoiled  by  the  eldest  kids  and  some  of  the  adults  as  well,  making  most  of  the  other  kids  jealous  of  her  perceived  “special  treatment”.    As  the  smallest  person  on  the  ship,  CJ  could  rarely  out-power  her  rivals  and  instead  relied  upon  her  quick  wit,  reflexes  and  intelligence  to  outsmart  and  outmaneuver  her  enemies.  CJ  is  closest  with  Harriet  as  Harriet  was  CJ’s  mother  figure  and  primary  carer  throughout  her  life.  Harriet  still  puts  CJ  first  above  everyone  and  anything  in  her  life.

Harry’s  relationship  with  CJ  is  turbulent.  Due  to  having  similar  personalities,  ambitions  and  interests,  Harry  and  CJ  often  clash,  not  only  verbally  or  intellectually,  but  physically.  They  were  and  are  constantly  competing  with  one  another,  whose  the  fastest,  whose  the  smartest,  whose  the  strongest,  whose  the  most  vindictive.  While  there  behavior  can  sometimes  be  playful  and  all  in  good  fun,  it  doesn’t  take  a  lot  for  things  to  escalate.  Harry  feels  that  CJ  has  had  everything  handed  to  her  and  that  she  hasn’t  had  to  work  hard  (  or  as  hard  as  him  /  others  )  in  order  to  get  the  things  that  she  has.  That  being  said,  Harry  has  always  and  purposefully  gone  out  of  his  way  to  protect  CJ,  often  without  her  knowledge,  from  the  worst  dangers  of  both  the  Isle,  and  living  aboard  the  Jolly  Roger.  Harry  has  been  hard  on  her  the  most,  because  he  knew  that  sooner  or  later,  both  he  and  Harriet  would  not  be  around  to  help  her  and  that  she  would  need  to  be  able  to  protect  herself.  Harry  has  shielded  CJ  from  physical  abuse  since  the  day  she  came  aboard  the  ship  and  while  rationally  he  knows  that  is  not  CJ’s  fault  and  that  it  was  his  own  choice,  he  can’t  help  but  project  feelings  of  resentment  onto  her.

OVERALL:  Harry  loves  his  sisters  and  is  fiercely  protective  of  them  both.  He  values  their  opinions,  considers  their  feelings  and  their  needs,  and  does  whatever  he  can  to  ensure  their  safety  and  their  happiness.  However,  he  does  not  feel  beholden  to  them.  He  does  not  feel  that  he  has  to  sacrifice  his  own  happiness,  needs  or  values  for  them,  he  does  not  feel  that  he  can’t  live  without  them,  and  he  knows  that  he  can  survive  without  them.

Leaving  the  Jolly  Roger  when  he  was  sixteen  was  the  hardest  decision  he  has  ever  made  because  it  meant  leaving  CJ  there.  It  took  a  lot  for  him  to  convince  himself  that  she  could  protect  herself,  but  he  still  only  leaves  once  he  plans  a  way  to  castrate  Captain  Hook’s  control  over  the  North-East  side  of  the  Isle  and  finds  a  way  to  blackmail  him  into  submission.

However,  Harry  never  stops  worrying  about  her  until  the  day  he  kills  their  father  and  takes  the  Jolly  Roger.

[obiwanobi]

Any nsfw obikin recs? Ive read all your snips and works like 1000 times today 😭

I'm excited that you asked for a rec because I'm not good at leaving comments on fics, so this is my way of sharing a bit of love for some of my favourite stories and authors! I'm all about top!Obi-Wan and bottom!Anakin, so this is what you'll find here, in no particular order:

Four Weddings and a Funeral AU series, by lowstandards (35k) is not only amazingly written and fun, but also has some of the hottest sex scenes I've ever read for this ship. It's also surprisingly soft and heartbreaking at times and I wasn't expecting such longing but I'm not complaining, I could reread this series again and again and still fall in love with it every time.

Golden Sunshine series, by dirkygoodness (19k) the first part, swear on it, is one of the first pwp obikin fic I've read and I'm still thinking about it regularly because it's just? so good? There's so much longing and feelings trapped in words unsaid to fuel me for DECADES, It really shaped the way I see and enjoy Anakin and Obi-Wan's dynamic.

Master, by nerddowell (6k) modern AU, once again one of the first nsfw obikin fics I've read, and my god that was hot, and still to this day the only fic where I said 'oh, I shouldn't read this in public, actually'.

Don't Let This End, by SoftlyFocused (5k) is such fun and light smutty fic, there is banter, laughing and tickling each other during sex, and it's so very sweet.

to touch the light, darkest series, by treescape (5k) is exactly the kind of vaderwan I always wanted, with bottom!vaderkin and such a complicated dynamic between them, it's really a treat to read.

at your leisure, by treescape (2k) is soft and almost relaxing, but also very very hot. But you know what, you can pretty much dive headfirst into all of treescape's works, you won't be disappointed.

It's how you learn, by Isode (10k) the dynamic here! is just! perfect! I LOVE that they both know what's coming, and they can't wait for it.

Conjunction, by Isolde (5k) is blessing us with beautiful smut where Obi-Wan fucks Anakin into another galaxy because he deserves it, but the fic still manages to be tender and soft.

Provocation, by ToolMusicLover (5k) is the first part of a great series, with amazing sex if you're into Anakin being super intense and knowing exactly which buttons to push to get Obi-Wan to lose control and let out all his possessiveness shows, and so, so many repressed feelings.

à la carte, by RagnarLothcat (55k) is a hilarious modern AU, has the most insane and entertaining characterisation of both Anakin and Obi-Wan possible (I mean that in the best way possible, but they were clearly ready to marry each other after one and a half day together, so) and the sex is phenomenal, this fic is just a delight from start to finish.

Only angel, by Gwendolyn (8k) still a wip, but there is something here that made me lose it a bit because Obi-Wan is such a good Jedi master who's a bit ashamed about what he's doing but too horny to stop. Combined with holosex with Anakin and even a tender moment in the end, yes, it's really doing it for me.

This Was Obi-Wan, by Himboskywalker (5k) I'm not really into smut when Anakin is still a padawan but how can I not make an exception when the thirst for Obi-Wan's dick is so real, god, Anakin same

For Pleasure series, by Himboskywalker (11k) sometimes I hate how Tag knows exactly what shameful kinks I won't be able to resist and here she dares to combine spanking, public humiliation, coming untouched AND lingerie in one series, what a monster.

Apartment Story, by intermundia and whohatessand (10k) is way more about reconciliation and acknowledging feelings than sex, but this fic really has a special place in my heart so I'm still including it.

Prompted, by intermundia (72k) 16 different stories with some amazing smut but also really good AU ideas, and always a bit of fluff, angst, and 'oh I didn't know I enjoyed this kink until I read this fic' realisation.

Persistence is key, by ToolMusicLover (2k) Anakin is so smug and Obi-Wan so annoyed in this intercrural fic, I love them.

anything for you (2k) rough sex with some good fluff, what more can we ask for?

[midnightswithdearkatytspb]

VelvetCardiganBucky’s Recommendations 2021: Week 17 | April 18th – April 24th

Welcome to week 17 of my recommendations, if you would like to be featured on a future list, I follow the hashtag #VelvetCardiganBucky, message me, tag me in your future works, or reblog this post and link to your story, one-shot, Masterlist, writing challenge, etc.

Be aware some if not most stories and writers on this list are meant to be consumed by an audience of those 18+. My blog is also an 18+ blog.

✨Page breaks are made @firefly-graphics✨

«Last Week

Week 18»

My Masterlist

My Fic Rec List of Mafia/Mob Bucky/Sebastian & Steve/Chris/Andy

Stuff I Posted This Week

Forever & Always: Stage 1 - Denial | Pt.1 » Bucky Barnes x Witch!Reader & Platonic Avengers x Reader — Y/N “Birdy” (nicknamed by her family), comes from a long line of witches and warlocks, living her days at the New Avengers Compound, alongside her friends. The Avengers are part of her family and her family is always welcome to the compound. Things for once seemed to be going well now that all was right from the attack on Thanos, everyone was alive, all was forgiven, friendships were thriving, that all ended when Birdy’s brother came calling with sad news, their mother had suddenly passed. These are the stages of grief Birdy faces, through the loss of her best friend, her protector, her mother.

His Favorite Day » Chris Evans x Reader — Chris’s favorite day of the year is your birthday.

Bucky Barnes

One-Shots:

*No Hidden Messages by @jobean12-blog » TFATWS!Bucky Barnes x Reader — Sam sends you a picture of Bucky and the endgame is priceless. | Honestly I love me some dominant Bucky, and if Sam had sent me that picture I would have dropped my phone and been like yep that my babe. I was thinking something more dirty but I’ll keep that thought to myself. 😉

Sucker Punch by @buckyblues » Boxer!Bucky Barnes x Female!Reader — Bucky thought he knew what was his, until he accidentally let it roam free. | Someone come dump a cold bucket of water on me please?

Someone Like You by @startrekkingaroundasgard » Bucky Barnes x Hydra Agent!Reader — Taken from their SHIELD prison cell, the reader finds themself alone with The Winter Soldier negotiating for their life. | I really enjoyed reading this, the sass of the reader and how Bucky handles them. It’s just so perfect. Nicola says there is more to come for this pair and I’m so very much looking forward to it.

(Mini) Series:

Happy & So Happy by @mrwinterr » Rockstar!Bucky Barnes AU x Female Reader — You meet your favorite artist and get more than what you bargained for. | The smut in this is hot and by the end you are hoping the reader gets a happy ending not a tragic one.

*A Tender Heart 💜 Pt. 3 by @river-soul » Alpha!Bucky Barnes x Omega!Reader — You’ve been sweet on Bucky since you started working at the compound six months ago. Normally quiet and mild mannered, an unexpected fight with a coworker brings Bucky into your orbit. [A/B/O dynamics and explicit sexual content, 18+] | I feel the love that is radiating from this story and I really love it and the little bit of smut we get in chapter 3 is perfect!

the (after) party by @buckycuddlebuddy sequel loft music » fuckboy!bucky barnes x reader — “why don’t we have this thing they call goodbye sex? one last time.” he leaned forward, his lips brushing your ear. “i’ll make it good for you.” | In some strange way it was therapeutic to read this but at the same time I felt bad for the reader in the first part. Second part you are rooting for her but still feeling bad. I will say the smut in this is perfect.

Just Like Dad Pt. 3 🦾 Pt. 1 🦾 Pt. 2 by @ladyfallonavenger » Bucky Barnes x Reader — Bucky finally confronts Steve and moves forward with his life. | Very sweet ending and I loved it.

Sweet Dreams 🥞 Pt. 4 🥞 Pt. 5 🥞 Pt. 6 🥞 Pt. 7 by @jedimastermelkor » Bucky Barnes x Reader & ? x Avenger — Your daily routine involves waking up in the morning, going to work and sulking at night. But then you meet the man you’ve fantasized about for your entire life, Bucky Barnes. At the same time, you’ve caught someone else’s eye and his first step in winning you over is to cook you breakfast. But will you be welcoming of that person’s affections? | I like how she named the puppy Pancake and the first thing the mysterious avenger gave her was pancakes. I don’t want to give too much away but things are getting really good and you find out who the mysterious avenger is in chapter 6!

Steve Rogers

One-Shots:

*Caught by @giorno-plays-piano » Bluebeard!Steve Rogers x Reader — If he kept you warm, saying words of love to you every day while he looked you in the face, you’d marry him even if in a year he hanged you just like all his wives in the dungeon of his castle. | It’s dark but in a soft way and it’s so good. I highly recommend you go and read it.

Drabble Request by @angrythingstarlight » Mafia!Steve Rogers x Reader — We find out how Steve and Reader met before they ever got in a relationship. Takes place before Tell Me What You Want. | I loved this so much, I was laughing and pictured this whole piece so vividly in my brain. Also I just want a part where Bucky teases Steve about that night in front of reader making her giggle, maybe at the wedding?

(Mini) Series:

*Yuánfèn 📖 Pt. 4 by @writerwrites » Steve Rogers x Reader — When you’ve lost everything and try to run away from your problems, you keep finding a way back to the one person who completely understands. Can you make another person happy with a broken heart? | I always look forward to the updates on this story. It brings me so much comfort and the relationship that is blossoming between the reader and Steve is beautiful and organic. I highly recommend this.

Misc.

Headcanons:

*Just Like Her Old Man by @rebelwrites » Chibs Telford x Reader — I asked for: Parents get called into school for a meeting due to their daughter fighting, and trying not to be proud. Taking them out for a treat after the meeting. | It turned out so great. If you knew me at my Sons Anarchy Days, you know I loved Chibs the most. This feed my love for him even more. Thank you Heather!!

One-Shot:

*A Simple Solution by @sweetlyscared » Andy Barber x Fem!Reader, Ari Levinson x Fem!Reader, Andy Barber x Fem!Reader x Ari Levinson — You and Andy had a purely sexual relationship for several months, and you’d started to grow attached to him. Unfortunately, life has a way of complicating things, and a chance encounter at a bookstore had you stuck between a rock and a hard place. | We all owe a huge thank you to Sweet Lee, for writing and posting this. She wrote our dreams out so perfectly, and if you haven’t thought of this now you can. It’s just so hot and good, I for one am very thankful.

(Mini) Series:

*Give In 🐈‍⬛ Pt. 23 🐈‍⬛ Pt. 24 🐈‍⬛ Pt. 25 by @overr-written » soft!dark!Lee Bodecker x Reader — She didn’t think she was anything special. So when the intimidating Sheriff takes an interest in her, she can’t help but feel a little unsettled. Her boring life is about to get a little interesting. | I love this series so much and the lengths that the chapters are. I really am going to be sad when this is over. I don’t ever want it to end. 😭

Seal Team

One-Shots:

Imma Take Care Of Your Body by @rebelwrites » Clay Spenser x Reader — Reader is the only female member on Bravo who also has a no strings attached relationship with Rebel. | Let me just say this is hot, like really hot. Give me a glass of water and let me cool down. Thank you Heather for blessing us with this.

Tier One Babysitters by @bravo-four-seal-team » Seal Team; Ray Perry x Naima Perry — Ray and Naima ask the team to watch 6 month old Jameelah. | I promise you will be laughing.

You Are Perfect by @rebelwrites » Clay Spenser x Reader — Clay tells you everything he loves about you. | As a big boned girl this meant a lot and has me wishing for a Clay Spenser to call my own.

[ficsyoumayhavemissed]

sat with the echoes — @starlitlou​

3.219 words / Harry x Louis

A short fic about navigating the world as someone who has, for all intents and purposes, recovered from an eating disorder. There’s a cat too.

The author writes in a uniquely submerged way. It keeps the focus out of unnecessary action and lets us follow Harry’s thought process with no distractions. Reading this was a pleasant surprise because it’s expected that a fic dealing with such a heavy topic would be fundamentally sad, but it isn’t. There is something very lovely about how it give us something real and relatable.

Trigger warning for a past eating disorder and thoughts of relapsing. Please read tags carefully for this one.

The End — @harryanthus​

5.027 words / @finelineficfest / Harry x Louis

Louis beams at him with pineapple juice dribbling down his jaw and it clicks into place.

The bright, smooth, silken feeling, honeyed and polished is hope.

Louis reminds him of how beautiful hope truly is.

or a post war au where Harry is trying to find hope.

This author doesn’t rely on action-based plot development to build the story and the stillness only works in favour of the heavy and heartfelt scenes. The language is almost poetic, with philosophical and metaphorical undertones that contribute to the intensity of the situation portrayed. Truly a very special work.

battling on the regular — @louandhazaf​

5.700 words / Louis and Men Fest / Louis x Sam Fender / Explicit

Sam rearranges all the thoughts in his head that had been bouncing around since Louis had said relationship shit. Gone are flouncy bottle blondes who are not so subtly taking advantage of him and instead there’s Calvin Harris, breaking his heart. As if Calvin Harris deserves someone kind and generous like Louis to begin with.

First of all, this author is great at writing rare pairings, wow. This specific work is Louis/Calvin Harris turns into Louis/Sam Fender. It’s a fun read, the characterization is good all around and the dynamics between the characters feel very on point and realistic. If you’re looking to get out of your bubble to read good unpopular pairings, definitely start with this one.

let’s go for a walk down easy street — @solvetheminourdreams​

5.975 words / @secretlarryvalentine / Harry x Louis

Louis has been a vampire for sixty years. He just turned his boyfriend into one.

It's a bit more complicated to adjust than they had anticipated.

This fic is very sweet, with a good touch of humour. It’s nice how we both get a glimpse into an established relationship and into a completely new dynamic for them as a couple. The author does a great job walking that line of writing a gentle, loving, pair while coming full circle to solve the issue at the start of the fic.

i fell in, i'm falling, i'm for you — @disgruntledkittenface​

10.175 words / @harryandmenfest / Harry x Zayn / Explicit

And that’s when he sees him.

Illuminated by the bright morning light pouring through the windows, clad in ugly corduroy pants and an embroidered green jacket with what looks like a purse slung over his shoulder, and totally unaware of Zayn’s presence. His ex-boyfriend. Harry. Or H, as he used to call him back in the days when he thought they’d stay together forever. Maybe even get married. Have the houseful of kids that Harry had always wanted.

Fuck. Harry.

When Zayn gets a job teaching at the same school where his ex Harry works, he realizes he wants a second chance. Now he just has to do something about it.

Exes to lovers is such a hard trope to master and this author did such a wonderful job navigating awkwardness, tension and the tender re-growth and blossoming of a love once lost! This fic has a myriad of wonderful moments and such real and developed characters in a comparatively small word count.

Souls A’Fire — @tomlinsonbarnes​

55.297 words / Louis and Men Fest / Louis x Bucky Barnes

Louis Tomlinson just wants to find his family.

Bucky Barnes just wants a life worth living.

A Lucky Apocalypse AU

Well, let’s talk about a very rare and unexpected pairing: Louis/Bucky Barnes. And if the mention of Bucky Barnes kissing Louis Tomlinson doesn’t pique your interest in the first place, then read this fic for the 55k of incredibly well-written zombie apocalypse world building. You will end up wanting to go through the Louis/Bucky tag on ao3 to see if you can find something else that gives you as much joy as reading this.

—-

As always, support the authors by leaving kudos and comments! Happy reading! – the new and expanded FYMHM team xx

[stonesparrow]

For the dr.stone x atla crossover I feel that even if Hyoga is or was a soldier in the fire army he wouldn’t have liked the idea of a nations worth of centuries of knowledge pasted down through generations being wiped of the face of the earth.

I just had a thought Hyoga could be a soldier in the fire army but he could also be a master instructor at his own dojo he inherited from his master kinda like master Piandao. He’s still a fire bender though.

Also I think I would be a cute and funny plot twist if he has a daughter who is still young but old enough to help fight and strong enough to thanks her dad training her. I think he’d be the same tough and cold character he is but he’s surprisingly tender, caring, gental, and kind to her in his own way that would just make the characters in the dr.stone universe jaws hit the floor lol.

Ah, you do have a point with Hyoga likely being disappointed that the knowledge of airbending was lost to genocide - all those ancient techniques would probably be really fascinating to him as a martial artist. Though I can also see him buying into the Fire Nation’s imperialist message of “we are the strongest nation, so we should rule over all the weaker nations.”

I like your idea that Hyoga is a fighting instructor, with his values he’d probably be something like Zuko in skillset - he puts a lot of effort into firebending, but also into spearfighting since he deeply respects the nonbender master who taught it to him. At the same time he has no time for people who either don’t take it seriously or are too weak to make a difference.

(More under the cut because this got long)

Him having a kid is an interesting plot twist and while it’s more twisty than I’d expect, I’m kind of intrigued by the potential it has. Though that also brings up the question of who the kid’s mom is, and when the kid was born (I estimate Hyoga’s age in DCST to be around 20-22). Homura maybe? Like...perhaps Hyoga and Homura were both fairly high class and had an arranged marriage, but while Homura fell in love with him as they grew up together Hyoga only respected her as a friend and fellow fighter.

And then if they had a daughter (maybe pressured by both their parents to produce an heir of some sort) it could make them both more complex characters. If the kid was really strong though I’d lean more towards an Ozai-Azula like dynamic with Hyoga impressing his values of “only the strong and skilled deserve to live,” onto her. Plus if we’re keeping relative canon ages then I’d estimate Homura to be 20, Hyoga to be 22, and their daughter to be 2 by the time Team Avatar shows up in the Fire Nation to do their thing.

However...I can see some potential with the kid turning out physically weak, and that throwing Hyoga’s values into wack.

Let’s say the toddler was born healthy and strong and an assessment by some Fire Sages said that she’d become an extremely powerful bender - this pleases Hyoga, since he can’t imagine having fathered a weak child with him and Homura’s combined firebending ability. And indeed, by the time the kid is two she shows signs of firebending power well beyond her age group, with Hyoga planning to train her into an extraordinarily strong warrior.

Except with such a strong fire at such a young age, the little girl suddenly falls terribly ill, having raging fevers and struggling to breathe. Hyoga’s ideals would tell him that such an ill child will die, and that’s that, the weak and ill perish while the strong survive. But he finds himself insisting that the kid will survive, because she’s strong, she has to survive. She’ll recover and become the strongest firebender this side of the Nation, not die a weakling.

Some time later, the Gaang shows up to Hyoga’s town to resupply. Pre-Zuko joining but maybe somewhere between meeting Piandao and encountering Combustion Man? Aang decides to visit the local firebending dojo (rip Sokka’s nerves) because hey, he wants to see some firebending techniques from actual benders, and he can tooooootally handle staying low key this time, honest! He encounters Hyoga and gets a fair bit intimidated by him, though Hyoga seems to approve of “Kuzon’s” highly adaptive martial arts style.

At some point, a messenger comes and Hyoga slips away. Being nosy, Aang follows them and catches enough of the conversation to determine that there’s a sick kid living in that fancy mansion, and relays his concerns to the Gaang. Katara immediately wants to investigate further - Sokka is again very stressed but understands that he can’t stop his sister once she’s made a decision (plus this is post Painted Lady and Katara is even more determined not to let children suffer if she can do anything about it). But when she tries the front entrance, the guards won’t let her in, even when she says she’s a healer. In fact, they deny that there’s a sick child at all, while Aang insists he didn’t hear wrong.

So Aang and Katara, ever the problem solvers, break into the mansion (airbending is super useful!) and find the kid’s bedroom. Katara assesses the patient - she determines that even with her waterbending, the kid will likely suffer from complications her whole life due to the damage she’s already sustained. Hyoga suddenly appears, asking them how they got into his house (he’s actually very curious, since they seemed to enter silently and without alerting anyone). When Katara excuses herself and says she’s a healer from the colonies (Aang’s explanation for how Katara has “special healing techniques unlike any other”) and just wanted to help, Hyoga says that he doesn’t need a healer, and that the girl will recover soon. Katara starts to argue and Hyoga starts insinuating that he could easily beat her in combat, when Homura shows up, pleading with Katara to save her daughter.

Hyoga and Homura start arguing, with Homura saying this may be their last chance and Hyoga saying that a true daughter of his would be able to fight off the sickness alone. Homura eventually asks if he’d rather have a dead daughter than a weak one, which makes him go quiet (Aang and Katara are standing there awkwardly watching all of this). Hyoga then calmly says that since they seem to be at a standstill, the reasonable course of action is an Agni Kai (Aang goes pale at this, while Katara doesn’t actually know what that is).

In the courtyard the Gaang watches anxiously as Hyoga and Homura begin their duel, which results in quite a few impressive displays of firebending. Homura however seems to be holding back slightly, more on the run than attacking. At one point Homura gets thrown on her back and nearly burnt, but Katara calls out to her, saying she has to win for the kid. She gets back up and starts attacking Hyoga with renewed resolve, and even Hyoga is surprised.

Hyoga realizes that as loyal as Homura is to him, she really is doing her best to win, even coming at him with direct shots of flame now. And since this is still Hyoga, he respects that deeply - she’s doing things “properly,” even though she doesn’t want to. He even respects that Katara was so dedicated to her role as a healer that she broke into his house just on the mere mention that there was a sick child there.

And in the very bottom of his heart, despite all the talk of strength and weakness and who deserves to live, he has a hard time realizing that he doesn’t want his daughter to die, even if it means she’ll be weak and reliant on others her whole life. This might be a little OOC for canon Hyoga, but hey, it’s an au and maybe if canon Hyoga did have something small and weak to protect, he’d be less of an ass to Senku and company.

So at a key moment in the battle, Hyoga pauses for a split second instead of dodging a blast from Homura and allows himself to be grazed on the chin, reminiscent of his revival scars in canon. It’s not a bad burn, and those watching closely realize that he let her win. Hyoga turns to leave, only saying that Katara will be compensated for her healing services and that they truly did things “properly.”

Katara heals the girl, saying that the fever is gone but her lungs are damaged and she’ll have breathing problems from now on. She’s paid a small sack of gold by a servant that she initially refuses, but takes in the end since it’d probably be good to have extra Fire Nation currency on hand. The Gaang leaves the mansion feeling...a little conflicted about the experience, honestly.

Meanwhile as Homura sits by the girl’s bedside Hyoga appears in the doorway, having treated his burn from the duel. An awkwardly long silence passes before Hyoga says he’s been thinking about the skills that "Kuzon” and “Sapphire” displayed, and that he’s considering buying a home in the colonies so he can learn about those types of skills (since Aang claimed they were from the colonies). He turns to leave, but not before offhandedly saying that the seaside air in the colonies he’s looked at might be good for their daughter’s lungs.

[itswildwinters]

Seeing as it’s the holidays for me, I’ve had time to read (and re-read) quite a lot of fics, and I felt like sharing some of them with you. It’s my first time doing a fic recs post, so I hope it’s useful and not too much of a mess, especially since it’s quite long!

If you do end up reading any of these stunning fanfics, don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to show your appreciation!

Enjoy!! ✩

✩ baby blue by @soldouthaz​ (39k)

summary: Harry Styles takes his time coming out to greet them. Louis only knows what he’s seen on file and what he’s heard them talking about, but he fully lives up to the image he had inside of his head. 

He saunters down the front steps of the farmhouse in his Levi’s, brown snakeskin boots curving out from underneath the denim Louis’ sure he had specially made. He’s got on a plaid button-down tucked into the jeans because of course he does, curls spilling out from either side of his cowboy hat around his sunglasses and country-tan skin. 

“Harry Styles,” he drawls, extending a hand to Louis’ manager, “Pleased to meet ya’ll.”

I loved the dynamic between Cowboy Harry and Celebrity Louis. What I also really enjoyed about this fanfic is that the depiction of farm life was accurate. The way the story is written really gets you into action, so that you can picture everything quite well through the Louis-centric third point of view. 

✩ The Space Between by @lads-laddylads​ (39k)

summary: Harry Styles is the alpha rockstar who can’t sleep and doesn’t know why. Louis Tomlinson is the omega PhD student who helps him figure it out.

A/B/O fanfic. I loved how Alpha Harry acted upon seeing Louis for the first time. You can really feel the tension and attraction through the screen, which is one of my all time favourite things. The way their relationship builds up is a delight, and Louis is a darling and so courageous in the end with how he deals with Harry, even when Harry is being an idiot. The connection they have at the end... just wow!

✩ fae series: Boiling Blood Will Circulate and Warming The Air Of The World by @crazyupsetter​ (42k and 3k)

summary of Boiling Blood Will Circulate: The wait isn’t long before something starts rustling in the bushes. Harry takes aim, squeezes the trigger, body moving unconsciously. They’re motions he’s done a thousand times before, and his body knows how to do it without the input of his brain now. It’s what makes him such a good shot.

He misses. The shot misses.

Something howls in the woods, a pretty clear indication that Harry hit it, but there’s no telltale sounds of a big body dropping, no animal charging out at him to take him out before he can finish the job.

Something does turn and run, though. “Fuck,” Harry spits out, scrambling to his feet and slinging the rifle back over his shoulder, giving chase. He’s not going to lose this hunt.

The trail of blood goes on longer than Harry thought it would. He doesn’t know how long he runs for, but his muscles are burning, chest heaving with exertion, until the trail just - goes dead. No more blood, just like that.

“Fuck,” Harry says.

I am a sucker for fantasy/supernatural fanfics, and this one is absolutely incredible. The suspense in there is well-built, and the dynamic between Louis and Harry leaves you hungry for more. There’s a lot of blood in this series, so if you’re not into that you should be careful, but for me the author really puts into perspective how complicated and different from mankind faeries are.

✩ With a whimper by @kitundercover​ (132k)

summary: Dystopian AU. Louis has been alone for too long to remember how not to be, and Harry has too much to worry about to deal with a scrawny, wild, stranger.

---

The man grips his arm tightly. “You’re not going to say anything.” It’s not a question.

Louis shakes his head, his body twitching.

“Fine.” Large green eyes survey him before letting go. “It’s cold. Take this. Wear it.”

Louis can’t help another flinch as the man’s long scarf is wrapped around his tender neck, it’s still warm. He touches the soft material. “Thank you.”

The man bears his teeth. “Don’t thank me. Don’t ever thank me.”

If you are into dystopian works, and doesn’t mind violence, blood and gore, this fic will make your day! I loved the world-building, the way it’s written, how Louis’ character is portrayed and how strong he is. I just couldn’t stop reading once I began. The secrets of the plot, the fear of the characters, and the curiosity that sparks within you as you read contribute into making this fic a unique one that’s so worth the read.

✩ Soaked In The Blood Of Angels by @crazyupsetter​ (40k)

summary: The boy looks drugged, caught between a man who’s almost twice his size and a girl who looks like she wouldn’t even break a sweat snapping him in half despite her small stature, eyes closed and mouth open as he pants, arching up between them almost as if he’s trying to escape.

Normally, Harry would ignore it and continue on his search for someone to drink from, someone who wouldn’t mind his sharp teeth and rough hands. He’s seen plenty of boys like this one, ones who picked the wrong playmates, and if he stopped to rescue every single one of them he would have died from thirst a long time ago.

This one, though. There’s something about this one, the sheen of his bright blue eyes as he blinks slowly, looks around as though he doesn’t know where he is, the weakness of his hands as he tries to push the girl off of him and make his escape.

Another magnificent creatures/fantasy fanfic. The writing is absolutely exquisite, and I love how hard to get Louis is. The violence between Louis and Harry might bother some people, but to me it really spiced up their relationship and made Louis and Harry, who are creatures of gloom, particularly interesting and even real, somehow.

✩ Play Pretend, Find a Friend? by @angelichl​ (40k)

summary: They had to pull back for air. Louis surveyed the guy’s face, in awe of his blown pupils and sharp jawline, the way their shared spit glistened on his lips.

“Hi,” he breathed. He blinked, and came back to himself a little bit, blushing at his own boldness. “Sorry. Is this okay?”

The stranger removed his right hand from the curve of Louis’ waist in order to cup his jaw, tilting it up to the angle he desired. He pressed their lips together, murmuring, “Definitely.” And then he kissed harder.

When Louis sees his ex-boyfriend kissing a random girl at a party, he acts out of blind jealousy. He kisses the first guy he can find. It turns into a thing.

Where do I start? I usually don’t like fake-relationship AUs since most of the time Louis and Harry are famous, which make it less fun to me. But in this fic, they’re students and Harry is a frat boy while Louis is a nerd, but it’s not cliché or anything. It’s actually so well-written and the relationship between Louis and Harry takes time to progress which I absolutely love, seeing as I am a sucker for slow burn. Harry is so sweet as a frat boy, and Louis is an angel. Really loved reading this.

✩ at your fingertips by @risthebrave​ (27k)

summary: He finds himself wrapped up in sheets in bed on Thursday night, staring at the familiar name on a new story that was posted the night before.

His fingers twitch, ready to hit play and surrender to his impulses, saving the regret and turmoil for later.

And still he hesitates, internally praying that he’ll somehow gain the strength to exit out within the next few moments before he inevitably loses his patience and hits the button.

Three…

Two…

One.

Play.

-

Or, Louis really should have seen it coming.

Besides being well-written, the whole plot is quite original. I absolutely loved Louis in there, especially since all of his insecurities made me relate to him. He’s so sweet, and I’m glad Harry was there to get him to open-up and see how amazing he is. I had so many moments of secondhand embarrassment haha, and they made the fic all the more amazing. Honestly, what really struck me in this fic is how the author managed to make Harry such an amazing person, and how intrepid Louis is while he learns to overcome his insecurities.

✩ Nothing But You On My Mind by @absoloutenonsense​ (83k)

summary: Louis Tomlinson is a PR manager hired to improve the image of royal bad-boy Prince Harry Styles. Unfortunately for him, that means being faced with the Prince's constant innuendos, incessant dirty jokes, and relentless flirting. Louis just wants to make it to Princess Gemma's coronation; once she's crowned Queen, his contract is up and he never has to see the Prince again.

It was such a joy to read this fic. Even though Harry pissed me off on more than one occasion, I took great satisfaction in how Louis ignored him or replied with one of his witty comebacks. The plot twist was just awesome and Harry’s stubbornness ended up being very much welcome.

✩ push you out, pull you back in by @behisoneandonly​ (31k)

summary: Harry grips his head in his hands helplessly, yanking the base of his dark curls and squeezing his eyes shut.

“Fucking hell,” he whispers, knuckles turning white from how hard he’s gripping the strands of his hair.

“Hey, hey,” says the petite stranger in front of him, quickly standing up. “Stop, you’re hurting yourself.”

–

Or Harry hates feeling vulnerable. Louis is set on breaking through his tough facade.

Oh my god, this was truly wonderful. The size difference made me go crazy! The smut was just wow too. What really made this fic so incredible is how protective of Harry Louis is, and how Louis seems to just... understand Harry despite his issues. Jealous Harry also! I loved it. Moreover, Louis’ character is literally perfect in this.

✩ thinking about the t-shirt you sleep in by @absoloutenonsense​ (52k)

summary: Harry's alpha fraternity donates to a local thrift shop (because of Liam's latent crush on a cute beta in his lecture). Louis' financial situation (and confusing omega instincts) lead him to make some interesting fashion purchases. Lots of pizza, feelings, and not-really-lying.

I’ve read and re-read this. I love Louis and Harry’s dynamic, and how they solve their troubles in the end. Harry is such a sweet soul, and Louis deserves the world!

✩ Canyon Moon by @eeveelou​ (40k)

summary: For as long as Louis has remembered, he has been promised to be mated to Harry, his best friend and the future pack alpha. But Louis’s heart belonged to the forest and to the hunt more than he could ever imagine it belonging to Harry.

Then Harry’s father dies in a violent accident, and Louis’s future alpha disappears on the wind.

An A/B/O Lion King AU

What really drew me in is that I’ve never before seen a larry fanfic on the Lion King, and honestly? It was so beautiful. The way the author made the plot of the cartoon go along with the A/B/O world was truly surprising, and absolutely interesting to read. Also, when Louis is introduced to the modern world? It’s such a sweet part of the fic.

✩ a trail of honey through it all by @yvesaintlourent​ (27k)

summary: The boy in front of him, well really, the man in front of him, was like something out of a confusing wet dream. Built, tall, tan and muscular, his skin glistened with sweat after a long day of working outdoors with his hands. He was wearing a cut up old American football shirt, the bottom hem was torn and the sleeves were cut off to the point where the t-shirt was really just a loose tank top. The shorts he had on had clearly been full length jeans at one point, and were now just crudely cut off above the knee. His white socks were pulled up too high on his calves, and the brown work boots he had on were old as fuck, the leather peeling along the edges of the soles. Curly brown hair stuck out from the edges of his backwards snapback, and there was a smudge of grease wiped along his brow bone. The smattering of hair along his jaw proved that he hadn’t shaved in a week or two, the hair growing in thicker across his upper lip and around his chin. His sinfully bowed mouth was pink and plump, and Louis was suddenly hyper-focused on the way that he chewed at the toothpick stuck between his lips. He looked like he needed a shower. Louis wanted to lick him.

Or, the TPH fic we’ve all been waiting for.

Trailer park Harry? HELL YEAH! The concept has been going on in the fandom for so long that when I saw someone finally wrote it, I was genuinely excited. And I wasn’t disappointed! The writing is wonderful and the way Louis and Harry grow closer is just so sweet. Loved it!

✩ The Healing Song series: The Healing Song and The Wedding by 2204 (111k and 3k)

summary of The Healing Song: Louis was carrying the large stuffed elephant like it was a baby, it’s trunk hanging over his shoulder and down his back and it’s front legs were resting around his neck, like it was hugging him. Said elephant was a present from Louis’ close friend Steve, who had thought Louis needed something to hug on bad days and had gifted him with a stuffed elephant the size of a one year old.

Steve had been right. Some days Louis did need something to hug, and this elephant was as good as anything.

Louis was having one of the rougher days. The harmonious state of the anxiety free life of a fearless Louis had ended the week after he met with Harry. It ended as abruptly as it had started. It was like pushing a button. Lights out. Almost as if the universe said “You’ve had your fun, crazy one, now go be sick” and slammed the door in his face.

Or where Louis is a single father of two, suffering from PTSD, and Harry is there providing soulmatey and loving support while he heals the wounds of past abuse.

God, this fic I swear! This made me cry, laugh, scream... this is a roller-coaster of emotions. It’s quite a hard fic to read, because it deals with past abuse and trauma. And it’s even harder knowing this story is based on real life events that the author went though. But the way it’s written, the way Harry helps Louis through his struggles and issues, it’s so beautiful and inspiring.

✩ Sunrise and Pixie Dust by @moonyblouie​ (14k)

summary: Harry's taking a walk at sunrise in the forest he knows like the back of his hand when the wind starts blowing, the sky turns pink, and golden glitter starts to fall from the sky. He’s not sure about what’s happening, but when he comes face to face with a gorgeous winged-creature, he can’t help but be immediately mesmerized.

Or an AU in which Harry finds himself crossing the borders between two worlds.

I loved this, the smut is so hot!! But the end... I really hope there will be a sequel! But other than that, the way Louis is written? Wonderful!

✩ Weightless by @smittenwithlouis​ (25k)

summary: He hopes that Harry still thinks of him. God knows Louis thinks of him every day.

Or: Harry is the best dragon racer the world has ever seen and Louis is an almost-vet who feels like he is carrying the weight of the world.

This was... just amazing, honestly. I loved loved loved every time Louis interacted with dragons, I could picture it and it’s just so so sweet. The way Louis is concerned about Harry’s safety, and Harry’s will to make Louis’ life better, to give him the freedom he deserves... it’s just beautiful.

✩ The Blood of Love by @mugglemirror​ (25k)

summary: Harry is a nurse and Louis is a painting worth more than a thousand words. As desire and darkness encompasses him, Harry has to learn the secrets of Thorne Hills manor before he succumbs to the mystery that surrounds him.

I absolutely loved this! The plot, the writing, the suspense, the secrets... everything was on spot and left me yearning for more. The atmosphere really makes the reader completely engrossed into what’s going on, and the end doesn’t disappoint. Dark fics have always been something that I enjoy reading, and this one definitely didn’t disappoint. Just wow!

✩ Latibule by @quelquesetoiles​

summary: Louis had worked in the infamous resort placed in the median point of all worlds for longer than he could remember. He went through everyday with a soul-crushing emptiness filling his mind, going through the same routine over and over again. Despite all the happenings around him, his soul never wavered, his emotions stayed superficial, and nothing took his breath away anymore.

Nothing, except the intoxicating smell of lavender and the contemplating green eyes that came along for the ride every now and again. His heart always seemed to wake up full force whenever those pretty lips formed around even prettier, yet empty promises, and he felt the magic sizzle in his bones again only when contact was made between the divine body and his own deceivingly normal one. He hated it for the fact he really didn’t.

Or : A Spirited Away AU of sorts where Louis just wants to heal and be left alone, only for all his plans to be destroyed by the hands of an infuriating British God.

I have read this at least three times, that’s how good this fic is. I am a sucker for mythology, like truly, and Louis and Harry’s dynamic in there had me screaming! Jealous Harry is the best thing, and the semi plot twist at the end made my heart jump. But besides the universe we readers are diving into, it’s also the writing that’s left me pleasantly drunk. The words flow together perfectly, at after each paragraph you just long for more. Also the pet names!!! Just beautiful.

✩✩✩

If there’s any mistakes, please let me know! 

[sky-scribbles]

Belated 2020 Creator Wrap

Tagged by @mithrilwren, thank you so much!! (Let’s just... ignore the fact that it’s no longer 2020 :’D)

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! choose your 5 (or so) favorite works you created in the past year (fics, art, edits, etc.) and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you brought to the world in 2020. Tag as many writers/artists/etc. as you want (fan or original) so we can spread the love and link each other to awesome works!

1. Show me where my skin begins 

I love this one. It’s soft, it’s full of yearning, and it might just be most fun I’ve ever had writing. I was writing it having just gone into lockdown and somehow trying to finish my graduate year. Putting all that aside every so often to let this story spill out became the highlight of my day. Plus, touch-starvation felt like a pretty relevant topic, and judging by the comments, it resonated with some other people too :’)

2. And I will try to breathe, 'til it turns to muscle memory 

This one’s just special to me for no particular reason! The dynamic that Beau and Essek could have fascinates me: two smart, isolated kids who both know what it’s like to lash out in bitterness at a world that hurt you. I wanted to write something about her anger towards him, but to have that lead to them finding common ground, and the mix of snippiness and tenderness that resulted was so much fun.

3. ‘The weight of family’ art

My most ambitious art ever! There are a lot of things I wish I could fix, but I’m really proud of it. Mostly because there were so many times when I thought ‘I do not know how to do this’, and a year ago I’d have assumed that meant I couldn’t do it. But I kept looking up guides and references and pushing myself, even when it took hours, and I’m so happy with the result.

4. The weight of family and the pull of gravity

Sibling relationships are a complicated and emotional topic for me, so when I realised this fic was digging much deeper into Verin and Essek’s relationship than I expected it to, I just... let it dig. I think there are more traces of me in between the lines of this fic than in anything else I’ve written, so it’s hard not to be attached to it. Plus, writing Verin was a delight from start to finish.

5. This art of my new drow rogue

I’m just really chuffed with how it turned out! This was my first time going 100% without lineart, it’s probably the trickiest foreshortening I’ve done, and it’s so far ahead of what I could achieve even six months ago.

I’ll tag @red-hot-chili-tiefling, @aurrieccentrics, and @wine-and-sangria-lyrium, if you want to do it of course, and anyone else who’d like to! 

[makeawisdom]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Essek Thelyss & Verin Thelyss, Essek Thelyss/Caleb Widogast, The Mighty Nein & Essek Thelyss Characters: Essek Thelyss, Verin Thelyss Additional Tags: Just two siblings talking about feelings, established shadowgast Summary:

Verin noticed his internal conflict, but he wasn't able to guess Essek's train of thought. He stood up and look him in the eye. “Why him, Essek? Why is he so special?”

(In which the Mighty Nein have been invited to dinner by the Umavi Deirta Thelyss and her two children have a heart-to-heart conversation while they wait for them)

“This is all your fault”

“I don't see how it could be. I didn't do anything” answered Essek without looking at his brother. “It was our mother's idea.”

“It was our mother's idea” repeated Verin, mocking his voice. “Bullshit. It's your fault. Our lives were happy and peaceful, and we didn't gather for more than fifteen years. But then you've decided to go out of your lair and get yourself a boyfriend.”

Essek felt the warm creeping over his cheeks, but he hoped he was able to hide it well enough. He didn't want to give his brother more material that he could use against him. He already had enough of his repertoire.

“That's not the reason why she's doing this. Our mother only wants to check if the Mighty Nein could be used as leverage in her schemes.” Not that he was to allow it, but he was wiser than to confront his mother straightforwardly. He worked better behind the scene, anyway, hiding in the shadows. “And he is not my boyfriend. We're… figuring things out.”

It sounded bland and hackneyed, but it was the truth.  He and Caleb talked about it, and that was their mutual agreement. Everything was overly complicated already, taking in count the Mighty Nein knew about his endeavors with the Assembly. Essek's position as regards the group was precarious, to say the least. A few of them felt some resentment against him and he couldn't blame them. It would have been understandable if they decided not to trust him ever again. Why Caleb still could have faith in him, was a mystery. Essek couldn't fathom why would he hold any sort of feelings towards him either, even if Caleb was persuasive enough to convince him that he did. Words could lie, he knew, he mastered that art. But glances, and caresses, and tender smiles between kisses were a whole different story, one than Caleb told him with blunt sincerity and Essek couldn't help believing.

“That's definitely the face of someone that is thinking of a person which is figuring things out with, sure” Verin leaned back on the armchair he had claimed and raised one eyebrow. Essek, standing, looked at him from above with a deadpan expression. “I swear I still can't believe this is happening. I was so sure you will die alone in that huge tower of yours, surrounded by thirty cats that will feast on your remains.”

“That's hilarious. Hilarious and disgusting” said Essek with a tone that expressed he didn't find it funny at all. “Don't make that kind of jokes during dinner, please”

Verin gave him a grin.

“Why not? Do you fear that I will embarrass you in front of your figuring-things-out-friend?”

“No, my sweet little brother. I fear that they might like you.”

Verin laughed wholeheartedly, making Essek crack a little smile.

“What is your opinion on this?” He knew his brother well enough to try and be more specific before he could find room for another witty comment. “About Caleb and me, I mean.”

“Hold on a second, since when do you care about what I think? Are you okay? Did you hit your head or-?”

“I know mother will expound her point of view as clearly as she likes. I was hoping that, if you have something to say as well, we can discuss it privately, so I only have to deal with one criticism at a time.”

He seems to think about it for a little while until he finally said:

“Well… he's a human. A human from the Empire. That's weird.”

“I assume it must look like it is, yes.”

“But, that's not even the weirdest thing. The worst of all is that he is a wizard. A wizard, Essek! Do you know how untrustworthy wizards are?”

Of course, Verin wasn't talking seriously, but he can't help but think of what his brother would think of him if he knew how right he was. What Essek has done. How he, unintentionally, started a war that could have endangered his own brother.

How he was responsible for their father's death.

Before meeting the Mighty Nein, those thoughts wouldn't have even made him twitch. But now…

Now…

Regret is a novelty that didn't wear off easily. He didn't use to worry about the consequences of his actions, but at that moment, he realized his ambitions could have cost him more than he was willing to pay. Only one thin thread on the big tapestry of the odds had prevented his brother from being one of the numerous corpses soiling the ground of the battlefront, instead of being there, pestering him, laughing at his own jokes.

Before meeting the Mighty Nein, he has had already so much to lose but he couldn't see it. They didn't only give him another chance; they also give him perspective.

He thought he could live with the idea of his brother hating him. Essek had been alone for so long that he believed for a matter of fact that he didn't need anyone else. But the idea of Verin finding the truth, blaming him for what he did, was terrifying.

Verin noticed his internal conflict, but he wasn't able to guess Essek's train of thought. He stood up and look him in the eye.

“Why him, Essek? Why is he so special?”

His guilt didn't disappear, but that question was enough to bring him back to the conversation. That was his current battle: his denmother, his younger brother, the dinner all of them would be sharing with the Mighty Nein in less than an hour.

One concern at a time, he told himself. The first thing was finding a good answer to his brother's question. A very uninspired one, he thought. Only the seriousness his brother used to drew it up stopped Essek from dodging it and telling him he sounded like the side character of a badly written romance novel. He couldn't do it because he knew Verin's worry was sincere and that it was his way to show it.

“He’s outstandingly intelligent. Although he’s lacking formal education, he’s a competent…”

“Blah, blah. Magical nerdy stuff is one of the reasons, I get it. I didn’t even doubt it. But if that were enough, you would have hooked up with any of those stuffy people from the Marble Conservatory, but you didn’t, and it’s not as if you didn’t have your pick. You used to have a flock of infuriating suitors.”

“Yes, and all of them were infuriating, as you’ve correctly pointed out.”

“Well… but one or two should have been salvageable, I guess. But you’ve never had a partner before. Not one I’d heard of, at least.”

“I’ve never had a partner before, period.”

“See? That’s why I’m so curious! It must be something else!”

Verin was right: there was something else, but he didn't want to talk about it. He's always been proud of being discreet, keeping his matters to himself. Verin, on the contrary, shared everything, even those things Essek would have preferred not to know. It was an unbalanced dynamic, the one that they had, but Essek felt sheltered that way, stronger. Talking about what Caleb meant to him... Essek knew it would make him seem vulnerable and he didn't want that.

But that was the point in trying to do better, wasn’t it? Doing what is necessary to improve, even when he considered it to be the last thing he wanted to do. He had a long road ahead, but he could start with that little step. He took a deep breath.

“He is… He is everything I thought I didn’t need until I had him in front of me.” His mouth started getting significantly drier with every word he said, while he felt how goosebumps claimed his entire skin. He felt awful, self-conscious, and exposed, the same way he felt beneath the deck of the Ball-Eater, the day he confessed his crimes. He hated it just as much, but that probably meant he was doing something right, so he kept going. “He’s caring and understanding. He’s fun in his own awkward, delightful way. I’m still amazed at how much kindness he can show, after… After everything. I’ve never met someone with such endurance before. He’s admirable, in every possible way.”

He gave him a second chance when any other person would have made him pay for his wrongdoings. He hoped for him to be a better person, and Essek obliged out of selfishness, as he always did. He still believed in the cause he sold his soul to. His pursuit of knowledge, crossing limits anyone else hasn’t even dared to reach. He had lived through that desire, put all his stakes on it. In an ambient where he could not thrive, surrounded by people that didn’t understand him and didn’t care for him, magic was the only thing that pushed him forward. Without that itch, without his ambitions, what was left for him?

Love, he learned that infamous night in Nicodranas. There was warmth. There was friendship. There was love.

There was Jester, lovely Jester, holding his hand.

There was Caduceus, urging him to spit his dirty secrets as if he were trying to make him vomit a poison that was killing him inside.

There was Caleb, with his eyes, and his hands, and his lips. He kissed him gently, in a moment when any other person would have landed a stab-wound between his ribs.

That’s why his change was so selfish. He could not drop every project he had fought for during all his life and change just for himself. But he could change for them. Be whatever the Mighty Nein wanted him to be: a friend, an ally, or a lover. Damn, he would even be a good person! He was trapped and enthralled, and he never, ever, would like to be let go.

Did he ever stand a chance? No, probably he didn’t, not against them, at least. Not against Caleb.

“I wasn’t seeking companionship when I first met him” Essek admitted, “but when we stumble on each other, when I had the opportunity to talk to him and get to know him better… I couldn’t help but see how similar we were, and yet so different. I don’t know how to explain it, just… Everything between us clicked together.”

“An instant connection. How romantic.” Essek was grateful for the lighthearted inflection of his brother’s voice. That was normal, familiar. It was a good grip to keep his mind from spiraling. “Who knows. Perhaps the Light pushed you two together and you are meant to be, after all. I mean, what were the odds of you finding another oddball like you?”

What were the odds, indeed.

“I don’t believe in destiny.”

“Of course you don’t. People like you have ‘destiny’ for breakfast, but even you would admit that this is some kind of divine intervention. I mean…”

“Yes, I found someone that can stand me. A miracle” Essek replied with a deadpan expression, “You might find someone someday as well, if you ever stop being a little brat.”

Verin showed him the sharp point of his fangs. Essek was sure his brother was preparing himself for the delivering of another witty comment, but instead, he just shrugged and gave him an honest smile.

“You seem quite different, I would say.”

“Well, I am different. I suppose it shows.”

After a brief pause, Verin added:

“You really love him, huh?”

Essek didn’t need to consider the answer.

“I do, Verin. I love him immensely” he admitted so naturally that he surprised himself. That was such a profound truth that he couldn’t have expressed it with less honesty, because it wouldn’t have sounded right any other way. “Not only him. I love all of them. They’ve changed my life for the better. My relationship with Caleb has indeed meant a lot of adjustments in both our lives, but it works somehow, and it makes me happier than I can express with words.”

Verin blinked once, then twice.

“That’s… wow. Just wow. It turns out that nor only you have feelings, but you’re also able to talk about them! I’m impressed, I’ll admit it.” Essek raised an eyebrow, but Verin kept talking before he could comment on anything. “Don’t look at me like that! I’m not teasing you right now… well, a little, but that’s what I always do. Believe me, I’m glad to hear you’re happy. It’s everything I could have hoped for you.”

Verin patted his shoulder a few times, a gesture that probably was just friendly between well-built soldiers, but it was a little rougher against someone as slim as Essek. He was able to keep his balance and his dignity with it. It hurt a little, but he did not express it in any way. He was too grateful for his brother’s reaction to getting mad at him for not knowing his own strength.  Verin really mean everything he had said, Essek knew, and that tugged at his heartstrings. He cared; he had always had. Essek was lucky to have a brother like him, he thought.

“I have a question, though”, Verin began.

“Go ahead, please.”

Verin grinned.

“May I call that Caleb brother-in-law?”

Essek didn't hesitate.

“Don't you dare.”

***

Fun fact: If ‘Person A talking about their feelings for Person B with Person C’ can be considered a trope, it’s my favorite one.

Fun fact 2: This is not really my hc for Verin and Essek’s relationship. I think they hate each other’s guts, but I started writing this and I thought: ‘Oh, okay, this dynamic is wholesome. I’ll stick with it’

[romeulusroy]

War Boy (John Shelby Oneshot)

Character/s: John

Word Count: 1,682

Inspired By: Holiday by Dana Williams

Warning/s: abuse mention

Tag List: @dontdowhatisayandnobodygetshurt @myriadimagines @lilyswritings @encounterthepast @death-of-a-mermaid @lotsoffandomimagines @woahitslucyylu @obsessedunicorn24 @thedarkqueenofavalon @fangirlsarah16 @theshelbyclan

A/N: I think this is the longest fic I've ever written, which is pretty cool :) I never thought I'd be able to write something greater than 500 words. It's not my usual style, which is a little frustrating, but in the end I like how it turned out. I had no idea where it was going until the very end, and if that doesn't explain the writing process, I'm not sure what does! I'm super close to 200 fics/a third part of the fic masterlist and that's really exciting! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💖💜

FIC MASTERLIST PART ONE. / PART TWO.

WANNA BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST?

Infidelity. Lust. Greed. Envy. He always wanted what wasn't his. A sin, if he believed in those kinds of things. If all the things he'd done in his lifetime weren't so much worse, he would have been afraid. But he wasn't. He should have been ashamed, guilty, pleading on his hands and knees to a bitter God for forgiveness, for understanding he wasn't deserving of, but he couldn't, he wouldn't, because he didn't feel bad. A man of crime, of impulse, sharing a bed with someone who slipped their ring off for him was the least of his worries. To anyone looking in, it would have seemed wrong, sick. It was. It should have seemed that way to him. But he watched from the inside, he knew what really was going on, the full story behind the locked windows and drawn curtains. There were things the rest of the world thought they knew, that they put their faith into, but only you and John knew what was really going on.

It wasn't about the sneaking, the secrets, it wasn't about revenge, getting back at him for all the things he ever did, all the things he put you through. It was about finally being wanted. It was about bloody fists. A heavy silence blanketed over the dinner table. A shove, a grin, a power dynamic. You loved him most when he wasn't around. Felt the most safe, the most adored when the space between you grew, the soil between you deepening, rotting. A man of war, who'd kissed her cheeks and cried when she fell instead of him. It should have been him in those trenches, in her arms. He'd told you that only once, his eyes restless, crazed, begging for one night of rest, too ashamed to admit in daylight. It should have been him, not the brave men beside him, not the innocent boys thrown into this without a second thought. It should have been his funeral, his shallow grave, his things distributed among friends, desperate for anything they could get their hands on. They'd be sad, of course, mourning another loss, but sad didn't matter when the world was ending.

It should have been him. And sometimes, you wished it was.

Someone you worshiped, someone you would have done anything for. That's what love made you believe. He was the light of your life, the reason of your very existence. A boy, then. Kids, you both were, blinded by something bigger than yourselves, something you thought could escape death herself, last a hundred lifetimes. Young, sweet, with summer in your veins. You were so naive. He was different before the war. Softer, tender, he was affectionate, drunk on the ideas of a future together. Married before he left, a ring around his finger when he stepped on that train. He'd lost it, somewhere along the line, and that should have been the first warning when he came back. They all changed, but not like him. The bombs, the guns, the shock of it settled in his gut, poisoning his blood. The fire of the explosives lived inside him. It slept when he did, but it was always looking for something to set it off.

The smallest spark would be enough.

Then it wasn't just anger, but rage. Wrath. A sea of red. Everything in his path needed to be destroyed regardless of the skin it wore. Shattered glass. Broken furniture. Holes in walls. Fabric ripped, or torn, or punctured. Even when he dreamed he clenched his fists, as if he were ready for a fight, a battle, that would never come. You were his favorite, though. Once a cherished item in his collection, sat on the top shelf for safe keeping, now you were nothing but a rag doll. Thrown around for his own entertainment. Bruised, bleeding, left to clean yourself up, mend your own wounds. Sometimes it was barely noticeable. Sometimes it wasn't. And that's when John came into your life.

An old friend, one he'd witnessed war with.

A visit. Simple, quick, a check up on someone he regretted losing contact with. Heard stories of someone special back home, someone who kept him going. From the second you saw him, though, you knew he was different. Careful eyes, all smiles and a wicked humor. He'd held on to that. With bloody nails, he wouldn't let her take that from him. He took notice of everything, whether or not you realized. The purple fingerprints in your skin. The badges under your sleeves. Your limp. The flinching, the bracing when a glass was set down too fast, too hard. John made a point to find his way in this part of Birmingham more often, knowing not only had the men changed, but their lives and families as well. It wasn't just the soldiers who suffered.

He became a source of comfort. Walking your husband home when he drank too much to remember where he lived, helping him up the stairs when his dead weight was too much to carry. It was his way of coping, his way of control. If he was too far gone to remember his own name, he couldn’t hurt anyone. Drown the demons in booze, forgetting how violent he could be when he was hungover. Passed out, leaving the two of you alone. You found yourself confiding in him, telling him things you never would have told anyone. Admitting to your own exhaustion, your own defeat, raising your white flag. You didn't have to explain the flinching, the hesitation to trust, all the little things he picked up on, all the things he'd seen too often. He was a man of destruction. Smashing his bottles, begging for a fight, starting them when no one else would. A form of self mutilation. Too many nights John spent taking care of the gashes in his face, of his open knuckles.

He was trying to beat the war out of himself. Scare it away. Make it rupture.

Sometimes he was unexpected. Knocking out of nowhere when your husband was at work. You should have known he wasn't looking for him. You should have known, but you didn't. And neither did he, inviting him for dinner, for drinks, any occasion. Before you knew it, you were spending every night together. Over the table, your laughs hushed, your words effortless. Learned more about him than you ever thought. A wife he loved, passed away. A brood of kids he fears he's not good enough for. A complicated family and a business with a license to kill. The thought of him, funny John with his quips and fast wit, with his endless supply of dirty jokes and filthy words, a father. You had a hard time picturing him reading bedtime stories or folding baby clothes. It was something you used to dream of, having kids. Not anymore, not with a man like that. You'd never forgive yourself, ruining an innocent life, raised in a field of landmines. It wouldn't be fair to them. You couldn't do that.

He brought them a few times. Pudgy fingers, toothless giggles, tales about school, about all the things they were learning, all the people they'd become one day. It did something to your home. Turned a lifetime of pain and fear into excitement, into joy. They didn't know what life had in store for them, the possibilities endless. Infinite. All of them wanting a piece of you, sitting on your lap, whispering all the secrets their father told them not to tell. He spoke of you often, or at least, that's what they said. John in his natural state, a child on his hip, another pulling him by the cuff. He was needed. That was more than you could say for yourself. A pain, an ache in your chest, watching your husband. Awkward, anxious, angry. Angry at little fingerprints across every surface. Angry at the noise, at the constant energy, the neediness. You knew he thought that was weak, to need someone. He couldn't stand to be near them.

He couldn't stand anything anymore.

John would have killed the man. If he were anyone else, he would have sliced him in half, make a godless man see heaven for himself. But he wasn't just anyone, they'd seen hell together. Walked through fire, spit in the face of the devil himself and lived to see another day. That was rare. It made a bond unlike any other. But that didn't mean he had to like him, that he had to approve of everything he did. Drunk together, one night, the last two at the bar. He never meant for it to get out. It was the whiskey talking. A single sentence, a threat in passing. If you ever hurt them again, I'll fucking kill ya. His words were slurred, and heavy between his teeth, but there was truth to them. He could have said something a lot worse. He could have told him he was undeserving of you, that he was fucked up to hurt you, to take you for granted. He could have said that he changed, that he wasn't the friend he was anymore, that he couldn't stand the sight of him. John could have admitted that he loved you, from the second he saw you, he loved you and he wanted to protect you, that he thought of you every single day.

But he didn't.

Instead he made a promise, an oath to you, to him. One he never wanted to go to through with. One he'd have to, he knew it. Now he was waiting across the street, ducking in the shadows, watching for him to leave, to go to the bar after another meltdown. The screaming could be heard through the neighborhood. It didn't matter who he used to be, this was him now. This was his fate. He should have listened to John that night, but he didn't, he didn't listen to anyone anymore, and now he'd face the end.

John just hoped you'd forgive him after all this.