#luce writes !

[luce-speaks]

the car scene

written for @fe-aspec-week 2024! this is set in echoes dnd au (created by me and @good-beanswrites), in which the plot of Echoes is the plot of the group’s d&d game. scenes in italics take place in-game.

—

Lukas sighs. “Honestly, Python? I'm not sure if I love her or not. Since being parted from her, I feel no particular longing to see her again.”

(He stops briefly, glancing around the table, trying to gauge if he’s doing okay. It doesn’t seem right to spend too much session time on his character’s personal issues, but everyone seems content enough. He decides to continue.)

“I sometimes wonder if a vital part of me is broken. I look at Clive and Mathilda and see... Well, you used the word "fire". But whatever it is that they have, I seem to lack it.”

Python punches him on the shoulder. “Aw, don't you worry. The ‘one true love’ thing isn't for everyone. Certainly not for me. And I dare anyone to tell me that I’m broken.”

Lukas blinks. “So you think such a lack of feelings is… normal?”

This time, when Python leans in, he throws his arm around him, for a sort of half-hug that Lukas politely tolerates. “Perfectly.”

—

The session ends soon after, with cheerful goodbyes exchanged as they all filter out of Mila’s fancy apartment. Lukas joins the other two in Forsyth’s beater of a car, and they begin the thirty-minute trip back to their apartment complex.

It’s silent in the car for a few minutes, interrupted only by the staticky hum of the radio that refuses to turn all the way off and the ever-concerning rumble of the engine. And then—

“Y’know,” Python says abruptly, “it’s pretty cool that you made your character aro.”

Forsyth nods. “It is! You never see that in fantasy stories. It’s pretty sad.”

“…What?”

The car goes dead quiet again. The rumbling engine sounds louder than ever.

“Luke…”

“That was on purpose, right?” Forsyth says, craning around to peer at Lukas in the backseat.

Python elbows him. “Eyes on the road, Fors.”

“Yeah, but he—”

Lukas sighs. “Can one of you explain what you’re talking about?”

Now it’s Python’s turn to lean across the center console (and Lukas’s turn to wonder how these two haven’t gotten themselves into a car accident yet.) “So, that stuff you were saying in the last scene. How he wasn’t in love with that backstory character, and maybe not with anyone else, either? And he feels like he’s broken because of it?”

He nods, unsure where this is going. “I… thought it made sense for the character.”

“It does,” Forsyth says. “And it also sounds a lot like he might be aromantic.”

“Aro, for short,” Python adds. “It means you’re not interested in anyone like that—romantically, I mean. Like me.”

“You’re… not?” Lukas frowns. “But I thought—at the game cafe—”

“Hey, aromantic and asexual are two different things. Which I only happen to be one of.” Python grins. “So, y’know, if you ever—”

“PYTHON!” Forsyth turns away from the wheel again, this time grabbing his friend by the shoulder. “Can you at least save it until we’re out of the car?”

“Hey, eyes on the road!”

“I know! If you hadn’t started—“

Lukas tunes out the arguing in the front seat, too preoccupied with his own thoughts to keep track of what they’re talking about. He feels a bit guilty for (accidentally) tricking his new friends into thinking he made his character like this on purpose. For making something that spoke to them, made them feel seen, only to have to explain that it was all happenstance. It feels like a betrayal of some sort, even if he didn’t intend it.

But, then again, there’s something else bothering him. Memories resurfacing, of his parents asking him when he’ll get married, of school dances and college parties, of a thousand little moments that each left a bad taste in his mouth. He always figured it would change when he got older, or when he got away from his parents—but he’s done both, hasn’t he? He’s almost thirty, and he’s living alone, and he’s never once wished for someone else to share that bed with him. He’s never thought too hard about it, but…

“Python,” he says nervously. “How exactly do you know you’re aro?”

“Uh—”

“The general ‘you’, I mean, not you specifically,” he adds quickly. “Just… how do you figure it out? How do you know you’re not just…” He trails off, unsure how to finish that sentence.

Python glances at Forsyth. Forsyth, for once, stays focused on the road, where he’s trying to merge into the left lane of the highway. Python turns back to Lukas.

“Uh,” he says again. “Usually, I think, you just get tired of waiting. S’what I did. Got bored of waiting for something to change and decided to go my own way. There’s not really a process to it. You just… make up your mind.”

“And it’s okay if you change it later!” Forsyth adds. “Using a label isn’t something you have to commit to forever. If it stops being helpful to you, you stop using it.”

“Oh.” They make it sound so simple, he thinks. “I… I need some time to think about all this. It… makes sense, I just…”

“Hey, there’s no rush,” Python says.

Forsyth nods. “Take your time. We’ll be here if you need anything.”

“And for what it’s worth—” Python turns toward the backseat again, looking Lukas directly in the eye. “You’re not broken, Luke. No matter what anyone told you. Okay?”

Lukas nods, still lost for words, before choking out a “Thank you.” The path ahead of him is treacherous, but in this moment—in the back of Forsyth’s shitty car, surrounded by people who support him, wrapped in the hum of the engine—he feels like he can take it all.

(When he officially comes out at another D&D session a few weeks later, he receives a hearty round of hugs and congratulations, none more enthusiastic than Python and Forsyth’s. It’s the happiest he’s felt in a long, long time.)

[jaybird-redhood]

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

in which you are a satellite, that just can't help but be pulled right into the waynes' orbit. right to a certain jason todd.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

pairing: jason todd // reader

trope: enemies to lovers

add yourself to the taglist!

☆ chapter one

☆ chapter two

☆ chapter three coming soon

[ifridiot]

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: Naruto Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions of Violence Relationships: Hidan/Kakuzu Characters: Hidan, Kakuzu Additional Tags: Choking, Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Pursuit and Takedown, Anal Sex, Wound Play, Suffocation, Temporary Character Death, Fuckbuddies To Lovers, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Muscles, Body Worship, Blood and Gore, Canon Typical Violence, Consensual Non-Consent, Intercrural Sex, Kink Negotiation Summary: Hidan knows Kakuzu hates him. The old man hates everyone he’s ever encountered. So why is he letting Hidan stick around? And why the fuck does Hidan care so much?

Or: The fic where Hidan brings Kakuzu back to life.

Hidan has some religious awakenings

[faintedlcve]

okay so literally everyone is doing this so i decided to try it bc why not (i need the motivation bc i honestly CAN do it im just too lazy but if i promise people thennn !!)

okay so if you get this post to 6.9k by new years (i love how impossible im making it lmao) i will do the following things:

1. i will go finish all of my drafts (i have 7 wip's some of which might not be posted)

2. i will try to sleep on time next year.

3. i will talk this girl that i really wanna be friends with.

(i'll prolly do the first one either way lmao ☠️)

[lavenoon]

bc I couldn't forget about Moon silently asking to cuddle/ the just as silent "Yes" of lifting the covers

also bonus bc the thought made me laugh:

[sportsthoughts]

elf!sid spotted - pregame 19/3/24

[nermal]

theres not nearly enough comics about big fat hairy gay men and butches. i just have to keep re-reading the same shit over

[lucespeaks]

paige at a quinceañera hcs 💓

she would be in awe of all the decorations,jaw dropped i mean.

would definitely be one of the loudest, cheering when the quinceañera is revealed, on her feet shouting and everything!!

some tears definitely fall when it’s time for the father daughter dance/ mother daughter dance. and when asked about it she would completely deny that she cried.

lets say that the quinceañera is your cousin or something, and its time for the video that shows her growing up, she would point out EACH and EVERY photo that you’re in, definitely takes out her phone to take pictures of it.

like said before, paige comes to EAT. would absolutely devour the dinner that’s served and be the type to say something like “yeah it was okay”

oh but when its time to dance, beware because that girl isn’t getting off the dance floor till midnight (unless its for drinks with the older cousins)

takes shots like there’s no tomorrow

her favorite dance is definitely guachineo

she would LOVEEE hora loca, especially when the men on sticks and the dancers come out, she would have sm fun

would find a way to get the mic. idk how but she definitely will and start singing into it even though she has no idea what she’s saying (if it’s a spanish song)

abuela definitely gets paige to dance with her, she said thats her “flaca”

when its time for the “fun” songs, she would definitely take your hand and take you to the middle of the dance floor, like i said she’s not getting off till midnight

a million photos at the photobooth!!! would take so many so she can have them in her car, apartment, locker.. etc

definitely taking half of the snack table home like finding a way to put it under her blazer or something

speaking of blazer, she’s coming dressed to impress, blazer and dress pants idc i don’t make the rules

once its time to leave, she makes sure to say goodbye to the parents ( and abuela ofc) and thank them for inviting her

she’s taking a centerpiece home like thats non-negotiable

she’d take off your heels and carry you to the car (heels are so exhausting for what )

once you guys get home, she’s looking through all the pictures and videos she took cause god knows she had her phone out the entire time

side note: i apologize if these are terrible, i’ve never written hcs before only actual fics 😭

[clxckwork-sun-n-moon]

PLEASE. PLEASE I NEED ECLIPSE TO CARVE A PUMPKIN IDC HOW IT HAPPENS JUST GET THEM A PUMPKIN PLEASE

Pumpkins - 969 words

“I need your biggest pumpkin.”

The pumpkin seller gave you the flat look of a woman who had been told the same statement at least five times before you’d shown up and she fully expected to keep hearing the same thing after you left. Letting out a long sigh, she gestured to the broad spread of pumpkin patch ahead of you.

“It’s self-service, you take what you can find,” she intoned. “Have a spooky blast finding your perfect pumpkin. The weighing scales are up by the entrance, we do not provide trolleys to transport from the harvest patch to your vehicle.”

“That’s okay, we came on foot! And we have plenty of hands.” 

Her eyes went from you to the dog by your side, unassuming. And then her gaze tracked slowly up and up behind you, and garnered that expression of surprise you were quickly getting used to. Even after putting him in your biggest hoodie, thick overcoat, and wrangling an extra long pair of cargos from an online shopping site, he still caught eyes wherever he went with you.

“He’s shy,” you said quietly as Sun raised a hand and waved. The seller waved back, stepping aside for the three of you to shuffle onto the pumpkin patch proper. 

It took about an hour for the three of you to find four good pumpkins. Sun was extremely excited for this, and you let him go running off freely to find his own personal pumpkin. Moon had already talked to you the night before about what sort of pumpkin he wanted, and you obliged to his wants, picking out a smaller one that easily fit into both of your hands. Montague would hop across the trails, sniffing around the pumpkins for any possible smell of rot, but otherwise keeping his distance - you two would share, as was the easiest way when one friend didn’t have opposable thumbs.

But you also had another to pick a pumpkin out for, and Eclipse specifically had asked to be surprised. Easy enough to do, since this was his first Halloween and not only was he excited but they had been decorating after finding your old stash from three years ago. 

It was nice, being genuinely excited about this holiday for the first time in a while.

Montague’s low whuff caught your attention. Hurrying around the end of one of the plots, you saw what he’d found and the glee in your chest warmed up into a bright grin.

“Oh. Oh yes,” you said softly. “He’s going to love this one.”

-

Three hours later, involving having Sun carry all your goods back to the train station, wobbling your quad bike back to the cabin, and an obscene amount of pumpkin disembowelment: it was time. 

“So, what did you guys carve?” You leaned over to glance at Sun and Eclipse’s pumpkins, sat proudly hollow on the newspaper-covered table. You’d done this outdoors just in case, but you didn’t know the extent of the splattering that would occur (and since you were going to be cleaning juice out of your hair tonight, the preparations had been underwhelming).

“I did a crescent moon!” Sun said proudly. “I don’t think the clouds were that good, I kept breaking pieces off.”

“Hey, it’s good for your first attempt.” Sure the moon was a bit wonky and, yes, bits of the clouds were more jagged than smooth. But you hadn’t expected masterpieces anyway, so the fact it was recognisable was all good.

“Is that a moon on your’s too?” Sun asked, leaning his head over to peek.

“Full moon! And a werewolf, kind of.”

“I modelled,” Montague chimed in from below, his tail thudding on the dirt ground at an ever increasing rate.

“And what about you?” You turned now to Eclipse, still licking bits of pumpkin scraps and juice from his claws. Smacking their feathery lips, they crouched down fully to grin alongside the pumpkin.

“Me,” they chirped. Sure enough, there were two pairs of eyes and a very wide, very jagged grin stretching right across the pumpkin that was at least twice the size of his head. Lots of surface area to work on, and they’d shredded most of it as snack food.

Laughing softly, you ruffled through Eclipse’s feather ruff, his head nuzzling hard into your hand as he hummed and they purred and you half expected them to bowl you over in their enthusiasm.

“Okay, okay. Help me clean up the insides, this will make at least a week’s worth of curry, maybe some muffins too,” you said, gesturing to the plastic bowls dotted around. You’d made sure to rig a few bowls with bucket handles for Montague to lift through too, but after carrying everything inside, you need to box it all for refrigeration. Thankfully many hands made light work, and you had many hands to help you out. 

An hour in and Moon was out, and the pair of you ducked outside with Moon’s pumpkin in his hands. Fireflies began to flit around the edge of the clearing as he carved away, with you sharing stories of the day and him sharing stories of Halloween at the Pizzaplex. No peace was yet left, as eventually Eclipse came bounding after you, full of energy and pumpkin seeds and intent on peppering you with the latter. Dew soaked into your jumper but nothing would drown the mood as the pair of you rolled over on the grass, Montague sitting next to Moon and the pair exchanging a quiet look. 

Soon, four pumpkins sat in the window of your cabin, while four figures bustled around your kitchen in the constant process of boxing and weighing crushed pumpkins and seeds. One a werewolf, one a demon, one a moon, and one a lonely blackbird in a night sky.

[luce-speaks]

Laid to Rest

(aka, the 30k forsython fic i’ve been teasering for months)

Summary:

After being wounded in battle at the Deliverance, Forsyth is reassigned to a quiet outpost in the woods where he can rest up and heal. He’s not happy about being sent away, but he can’t refuse an order.

Upon his arrival, though, he discovers he’s not the only one unhappy about his reassignment. The outpost is haunted by a troublesome spirit named Python, and he wants nothing more than to be left alone.

[jaybird-redhood]

chapter two ☆ only out of convenience

previous chapter ☆ next chapter

series masterlist

add yourself to the taglist!

a/n: hi guys!! well aware that i said this was going up last week, but life got ahead of me so that's an oops on my part. also this chapter was weirdly hard to write? anyways, todays chapter- even more exchanging of assholery, but in a (hopefully) entertaining manner :) let me know what y'all think so far!! xx

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You’re sitting at your kitchen table when Tim calls you.

“I tracked your phone.”

“What the fuck? Why??” You shout. “I am definitely bringing this up next time I need leverage. What do you want?”

“I know you’re at your place right now,” he says, “Hood is three blocks away from you and turned his comm off after engaging with the guys we were after.”

“How’s that my problem?” you say absently, putting another spoonful of your dinner in your mouth. “He’s a big boy, he can take care of himself.”

“Look,” Tim sighs, “Wing and I are on our way, but we’re 20 minutes out- just make sure he’s not dead and or dying, ok? You can yell at me later.”

You grumble at him as you get up to make your way to your door, putting your phone between your head and shoulder to get your keys and bag.

“Thank you,” Tim says.

“I haven’t said yes yet.”

“So that noise wasn’t you picking up your keys?”

“Fuck you.”

You hang up on him.

A few seconds pass before you get a text from him with a GPS location saying ‘uber out front will drop you off a block away’.

It takes you a second to find him when you get to the spot Tim sent you. It’s late enough that most of the wall of the building is in shadow, and you don’t see him until you find the trail up blood on the ground leading to the side of the wall.

He’s sitting half up, one arm keeping some weight off his torso, the other pressed firmly against his side. He tenses up until you get closer, and then loses all alertness in favor of annoyance.

“Seriously,” he groans. “Why’re you here?”

You pause for enough time to glower at him before making your way over to his side, throwing your bag down and putting your hands over his torso.

“God would you just shut the fuck up,” you snap. “Red asked and I’m not an asshole.”

He winces when you press a little bit harder on his hands and the gauze that they’re holding on to what looks like a bullet wound? You make a mental note to figure out what’s actually wrong with him once you’re confident he’s moderately okay.

“You should be glad I’m here,” you say pointedly.  “You look like you’re practically dying.”

He looks up at you from under his eyelashes.

“Nah, trust me, I’m not. I know what dying feels like.”

You freeze, breath stilling as you look down at where he’s bleeding.

His hair is matted to his forehead, white streak standing out violently from the black of his hair and tan of his face, eyes flashing greener than you think eyes could get.

And then it hits you that this isn’t Hood.

Helmet off, domino cracked, body underneath yours, this- this is Jason. A boy your age who is bleeding out right in front of you. Right underneath your hands.

He’s looking at you and the only thing going through your head is an unbroken stream of ‘he’s right here, he’s right here and he’s gonna die’.

You’re suddenly aware of his voice.

“Hey. Hey. Jesus moron it was a fucking joke,” he says. You’d almost think he was worried.

“Snap out of it ok, I promise I’m not dying, but my arm does feel broken so if you could take over holding the blood inside my body before my hand gives out that would be great.”

You blink a few times before the words register and you realize you’ve dropped your hands from their position on his body. Given the way his voice was drenched in sarcasm you figure he doesn’t seem quite phased by the fact that you are not at all having a great time here.

“Fuck you,” you tell him, voice sounding smaller than you intended. It’s fine. He probably didn’t notice.

A few moments pass with your hands hovering back above his wound.

“Hood?” you ask.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve never actually had to do this before.”

Your hands are shaking a bit as he wraps his fingers around yours, gently moving them over the gauze.

So he did notice.

You don’t want his pity. You know that you’re not as tough as the rest of them. You definitely don’t need his confirmation of the fact.

When you apply the pressure, you push just hard enough for him to glare at you. You glare right back.

A few seconds pass before you question, “who’d you piss off this time that wanted you dead so bad this happened?”

“None of your business.”

You draw in a sharp breath.

“Fine. Forget I asked.”

He takes a moment to look you up and down, and you can’t quite place the expression on your face.

“Look, it’s for your fucking sake,” he says almost condescendingly, “I don’t know why they let you get this close to us. It’s going to get us exposed and you fucking killed.”

Ouch.

It takes all of your self-control not to get up and leave him.

“Didn’t think you cared if I died,” you murmur.

“Red cares,” he says.

You let out a breathy laugh at that.

“Funny, that’s why I’m here right now.”

You arrange your feet under your body, making yourself a bit more comfortable, and falling into a silence only broken by the sound of traffic two streets over and the slightly uneven tones of his breath.

You count 12 exhales before he winces.

His eyelids droop slightly, and he must be able to feel the panic rolling off of you because he says, “It’s not that bad,” softer than before.

Still, you can’t help but notice his chest go up and down with each inhale and exhale a little more intently.

You’re both quiet still when Dick and Tim find you.

The former rushes to the other side of Hood’s body with a “Hey, fuck, Hood you alright?” and in all the cheery manner yet concern you would expect from him.

Jason’s eyes flair neon again. You hadn’t even noticed they had gone back to their light blue green.

“I’m fine Dickface,” he growls. “If her annoying ass wasn’t here, I would’ve left already.”

You wince, gritting your teeth and trying your damned hardest not to scream at him in front of his brother.

You don’t mean to push down on the gauze slightly harder than necessary. And you also definitely don’t feel a little bit better watching him throw his head back and curse at you.

His eyes dim slightly as he turns his head to look into yours.

Tim helps you up while Dick replaces your hands and does a quick check over of your body, making sure you’re fine before quickly telling the others over comms that Jason is okay.

“You’re about to pass out from blood loss Hood,” he chides, doing a very convincing impression of a mother hen. “Why didn’t you turn your comm on?”

“Because I’m fine,” Jason snaps, “this is ridiculous!”

“God you’re stubborn,” Dick grimaces, and you almost feel sorry for the exasperated look he has on his face.

“I fucking hate all of you.”

 Tim walks you down the alley the way you came before stopping just out of earshot of the two bickering.

“He gets cranky when Wing mothers him,” he says apologetically. “Hey, you did great! Thank you so much for keeping him ok.”

“I- yeah,” you stutter. “Yeah, course Red.”

“Are you alright?” he asks, and you can see his expression shift even through the cowl.

“I’m fine,” you tell him.

He doesn’t stop looking at you, nor does he say anything in return.

“Promise,” you emphasize.

“Can I take you back to your apartment at least? I really don’t think you should be walking home this late at night, especially through crime alley.”

“It’s ok, just to the street is fine,” you tell him, shifting your weight on your feet. He’s still looking at you funny.

“You can call me an Uber,” you say defensively. “The fewer people that see us together or you near my apartment the better.”

“You know I’ve been trained to not let people see me, right?” he deadpans. “And I’m at your apartment like 3 times a week after patrol?”

“I swear I’ll be fine, Uber’s easier anyways.”

He looks at you warily, but still says, “Okay…”.

You give him your most convincing normal smile.

“Text me when you get home though.”

“I promise,” you tell him, and walk to the end of the street.

The Uber driver looks at you funny when you get in the car and smile at him.

It isn’t until you take out your keys and try to unlock your door when you fully realize his blood is still all over your hands.

You vomit in the trashcan. Jason doesn’t come by for the next few weeks.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

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[ifridiot]

Chapters: 1/2 Fandom: Punisher (Comics) Cable (Comics) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Nathan Summers/Frank Castle, Frank Castle/Stryfe Characters: Frank Castle, Nathan Summers, Stryfe Additional Tags: Kidnapping, Imprisonment, Mind Games, Feminization, Bondage, Rough Oral Sex, Sex Toys, Praise Kink, Manipulation, Telekinesis, Other Additional Tags to Be Added Summary: Stryfe has big, big plans for Frank

happy birthday @stryfeposting

[red-riding-wood]

Hi)

Saw that you’d like to write something angsty or maybe dark on Peaky Blinders🙂

Maybe Luca Changretta x reader where they slowly fall out of love with each other but meanwhile realize that they still will never leave because they’re so used to the way things are

(Also looking forward to your fic with Dmitri from The Grand Budapest☺️) 😘

Absinthe

Luca Changretta x F!Reader

Peaky Blinders

Warnings: sexual references, mention of kidnapping/violence, mention of domestic abuse, language, very vague allusion to suicide, lots of angst (this is not a happy story lol)

A.N. Thank you for the request!! I hope this is what you had in mind. I sort of wrote this on a whim at 5 am when I couldn't sleep and I ended up projecting a lot of my own shit onto both characters so I don't know if it'll be to your tastes 'cause I'm a bit iffy on this one myself. And thank you; I really hope to start writing Dmitri x Alice soon and am so excited for it!

WC: 1504

“You will not survive on your own, amore mio.”

You hesitated, your heart sinking into your gut as you feared his words to be true. A shiver danced wickedly across the bare of your flesh.

And then, tugging the Italian silk of your dress over your body, you stood, his hand falling from where it had sat cradled in your lap. The empty in your chest split a little wider; those fingers used to squeeze your hip and pull you back to bed as he’d beg you not to leave. Now, they seemed to possess no love, perhaps not even want.

You cast a glance to where they lay limp against the mattress, and dared to observe his sullen look, his clenched jaw, the way that eyes that used to be so bright with adoration now wouldn’t even look at you.

When was the last time he’d really looked at you?

It was probably when you were kids, just barely out of school, and the gloating smirk of the boy had fallen around his cigarette, and his green eyes had glittered like peridot, as you told him yes.

Yes, to marrying him. Yes, to loving him in sickness and in health. Yes, ‘til death did you part.

And this, this sickness of the heart, it had not released you from your oath. Instead, it killed you, slowly, snapped the threads of your soul one by one, seized one shard of your heart each time you looked at him.

The times that hurt the most were always when you looked him in the eye, because you saw your own need reflected in their decaying depths. It might’ve been easier if they were vacant, if they were as cold as his loveless touch and his bitter disposition.

“I may not,” you said. Silences weren’t uncommon between the two of you anymore; you never had anything to say that was joyful like you had in your youth. Breaking it felt like the air had simultaneously returned to your lungs while also being held captive, for you always couldn’t help but hope that he’d say something kind, but also didn’t know how long the silence would stretch afterward.

“But I’m hurting, Luca,” you said, your voice breaking now as a tear threatened to bead on your eyelash, and your chest tightened. “And this is the only way I can think of to be free of my pain. Other than…”

You swallowed a cruel lump in your throat. You didn’t wish to think about the alternative you had once considered.

Animated suddenly by a burst of raw yet barely caged violence, Luca tugged his robe sharply around his shoulders and fumbled for the box of matchsticks on the desk. He wedged one between the teeth he used to knead at it, his inhale deep. Both efforts to soothe a soul darkened by rot.

“I have to leave,” you said, but you had hardly made it more than a few feet to the door before his fingers had wrapped themselves vice-like around your wrist, yanking you back so that you nearly tripped over your heels. His wedding ring bit into the delicate flesh, chilling as it was painful.

And you had no choice but to look him in the eye.

“You’re not leaving,” he growled, his tone almost predatory but that gaze, green like absinthe, entrapping you in a sea of emotions, pleading to you in morose glimmers that peeked past umber stripes of rage.

As you fought your tears, you conceded to his grasp, knowing he could easily overpower you if he wanted. And you shook your head, your lip curling bitterly upwards at what you had to utter,

“I’ve changed. I’m not your wife anymore.”

“The papers state otherwise.”

“Is this really what you want?” Your lip trembled with your own fury now – a fury that stemmed from your agony because you had nothing tangible to blame it on. And you struggled against his grasp feebly. “Do you really want a wife who’s unhappy? A wife who goes to bed every night with a hole in her chest?”

Luca’s grip softened, and for a moment, you thought you saw hurt flash across his irises. He turned his head away and brought his fingers up to brush across the faint stubble of his jaw.

And when his grip released, your wrist had never felt so wretchedly cold, and when he slammed the door behind him, your chest had never felt so achingly empty.

---

He had been so close to hurting you that time. Really hurting you, like he did the men who crossed his family or offended his honour.

But he could never hurt you. At least, he told himself such things, because in some ways, when he looked at you – still a stranger to the scars of violence that riddled his own flesh – he could sometimes see a ghost of the girl who used to be his lover, who used to be the girl with the shy smile and the beguiled gaze.

His fingers travelled across his chest to his lips, as he uttered his final prayer. The incense of the chapel burned nearly as thick as the smoke of the cigarettes he used to worship. Before you had made him quit.

And what had he done for you? He had done everything. He had given you a marriage, when you had nothing to your name, had given you the finest silks and jewelry and had taken you on a perfect honeymoon to Italy where you had made love with his name chanting from your lips like a prayer. 

Luca twirled the toothpick in his teeth bitterly.

But in saving you, he had condemned himself. Even in the solace of this moment, he found himself craving your touch, however frigid it had grown. Found himself incomplete, numb.

He’d taken an interest in another broad recently – a maid, but beautiful, with a soft, heart-shaped face and gently curved hips that begged to be ruined.

But it sickened him to touch her.

Because she wasn’t you.

---

With Luca away, you had had time to pack your belongings – just the ones that you needed. All purely practical, except for a letter, its ink bleeding at the edges of its handwriting, the love draining from the words he’d once written you when away on business.

Though you knew you’d regret taking it, it had felt wrong to leave something that used to make you smile with so much joy.

You waited for the train in the dead of night, the wind your only companion as it howled through the archways of the station. But it was not enough to quell the fear in your gut or ease the weight that pressed harder against your suffocated chest with each passing second.

You stifled a sigh as a sharp whistle split the distant, foggy air. And you once again fought back tears that welled in your eyes.

And then the winds shifted, and the cedar and ambrette notes of his cologne stirred something in your chest. You shivered as the warmth of his body settled behind you, long fingers running down the sleeves of your arms. The weight lifted only slightly on your chest, and oxygen returned to starved lungs.

“I told you you weren’t leaving, amore mio.”

You shut your eyes, swallowing against the knot in your throat.

And you thought, with this weight no longer sinking into aching ribs,

I’m not gonna make it on my own.

Your luggage was dropped to the concrete as the train came chugging along, rearing its head of iron and steel from the mists.

His fingers laced through your own, squeezing gently at them, tugging wickedly at a frayed thread of your soul, and you reciprocated, remembering a time when you had worshipped this very hand.

When you turned, his hot breath was exchanged with yours, and the full scent of him washed over your tired bones in a bittersweet familiarity.

And when he kissed you, an ember sparked in your gut that only he had ever been able to ignite, and the heat that pooled in your core was not a desire but a need.

Iron spiked your tongue as you pulled apart, some wrath that still brewed inside you having drawn blood from his lip while your hand cupped his cheek in an almost reverence.

Absinthe eyes sank intensely into yours, and though you knew from that gaze that he wanted you dead, he also needed you just as much as you needed him.

“You were right,” you breathed, your voice a mere whimper against the noise of the train. “I can’t survive on my own.”

Locks of his dusky hair teased your scalp, and his thumb traced the flesh behind your ear soothingly. And you had no idea that, had you boarded that train, his men would’ve been ordered to gag you and deliver you screaming back to him. And though as your foreheads pressed together and your tears spilled from shuttered eyes, it did not banish the pain from the hole that split wider in a chest that bled as slowly as the ink of the letter.

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[lavenoon]

Before domestication comes a good, thorough hosing down

So, uh. This was supposed to be a wet beast wednesday and "stinky sewer troll" joke in one. And then it got entirely away from me. I continue ignoring canon and living in my made up timeline of Severing Hell's Leash (if you look closely, you can see Angor wear his ring!), and in that timeline he needs a shower.

Also version without the water below the cut

[skitskatdacat63]

And here is the bull himself >:)

+ lore notes

I was like, ah I should make the shadow something interesting, and then I'm like GIVE HIM BULL HORNS???? OKAY SURE !!!!! I'm glad such thoughts can strike at 7 in the morning....thanks brain. But hehehe I'm glad bcs now this matches up super well with the Nando one!

New ship dynamic: who's the bull and who's the matador :)

I think, in this AU, Fernando is generally pretty fond of Seb when he first meets him. Like "ah yes my very own protégé, very nice, I shall mold him in my image." But then Seb starts veering off that course. Bullfighting is all about being dramatic, but Seb maybe has a bit too much(🤏) flair for the dramatic. This escalation starts while he's still Fernando's assistant but he keeps it generally at bay. But god when he becomes a matador himself, he's just off the rails insane.

Bullfighting, to me, is a sport about reckless endangerment of one's self in the pursuit of drama and performance(its literally described as a tragedy in three acts.) But Fernando thinks Seb endangers himself *too* much, not because he cares or anything, but he's making a mockery of the sport!! Especially when Seb starts doing that bull hand symbol(seen above), Fernando just keeps become more enraged with him, not anything to do with the fact that Seb is threatening his records and threatening his own wellbeing, nah of course not.

Seb's gesture is making a mockery of the sport, he's disrespecting the culture, the very nature of it, blah blah blah. Jenson once asks Fernando, after noticing him seething while watching Seb do his gesture, "Which bull are you really trying to defeat?" One could also describe Fernando and Seb's relationship as a "tragedy with three acts."

Anyways Fernando gets very tied up with this rivalry. Even after suffering a severe injury(I have yet to decide, but y'know mchonda electrocution core), he quickly returns to the sport, loath to let Seb get any more headway. And then Seb gets injured, poor little sweet Seb, and neither of them can handle it. Though I already covered this in my prev lore post 🤭 and I think I put it pretty viscerally there so!! I digress.

They're both matadors, but the bull itself is not the only bull Fernando wants to conquer. Conquer as in death? Hm.

[zelda7999]

Sun n Robin stopped at a lil cafe between market shopping <3! Little bird needed a drink anyways :D 

@lavenoon thank you for constantly inspiring me to create art <3 <3 <3