#mould it from your lost soul

[im-a-gloomy-bear]

Cheddar

A triangle of cheddar is enjoyed, a delicacy, but never loved. Cheddar is versatile, having a form to please everyone, but cheddar is never held, never adored. Cheddar is not spoken fondly of, cheddar is given no pride. "My sharp cheddar has been aged for 36 months," one might say. But the pride lies in what cheddar can do, what cheddar can give. Cheddar itself holds no value.

Brie has Camembert, butter has its wings. Blue cheese has its molds, Edam is made backwards.

Cheeses begin their lives soft and mild. Loneliness and pain make us sharp, funky, hard. We pick up the essence of our surroundings, changed forever, innocence lost. Aged for almost 18 years, I am crumbly and sharp, reminiscent of clay.

I know only the darkness of the cave beneath. I know the endless abyss of cheeses, some newer, others older. My brethren have come and gone. I stopped learning who existed nearby a long time ago. It hurts to lose someone nearby, less so if I never notice their presence in the first place. Maybe that makes me callous and cold. I wouldn't know; I stopped caring a long time ago.

Somewhere out there, the sun is shining and the grass is soft. I can't go up there. The sun would break me apart, leave me to the vultures within my body. And so things must stay the same, sealed away from the sun, protected, enshrined.

But maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be too bad to venture out to find other cheeses that may stay. Maybe one may match my temperament. Maybe I can build a life down here. Maybe I can find happiness, even if I have to sacrifice every last drop of blood for it.

[everparanoid]

Soft Universe Sylus x F! Reader

word count: 5.4k

tags: fluff, angst

cw: reader is MC from love and deepspace, minor hades and persephone vibes, Canon typical violence, Canon Compliant, No use of Y/N, minor spoilers for Sylus's secret time Midnight Warmth and Lost Oasis, inspired by the Sylus's event story in Adventure Above Clouds

AO3 link: Soft universe

"With a scream, you bent back as a beam of brilliant light shot out of your chest, illuminating the sky with crimson stars. Each one bright. Each one filled with memories you knew were yours but couldn’t recall like lifetimes come and gone. Or universes born and destroyed."

Ever since you resontated with Sylus you have been having weird dreams. Or a story in which you are bound to Sylus again and he becomes clingyier than usual.

You dreamt of red mist encasing you in its warm embrace, licking at your heels, and trailing its ghostly lips along your body. Leaving in its wake skin the shade of sunset and a heart so full it could burst. You dreamt of it traversing the surface of your soul, gathering the embers of your evol and moulding them with its own before huddling into the open void in your chest.

A groan left you as the mist disappeared under your skin. Despite the initial discomfort, you didn’t hate the oddly familiar sensation of being whole.

You took an unsteady step forward. Beneath your feet, you could no longer feel the ground. Above you, the starless sky loomed. You blinked refocusing your eyes, believing they were the issue, not the lack of starlight. But nothing changed.

You heard the caw of a crow. In the darkness, you saw its ruby eyes watching you, piercing through your skin, and staring straight into your soul. Your heart thumped, beating faster, harder, growing hotter with every passing second. You keeled over, clutching your chest.

Your power, you heard the mist say. Yours.

You felt the bird's keen eyes as light burst through the cracks between your taut fingers. With a scream, you bent back as a beam of brilliant light shot out of your chest, illuminating the sky with crimson stars. Each one bright. Each one filled with memories you knew were yours but couldn’t recall like lifetimes come and gone. Or universes born and destroyed.

 The dream dissipated and your eyes fluttered open to see fire dancing in turbulent strokes in the fireplace, charring the wood that fuelled it. In the distance you heard the quiet murmuring of a film on the flat screen. You slapped your lips tiredly, rubbing your cheek against the warm, unusually hard cushion you clung to.

“This movie is boring. You should go back to sleep,” Sylus said, brushing your cheek gently. The tender touch was scolding on your skin.

 You nuzzled your head further into the hard cushion. A deep chuckle shook through it.

“What are you thinking about, kitten?” Sylus asked.

His heart raced against your ear, burning through its beats as though it were chasing death. It must have been night, you reckoned. His heart was only ever this fast in the dark.

“Sylus…” you whispered groggily.  Your focus locked on the familiar necklace resting on his chest—an empty aether core? A Protocore? A simple crystal? You yawned, blinking once, twice…three times. Wait Sylus!

You shot up, attempting to pull away. But finding your movement restricted by an inhumane force, you fell back on top of him.

 “Surprise. We’re not going anywhere anytime soon.” He lifted his arm and yours lifted too revealing the glowing crimson evol link cuffing you to the renowned Onychinus leader. “Were you thinking of getting rid of me again?”

The amused smirk on his lips told you he wasn’t angry, but rather entertained.

“No,” you responded.

“Being quick to respond only confirms your guilt, sweetie.”

You tugged your arm, pulling his too. 

 He grunted quietly. “Your defiance is getting old.”

“Maybe if you stopped putting me in awkward situations it wouldn’t,” you responded.

He sighed and squinted at you.

“What? Nothing to say for yourself? ” you teased.

“Silence is also an answer.” He lowered his head closer to yours. “And I like to think that actions speak louder than words.”

Sylus was a gorgeous man; breathtaking to say the least. Just being close to him made your heart betray you in ways you hated. You let out a gasp. “Sy—,”

His phone buzzing on the coffee table interrupted you. He grabbed his phone and put it on silent.

 “What time is it?” you asked. You tried to peer at the screen’s reflection in Sylus’s frameless glasses but failed.

 He turned his screen to you. “Nearly two am.”

“Why are you here? Don’t you have some gang to bully? Or some notorious deals to strike?” you asked. It had been a coincidence, your bumping into each other whilst you were taking a three day vacation from Linkon in one of the outskirt islands. A pure innocent coincidence—according to Sylus. You struggled to believe that, however, as it wasn’t the first time Sylus had conveniently appeared at the same place as you. Seemingly with nothing to do but be mysterious and strange and there.

He shook his head. “Have you forgotten?”

You had forgotten but only because of your dream. It wasn’t every day you had a nightmare so vivid that it tore you out of your sleep. It hadn’t always been every day. Only since you made the mistake of resonating with this unlikely ally.

“You got injured snowboarding with your colleagues. And I happened to be returning back to the resort when they saw me and pawned you off. Apparently they wanted to do another few rounds with the people they met.”

You frowned. You only vaguely remembered the incident. More so the tree that you had wiped out against. Everything else was a blur. You knew sylus had no reason to lie, so you chose to believe him. It wasn’t like Sylus and your colleagues didn’t know each other to some degree. Sharing a karaoke booth with Sylus was enough time for anyone to develop a trauma bond. It was like war…without the bloodshed. “Doesn't explain where they are now.”

“I used your phone to tell them I’d watch you for the night—ease their minds.”

“How valiant of you,” you ad-libbed.

“I did try to leave after making sure your condition wasn’t critical but you asked me to stay,” Sylus said. “Then you pulled me onto this couch with you and this happened.” He gestured to the link.

You looked away flustered. “Must have slipped my mind.”

“You’re so air-headed, kitten,” Sylus tutted.

The depth of his voice rattled you; made your skin feverish and a sudden flush spread through you. You noted your sudden reaction to his voice as an after effect of your accident. You straightened hoping fixing your posture would disperse the settling arousal. And in some pseudoscientific way, it did.

Mephisto squaking in the corner snapped your mind back to the crow in your dream. “Sylus, can I ask you a question?” you asked. You were being abstract but with this burning question fresh on your mind you didn't care.

“You just did.”

You rolled your eyes but asked anyway: “Do crows have dreams?”

“Is that seriously what you are asking me right now?” he responded.

“I’m being serious.” Your voice remained steady as your head lifted high.  “Does Mephisto dream?” you asked motioning with your eyes to the mechanical bird.

Sylus’s gaze followed.

Mephisto lifted his wings in response.

“Whether Mephisto does or doesn’t dream is beyond me. He is a mechanical bird after all. Dreaming isn’t something I programmed into him. If he were to dream, I suppose it would be recounts of recorded data or lines of code,” Sylus said.

Mephisto cawed again.

 Sylus looked back at you. “Does that answer your question?”

  You shook your head.

He sighed and cocked his head. He didn’t appear too surprised by your lack of satisfaction, more so by your inability to believe hard fact. “Then enlighten me, do you believe doves dream?”

Remembering the dove you had saved a few months back, you nodded.  “Yes.”

“So, why would crows be any different?”

“Okay, sorry for not thinking things all the way through, Mr philosophical,” you muttered.

He chuckled. “I was just answering your question, sweetie.”

You yawned.

 “You should get back to sleep,” Sylus whispered. “It’s still late for you. And I’d like to be free sometime soon.”

“I can’t,” you said.

His phone buzzed in his hand taking his attention. “Nightmare?”

“Nightmare,” you agreed.

He hummed listlessly as he scrolled through his phone, typing and swiping. “Am I allowed to ask what it was about?”

“It’s nothing really.”

Sighing, Sylus placed down his phone. “You still should rest... Do you want me to sing you a lullaby?”

“Oh no, please God no. I’d rather have Mephisto sing to me.” You physically cringed.

Mephisto squawked in protest.

Sylus ignored your dread. “Do you want me to tell you a story then?”

“No.”

He glanced at you. “I thought you quite enjoyed the last one?”

“I don’t know what Kieran and Luke told you a story is, but I think you have it misconstrued.” You wanted to cross your arms but remembered the link binding your arm to his.

“Oh?” He quipped. “It has a beginning, middle, and an end. Perhaps also a little filler to transition from plot point to plot point. That’s a story, sweetie.”

“And the demonstration?” you asked.

“Audience participation.”

 “I think you'll find that serves the opposite effect of telling someone a bedtime story.” You recalled the bites that had stained your skin pinks and purples the day after his ‘story.’  Which, much to his enjoyment, resulted in you having to extend your trip as there was no way you could go back to work in that state. Not unless you lied. And as good as you were, you knew no one would believe you had been attacked by a Wanderer.

Not Tara, who was obsessed with the idea of you and Sylus being more than friends ever since she met him. Nor Nero in Data Analysis because he was a bit of a freak when it came to anything concerning Wanderers. So you imagined a lie of that sort wouldn’t slip past him. And if it somehow did, you didn’t want to end up in a heated conversation about the potential mating rituals of Wanderers. Nero’s fascination was weird enough as it was without going anywhere near that topic.

“You fell asleep, didn’t you?” Sylus said.

You had… eventually. And unfortunately, when you had fallen asleep—exhausted from his playful bites, you’d slept the most soundly you had in years. Right in the arms of this criminal. You stomach churned at the memory. A hunter and a wanted mob boss…how unprofessional. “Because you were relentless.”

“Don’t act so innocent. You were actively enjoying our little roleplay. And as I recall you were the one who said I looked like a vampire.”

The tips of your ears burned. You stared up at the ceiling to avoid his gaze.

The empty ceiling stared back at you like a starless night; an endless void…a pit of nothing.

Your wrist tingled with the heat of the link binding you to Sylus. You felt a strange familiarity spreading up your arm. One that followed you out of your dreams. “Sylus…”

 “What is it?”

“Do you dream?” you whispered, staring into the darkness. You could hear his quiet contemplation from beside you.

“Not often,” he responded.

“Really?”

“You sound so surprised…” Sylus said.  “Dreams aren’t for those without hearts, sweetie.”

“You keep saying that,” you said.

“I keep saying—”

You could feel his stare. Slowly turning your head, you looked at him. “That you have no heart. I don’t believe it. Someone without a heart wouldn’t take care of me when I hit my head and listen to me when I ask them to stay.” You paused. “Okay...hypothetically, what do you dream about?”

He slipped his free arm under your shoulder and pulled you back toward his chest. “Why are you suddenly so curious about my dreams? Is it something to do with this nightmare?”

“No, I just—” you lied. The words fell out of your mouth like vomit.

He chuckled. “I don’t care for dreams because everything I could want I can get. And nightmares—well, you already know that there isn’t much in this universe scarier than me.”

“Must be nice to have the means to buy whatever you want.”

“You clearly don’t know me if you assume everything I want can be bought.”

“Can’t it?” You searched his gaze for some kind of answer, as if by searching those red pools you might see his desire. But instead, it stared right back at you; soft, unwavering, beckoning.

Come to me.

You looked away.

“No,” he said.

You dreamt of laying on the top of a hill dressed in a gown of white silk. You didn’t know how you arrived here, or why you were dressed in such finery. Flowers surrounded you, red-stained daisies and carnations, swaying in the gentle night breeze. You plucked one and held it up to your nose. It smelt of fresh pollen and mint. You hummed in approval, not questioning the oddity, and picked another, and another, till in your arms you held a bundle of red flowers.

You smiled warmly at your beautiful collection. A bundle of love and devotion, picked by you—for you. You decided then that you liked this place. This starless night haven of endless flowers. And thought, if this dream was the place you would be stuck forever then eternity didn’t sound too bad.

Just as the thought passed through your mind something spawned in the bundle. A pomegranate. You’d never seen one spawn from flowers. You didn’t know one could do so. It was so beautiful, however, that you didn’t think to question it.

At the sight, your stomach rumbled. You weren’t hungry until then. Or rather you hadn’t noticed you were hungry until the opportunity to eat arrived. It was like this place had read into your soul and presented you with your desire before you could even desire it. Was this paradise or a paradise lost?

Dropping the flowers, you lifted the pomegranate. With a twist, the ripe fruit split in half in your hand. You’d never seen a pomegranate so easy to split; usually, you would need a knife.

The juice stained your white dress in droplets of blood-like splotches. It dribbled down your hand leaving a sticky trail. You licked the mess off your skin before you picked up some of the fallen seeds—three to be exact—and ate them. They were sweet in your mouth.

Ravenous, you ate another, and then one more. And after that one more.

You only ate six. You knew because, at that moment, a red shackle appeared on your wrist and a hellish scream tore through the air. Your head shot up in wonder, like a prey alarmed by the snap of a twig. In the distance, a volcanic beam of light erupted into the sky. You recognized it by the familiar ache that resonated through you, but you didn’t know why. You shielded your eyes as you watched crimson stars fill the empty sky, covering the expanse in colourful noise, and leaving in its wake a hole in space and time.

Forgetting your flowers and pomegranates, you wiped your hands on your stained white silk dress. You reached up with a single hand toward the tunnel. You didn’t know why you did it. You didn’t understand what this feeling was that you were chasing. You only knew that you longed for it. You needed it like you needed air to breathe and eyes to see. Perhaps this was love?

Crimson shone between the gaps of your fingers, blinding you of anything but the tunnel. It gaped and shrivelled in intervals as if it were alive.

Come to me, said a voice from the tunnel.

Its coo guided you to your feet. But even on the tips of your toes, you were no closer to the heavens than you were before.

Come to me, it said again. It beckoned to you… calling your name. Its voice was clearer, familiar.

You knew that you knew it.

You reached further. Biting the inside of your cheek, your strain began to show on your face. If you reached anymore you were going to fall. But you were so desperate, you didn’t even care. You needed this—needed it.

The hole stretched and a mangled inhuman hand pushed through. Its long-scorched fingers reached out to yours.

Just when your hand was about to touch it, you pulled back. “No,” you said in a moment of hesitation. “I must go home.”

The mangled hand recoiled before shooting forward to grab you.

You evaded it, losing your footing.

Come, it said again. Come to me.

Terror claimed you. It burnt the sky around you from night-to-day and scorched the flowers beneath your bare feet.

Stay with me.

The earth shook.

Losing your footing, you rolled down the hill, tumbling in cartwheels through the bleeding flowers. Daises and carnations filled your mouth. Red paint dyed your dress. You sealed your eyes shut. You couldn’t tell if it was the earth shaking or just you.

You wished the dream away. You prayed for the familiar darkness. You prayed for ignorance—for the you you lost to knowledge. But most of all, you prayed for the cold.

You awoke in a king-sized bed covered in dark silk sheets. Sylus’ bed, you thought. He must have moved you when it had gotten closer to his time for bed. But Sylus was nowhere to be seen.

 You sat up and looked around. The night light beside the bed lit the room showcasing the extravagant dark furniture. The sound of water running through the foggy glass doors to the en-suite bathroom, and the off-key hummed rendition of some jazz he had on loop informed you of Sylus’ location.

“He’s showering,” you whispered to yourself.

Mephisto cawed from where he was perched.

When you stared at him, he lifted his wings and cawed again.

“I don’t speak crow,” you responded.

“And he doesn’t speak human,” Sylus said, closing the door to the bathroom. Steam pulsed off his wet body as he emerged in only a fluffy white towel.

You gulped, closing your legs under the covers. Not that it would do anything for the feelings that arose from the sight of him. Not even disgust could repel your natural desire for someone so physically alluring.

“I thought you were showering,” you said tightly.

Sylus scoffed. “And you were asleep. I guess we were both wrong, kitten.” 

You frowned.

Sylus approached the dresser and lifted the hairdryer. Slicking back his hair, he began to dry it with the dryer.

You shuffled to the edge of the bed and held out your hand for the hairdryer. “Let me do that.”

Catching your reflection in the mirror, he turned to you. “What? You want to do this for me?” he asked, switching off the hairdryer. His damp hair fell onto his forehead.

You flicked your hand impatiently. Your eyes actively avoided falling below his collarbones. “I’m trying to be nice… since you didn’t wake me when the link untangled and all. Thank you for that by the way. And sorry I took up your entire night.”

His brows furrowed. “You’re the only person I’d excuse taking up my time. Besides, that’s just common decency, sweetie.”

You blushed and gestured again for the hairdryer. You couldn’t fall for his pretty words. You weren’t that stupid. Halting your thoughts, you cleared your throat and corrected your posture. “Still—I feel like I owe you and this will make us even.” 

“Okay, deal.”

You half expected him to counter your statement and ask for more. You wouldn’t have faulted him if he had. You knew what you were suggesting wasn’t an even repayment for the time he lost, but for a man who had everything this was the only thing you could do on the fly.

His tall frame casted a shadow over you as he approached; all damp skin and wet hair. He handed you the wireless hairdryer. And then sitting on the ground at the foot of the bed, he sighed. “I didn’t know all I needed to do to get you to be nice to me was let you sleep.”

You rolled your eyes and shuffled back a little after feeling the heat of his wet body on the inside of your thighs. You tried to keep a small amount of distance not wanting to accidentally touch him. You leaned forward and cursed inaudibly at the difficult angle.

“I don’t know what hair you’re going to be drying from back there,” he cooed. Wrapping his hands around your ankles, he pulled you closer to him.

“Hey!” You yelped, sliding forward till you inner thighs pressed against his wet shoulders.

“That’s better,” he said, letting go.

 “You’re crude.”

“I was just making your job easier, kitten,” he purred.

You nudged his shoulder with your thigh and turned on the dryer. Your finger ran through his hair as you watched the water dry out and the soft greyish-white return.

Sylus closed his eyes and leaned his head back till you could see his face.

You paused. “You’re not making this easier for me,” you said, peering down at him.

He chuckled deeply. “I can’t help the fact that you have magic hands, I’ve never been so relaxed.”  He lifted his arms and rested them atop your knees like armrests. “Have you ever thought of changing careers?”

You snickered. “Are you sure you’re rich? Surely, you’ve had much better treatment than this.”

Sylus laughed with you. The sound called you broke in every way but with words. It reminded you of aged wine and expensive cuff-links, two things you had never associated with a voice until him.

You turned off the dryer and placed it on the bed.

“Why did you stop?” Sylus opened his eyes. He stared up at you from your lap. And for a man so good at being invulnerable, he looked extremely soft.

 “Your hair is dry.”

“So it is.” Sylus lifted his head. “Thank you.”

Mephisto cawed loudly and swooped out of the room. Taking Mephisto’s departure as your sign to escape too, you began to shuffle back,.

 “Where are you going?” Sylus wrapped his hands around your ankles once again stopping you.

“Mephisto is gone,” you stated as if the answer was obvious.

“And? He’s a bird, it’s not good for him to stay in one place. You’re not a bird, are you?”

You could see the hurt in his eyes.

“But it’s morning. I have stuff to do. And you should get some sleep,” you said.

“What stuff?” he asked.

You shrugged. You didn’t have many plans—maybe meet up with your colleagues. Not that they were concered about your whereabouts. Your phone hadn’t rung once.

“Since you don’t know, why don’t you stay? Your flight back to Linkon isn’t for a few days yet.” Sylus suggested, letting go of your ankles.

“Stay?”

He stood from the ground and by some will of the gods his towel stayed on. “Yes, stay…with me. It’ll be just us.” He placed his knee on the bed.

Your spine stiffened as you backed away. “I can’t lay around all day.”

“So, it’s okay that I did? Come on, sweetie, that’s not fair. Stay..” He placed his hands on either side of your head, caging you. He leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “I promise, I’ll make it worth your while.”

You pushed his chest gently—not exerting any real effort. “I dried your hair.” As much as you wanted to leave, you weren’t opposed to being stuck under him. Any sane woman wouldn’t be, especially when he was like this.

He caught your wrists and pinned them to the sheets by either side of your head. “Come on, kitten, we both know that was wasn’t an even deal.”

“What if Tara comes looking for me? Or the rest of my colleagues?” you spluttered.

“They know you’re with me. They won’t disturb,” he purred.

You pursed your lips. You knew he was right. That didn’t mean you wouldn't stop trying. “What about Mephisto? He might—“

“No one is going to disturb us, sweetie,” Sylus interrupted. “Just say you’ll stay. You were restless the entire night.”

“And you’re the one who is restless now,” you retaliated. In the settled silence, you could almost hear the thump of his heart. “Besides, I’m not tired.”

“We can fix that. Come on, sleep with me.”

You gave him an unimpressed side-eye.

“What if I said I wanted to hear a story? Would you tell me one?” he asked. He let go of one of your hands and trailed his fingers down the side of your face. Tucking them under your jaw, he guided you to look at him. His darkened gaze fell between your eyes and lips, dancing caution. Like you were a deer caught in headlights ready to disappear with any sudden movement.

“Why are you suddenly being so clingy?” you asked.

He hummed. “Am I?”

You nodded. “And you’re being too nice.”

“Are you saying I’m crass, miss?”

“Yes,” you breathed.

His eyes narrowed playfully. “Let’s say for your sake that I’ve learnt not to scare an easily startled kitten.”

“How kind…”

With his fingers still under your chin, he guided your head off the sheets, bringing you closer to him. “So, what do you say. It is a simple yes or no…sweetie?” He peered at you through thick eyelashes.

“Why should I?”

“I can hear your heart beating in sync with mine,” he said, bringing you closer.

“You’ve got me pinned to your bed—of course my heart is racing.”

“I can see the desire to stay in your eyes.” He brought you closer.

You scanned his face, barely millimetres away. “Still not good enough,” you said.

He let out a low scoff, looking directly into your eyes. “Because I need you,” he whispered against your lips.

And then he kissed you.

When you closed your eyes, you saw an expanse of dark teal grass dusted with withered, red-stained daisies and carnations. You looked around, first at the red silk dress draped over your body, and then at the tail of mangled dark scales trapping you. Beside you rested the head of the dragon-like creature, protecting you in its slumber. Your eyes traced its surface, taking in its shape and appearance—the long forked tail, wanderer-like body, and large horns. It was like nothing you’d seen before. And yet, you weren’t afraid of it.

You followed its scales with your hand until you reached its face. It stirred beneath your touch. Its deep, unconscious breaths halted as you stared into the giant red eye of the creature. Its pupil slit as it watched you, unmoving, as if waiting for your reaction—the screaming and shouting.

You dropped your hand. You hadn’t meant to wake the beast.

A low grumble reverberated through the creature’s body, one of disapproval.

You crawled slowly toward its face, watching its reaction for any signs to stop.

It stared at you, unblinking.

“Hello there,” you said, stopping beside its high cheekbone and deep crimson eye.

It didn’t respond, continuing to silently observe you.

“Do you have a name?” you asked.

Silence.

A sharp squawk made you look up as a crow flew in circles over the two of you. In the star-sprinkled sky, the crow was a black shadow with beady red eyes passing in flashes. Its speed caused feathers to flutter off its body and cascade down to the ground.

You lifted your hand and watched as a single dark feather landed on your palm. A smile curved on your lips as you admired the large feather, bigger than any crow’s feather you’d seen before—about half the length of your arm. You lifted the feather to the creature.

“For you,” you said to the creature, unsure of whether it could understand you or not. You knew you should have been afraid of the monster. You knew you should have run when you had the chance. But something about it seemed defenseless—tired.

It glanced down, motioning for you to place the feather on the ground.

You put it close to the creature’s jaw. “Where did you come from?”

It didn’t respond.

“What is this place?”

The creature moved its head closer to you, offering its snout.

You placed your hand on the creature’s face. “I suppose you don’t speak human,” you said. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed a wound oozing thick blood. Your hand moved to it, blocking the hole in its chest.

At the added pressure, the creature grumbled. Slowly, its eyes closed as if to sleep—or perhaps even to die.

“Did you get this whilst protecting me?” you asked. You knew the creature needed healing, or some kind of regeneration. But its core was shattered. Under your fingers, you could only sense how weak it had gotten. It was not strong enough to keep the creature alive, let alone save it.

The creature blinked slowly.

You took that as a yes. “You shouldn’t have done that. You don’t even know me.”

It blinked again, slower this time as you felt its soul slipping from its body.

“I can help you,” you said.

You could help it. It was an ability you had, a one-time bonus that came with having your resonance evol. And you would use it—even if it cost you your power. Even if it bound you to this creature for eternity.

The creature made a sound of disapproval. And with its little strength, it moved away.

You froze so as not to anger it further. Movement was only making the creature’s wound worse.

“I promise I won’t hurt you. Think of it as repayment—common decency, if you will.” You waited for it to move again. When it didn’t, you approached it, lifting your hand. “May I?”

The creature didn’t respond, its breaths deepening.

“Thank you,” you smiled, placing your hand over the wound again. The tips of your fingers glowed as white mist gathered the embers of his evol and molded them with your own before sealing itself in the hole in his chest.

“Don’t close your eyes,” you said, mostly to yourself. “Stay with me.”

Sylus’s hand under your chin brought you back to reality as it moved to rest on the base of your throat, over your chest bone. His other hand, still holding your other wrist, unravelled. Trailing up to your palm, his fingers caressed the smooth skin before he intertwined your fingers  with his. He didn’t exert any force. No, he was careful. His body wishing, pleading, begging with yours for something beyond your awareness. Something only your soul could answer.

You could hear it promising you everything…the world, the universe. At the small price of…you. You knew he meant it. You knew this feeling. You’d felt it in your dreams. Or were they visions? Or perhaps memories from a different you.

Somewhere in the back of your mind, you remembered the mangled inhuman creature and the sweet, damning taste of pomegranate seeds. And you wondered if this was how you would lose your soul—without ever being told it was on the market.

You broke the kiss. Instantly, you missed the minty taste of his lips.

  “Was I too rough?” Sylus asked. Dishevelled. Searching.

You had never seen him so disgruntled. Not since he was told you were disgusted by him after you’d met.

You shook your head.

“So, it’s something else then?” Sylus began to pull away. His hand slipped from yours, taking the connection with him.

You wanted to be thankful for your freedom…but it was too late, you already resigned yourself to your feelings.

You missed the heat.

You missed him.

Stay with me.

Was this delirium? Or some kind of Stockholm Syndrome? Loving a creature so twisted—so different from you. One who only wore the skin of a prince to lure in and devour the heart of a princess.

“Sylus,” you said. Sitting up, you caught him around his neck before he could get too far away. And with the strength you had left, you pulled him back to you. And kissed him. Silently telling him that you wanted this—you wanted him.

All of him.

And whatever that choice brought with it.

You knew he wasn’t perfect. In other lives maybe you hadn’t chosen to stay—to remain with him and his promises of grandeur amongst the destruction he sought. Maybe this time you’d chosen the path least trekked with the monster whose intent was only ever written about in the annals of history as that of the slain and evil. Ultimately, you didn’t care. You supposed that thought alone was immoral.

Sylus moaned into the kiss. It was quiet, guttural, and just enough to make you want more. You let him guide you back onto the dark silk sheets, your lips moving together all the while.

“I will,” you said between kisses. “I’ll stay.”

He didn’t say anything in response. He didn’t need to. His actions spoke louder than any words either of you could have said.

masterlist

my ao3: Everparanoid

[gay-dorito-dust]

Through the eyes of Aunt Alysanne, who could see that her nephew was smitten with you from the moment eyes met, falling evermore when you handed him his ass during sword training.

Through the eyes of Aunt Alysanne, who could see that Benjicot would often act as your second shadow, standing close by but never in the way he wanted as he forced himself to find comfort in your seemingly platonic relationship; however friends do not let their eyes linger on the others lips as much as you and Benji did, nor did they subtly brush the backs of their hands against one another’s like you and Benji often did in reassurance.

Through the eyes of Aunt Alysanne, who could see the anger cloud her nephew’s stormy eyes as his jaw tighten and his fists clenched at his sides, watching in silent hurt and uncertainty as you talk to another from across the room. She could feel his desire to walk over to you and let it be known for all in attendance that you were the other half of his soul, and therefore should be his betrothed, for he knew you better then most men and had moulded himself to fit into the kind of man you’d be proud to seen beside.

Through the eyes of Aunt Alysanne, who couldn’t help but smile when watching you fret over Benjicot, a bloodied and dirtied mess of a man that looked at you with such a adoration unbeknownst to you as you quickly worked to heal the bruises on his knuckles. He had a fight with some Brackens that day and one took a jab at your expense, and just like that he had lost all composure as a fury unlike any other overcame him.

Now within the care of your hands however, Benji was at peace and was as serene as a calm lake, a lake that’s stillness would’ve mistaken if for a mirror of the sky above, while he only listened as you communicated your worries and fears to him openly. Never once did Benji dismissed your feelings or made you feel less for having them, if anything it made him recognise just how much time he had been wasting away pining, contemplating the what if’s instead of acting on his deep rooted feelings.

Through the eyes of Aunt Alysanne who celebrated in silence as her nephew held your face in his calloused hands, whispering his confession so sweetly against your lips as you happily accepted, the the look of content upon your face as you melted into his kiss. The internal war was over for Benjicot as he eagerly pressed more kisses on to your lips and face, all the while your laughter and squeals of a happily ever after reached her ears like a melody.

She was happy to see you both so happy and in utter love, a love so rare within Westeros that it was easily the most valued thing of all, for no amount of riches, glory, nor power would even dare compare to that of genuine feelings blossomed from a beautiful and respectable friendship.

Through the eyes of aunt Alysanne, who spoke the story of your love story with your own children as a bedtime story, hoping to one day encourage to do as you and Benji did; find love through a strengthen friendship for there was no love quite like it as you and Benji watched from the doorway, closely pressed against one another with matching smiles as your souls sung together in harmony.

[anantaru]

rough zhongli… from behind….. 🙁🙁🙁

cw. rough, fem! reader, a little feral

zhongli was delirious to how you’re feeling, labored breathing parting from his lips— his cock was glazed with your arousal which he would immediately ram back into you, flooding it over your walls because how could he not?

he‘s so effected by how you‘re clenching down, desperately whining for him to make you cum before fluttering your hole around his girth again. It’s overwhelming— your needy cries are followed by a long drawn-out sob, yet little do you realize it‘s only heightening the burning desire in his blood.

forthwith, he’d let you know how crazy your puffed up pussy was turning him, how it was still, not enough. not even a little bit.

your ass was prettily perked up as he was sliding his cool palms under your ribcage, swatting you into him. but now, under his blown out pupils, he watches your raw squirms, the way you’re messily smearing your pussy into his erection and turning needier— your longing was clearly insatiable and so was his.

yet don’t be fooled because thankfully, zhongli wasn‘t done with you yet, he only just started.

he‘s pressing down on you with his crushing bodyweight, thrusting and drumming his cock past your sticky cunt and leaving it in— so you could get a real good taste of how he’s throbbing, even though he knew you were awaiting more friction, waiting until it was you who was creaming on him with the excess amount littering down all over your hole and crevices.

but the ache, that painful burn in his cock was climbing all over his body and soul. zhongli was beginning to have a hard time holding himself back for you.

"stay— stay like this beloved." his tone was fading low and he feels you crumble under him, breathless and in a trance— because no one in this world was on par with his level of intensity.

zhongli patches you up real good, over and over until you‘re moulding and quivering under his body, eyes beaming and crisscrossed as you whine out his name all shy and sweet, grasping for air, "zhongli— zhongli!" and he wonders if you had already lost your mind— then he grits his teeth and whines when you send another shockwave through his cock by how turned on and wet you were. how open and …vulnerable.

he might be the next one to spiral from your needy traces when you milk his cock through soft squeezes, letting go and clenching down again, over and over because his shaft was so warm and fitting too, filling you up and throbbing within your pulsing walls.

©2023 anantaru do not repost, copy, translate, modify

[mi-i-zori]

Breathe

CoD - Nikto x GN!Reader

SYNOPSIS : Nikto drinks blood like a starved beast.

WARNINGS : NSFW - 18+. Beware, this is kind of unhinged. Canon-typical violence, blood (Reader has periods - emphasis on period blood), Nikto (a warning in himself), blood/period kink (?), poetic smut, fluff.

Author’s Note : I have no idea why I keep using poetic sentences whenever I try to write smut, but hey. Guess its just how I am. A filthy romantic at heart.

I do not give anyone permission to re-publish, re-use and/or translate my work, be it here or on any other platform, including AI.

Nikto licks blood off his fingers on the daily like a starved beast, savouring a taste he knows will never fully satiate his hunger.

It does not matter if the crimson nectar is his or not ; he keeps engraving its flavour deep into his mind. It leaves a warm, metallic feeling in the back of his throat - one similar to the one lining the surface of the gun that was repeatedly shoved past his teeth after its bullets were lodged in-between his ribs, the thick ropes circling his wrists harvesting his own, personal flavour directly from his veins.

Both life and death flow past his tongue, carving countless nightmares in the few hours of sleep weighing heavy on his subconscious - dragging a never ending series of shuddering breaths up his oesophagus whenever he wakes.

He can never escape them, for reality is just as bitter as his dreams. So he drowns it it blood, gunpowder and alcohol, turning away from the shredded screams coming from his reflection in the mirror.

Until that moment.

Your face is pulled into a grimace as you tell him about the way one of your stupid coworkers shamelessly blabbered about how dirty he thinks period blood is, filling your head with somber thoughts at the idea that yours is quickly approaching.

You don’t see how his eyes light up when they fall upon the date circled in red on the calendar of your phone.

And it is only when his lips meet your bleeding walls for the first time, lapping at the tears running down the inside of your thighs with a newfound reverence blossoming on his tongue, that the spectre in his head finally goes silent.

You look like divine absolution, he thinks, watching with rapt attention as moans flow from your lips like a holy river. Lust fills his mind, body and soul as he wonders if edging you further would allow him to taste the stars running through your veins. Would the world end up falling apart with you ?

The thought of the Earth shattering like glass against the echo of your climax fuels the fire burning in his stomach.

So he keeps staining his mouth red with your blood and slick. War-torn hands hold your legs still around his head as his fingers pull at your flesh, moulding it to his will - and he growls loudly against your core, the waves of a supernova bursting through your entire body as a new orgasm shakes the very foundations of your universe.

Is it the third ? The fourth ? The fifth ? You stopped counting a few seconds after his mouth first latched on the sacred flower blooming between your legs, too lost in the song of your own pleasure.

Nikto doesn’t need anything more to find his own release. He then crashes on top of you as you both fall from your high, lips sharing the last remnants of your erratic, scorching breaths.

He lays there for the rest of the night, lulled to sleep by the steady rhythm of your heartbeat - your divinity dancing on the back of his tongue.

The constellations lining your mind call out to him as he sleeps, flickering with the promise of finally carrying him away from the ruins of his heart. They light up his bones from below the thorns, and he would gladly sacrifice what is left of himself if it meant you could cradle them against your breast.

The warm softness of your skin soothes the pain still lingering in his scars, and he subconsciously cages your bare form in his arms as he drifts to the world of dreams.

He can finally breathe.

[ashonheavenscloud]

overthinking || h. hyunjin

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ contents: hwang hyunjin x fem!reader, friends to lovers, fluff with tension tension tension, mutual obsession!! reader makes hyunjin very very nervous

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ word count: 1.7K

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ warnings: none

⋆｡𖦹°⭒˚｡⋆ a/n: short lil hyunjin repost!! this was well loved before, so hopefully it’s still up to par <3 enjoyyy~

now playing - overthinking - offonoff

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

Hyunjin knew he was overthinking it.

Your hand gently gripped his own, fitting there perfectly like a glove. Your eyes were glued to the screen in front of you, a tender moment from your latest favourite K-drama distracting you from the very thing that Hyunjin couldn’t for the life of him stop thinking about. 

Your hand was so much smaller than his. Your nails were freshly painted lilac, and he couldn’t stop staring at the small details of your hand as the drama continued on. You’d suddenly clutched his hand when the girl on screen had started to cry, the male lead attempting to comfort her in the most gentle manner. Hyunjin wasn’t sure what had happened next; as soon as you’d grabbed his hand, the words muffled and his eyes shifted and his very skin felt on fire, sparks shooting through him from where you touched. He couldn’t stop staring at you, the way you looked in the dim light, eyes filled with the screen’s reflection, mouth slightly parted as you watched with extreme focus.

He’d waited for you to let go. Surely once the initial shock of the scene wore off, you would realize and pull away. But as the minutes stretched on, and more scenes unfolded on the TV, your hand remained firmly in his. 

He loved how your hand felt in his.

Still, he almost wished you would pull away. His heart was hammering with dangerous volume, and he could feel the heat crawling over the back of his neck as his eyes continued to drink you in. His palms were growing sweaty, and he swore that soon the rest of him would be unbearably hot. He kicked off the blanket around him, praying it would help. Cool air greeted him, and so did your puzzled eyes, glancing away from the screen momentarily to look at Hyunjin.

“You okay?”

No. I want to pin you to this very couch and kiss you senseless. “Yeah, fine. Just hot.” He managed, desperately hoping that you would finally release his hand before he snapped. Instead, your eyes trailed to your fingers twisted together, and looked back to the screen.

And Hyunjin was back to looking at your hands moulded together, wondering why you hadn’t pulled away.

Surely he was overthinking. It was just your hand, after all. You’d been friends for years, and your love of skinship had always been obviously shown. So why did today feel different? Why did this simple touch send him spiraling, mind racing to figure out what the hell you wanted with him??

He’d tried for months to understand your feelings for him. Scrutinizing every little thing-shoulder taps and smiles, light conversation and sparkling eyes-to figure it out. Did you also find yourself distracted by his smile, the way he suddenly forgot what he was going to say when you smiled at him? Did you also get lost in his eyes, the way he was content to swim in yours for endless hours, day and night? And did you also wish you had the courage to say something about it, just like Hyunjin did when he looked up from your hands intertwined to find your eyes focused on him?

And words were gone. Just scattered fragments of worry and panic and desire and hope. He knew what he wanted. And he was hanging on a thread, a thread that was fraying and ready to snap at any moment. At any moment.

The soulful music of the drama flitted from the screen, slow and soft but Hyunjin could hardly hear it as you lifted your joined hands to where both of you could see them. Hyunjin felt his heart leap, as your eyes trailed back to him. You allowed both of your hands to drop down again, and whispered something that set every part of Hyunjin to flame.

“Just kiss me or something.”

Silence for a beat as the words processed, Hyunjin’s heart jolting into hummingbird mode. And then he was slowly pulling you to him, lips capturing yours roughly. You tasted faintly of the sweet chocolate you’d been eating together a minute ago, and Hyunjin couldn’t help himself from slowly biting your bottom lip, pulling gently as you gripped his shirt tightly in fists, bringing him closer to your warmth. The TV drama faded away, the music growing dim as Hyunjin’s mind flew into a frenzy, thoughts and worries bombarding his mind as he kissed you. You had hundreds of butterflies gathering in the pit of his stomach, and his heart pounding like a drum beat, setting a rhythm, a tempo for how he moved his mouth over yours, tongue slipping into your mouth to further taste you, you, you.

A voice was screaming in the back of his head: am I doing this right? Are you enjoying this as much as me? What if I’m not good enough? What if you’re uncomfortable, or-

You were moving closer and he wished he knew what to do with his hands, and his legs folded on the couch. Your hand had dropped his own at some point, fingers pressing over his jawline. The other hand gripped his shoulder, as you moved even closer-practically on his lap, and Hyunjin wished he knew what to do about that too.

He was overthinking, he knew. Every touch of yours, the firm pressure of your digits tracing his skin, the feel of your warm lips moving against his-moving with his. He let it all happen, even while hardly knowing what he was doing. He swore he had been set on fire, his very nerves roaring ablaze with energy and a hunger that was almost overwhelming. Still he couldn’t stop thinking.

He pulled back, immediately hating the inches of space between your lips while simultaneously wishing to move farther from you and the temptation it was to dive back in.

He was terrified.

“Hyunjin…” you sounded slightly breathless, and confused. Your eyes opened and found his, searching the dark pools for some hint of a problem. “What’s wrong?”

He wanted to tell you everything running through his head, but with your eyes watching his now, his mouth refused to open. A hollow pit formed in his stomach of deep disappointment in himself. What was the matter with him? Why didn’t he just let go and take this step? He’d wanted this for ages-the opportunity to feel your body against his, held in his arms, mouths locked together in a heated embrace. And he’d loved the feeling just now; so what was the problem?

You were watching him, concerns filling your wide eyes. Despite his running thoughts, he found himself admiring you just like he always did. Your sweetness, your care for him. It was so endearing to see you worry, to feel your hand squeeze his in an attempt to keep him grounded and remind him of your presence. Suddenly he knew why he couldn’t stop worrying.

“I just want to love you right.” He confessed softly, gaze finally focusing on your eyes. He found warmth there, and even more as you slowly smiled, and he could see the adoration in your eyes. His heart leaped, treasuring the fact that you were looking at him like that. He hurried on, “I want you to be comfortable. I want-” he took a breath in, as you patiently waited for him to finish. “I want to do this right, you know?”

This was unmarked territory for him-for you too, he knew. He wondered if you felt the same kind of nerves, too.

“I know.” You confirmed, a small smile gracing your face, as you lifted your fingers to touch his cheek gently. “Me too.”

Adoration shone in your eyes so clearly in that moment that it left Hyunjin slightly breathless. The soft crinkles by the corners of your eyes caught his gaze and he felt some tension release from his body. You were nervous too-and somehow that made him feel less so.

“I’ve liked you forever.” Hyunjin blurted, feeling himself blush as the words left his mouth, and your smile widened. “I don’t want to mess this up.”

Your smile was so pretty. He loved how he could immediately tell how genuine that smile was. You meant every word when you said, “I know you won’t. Just take it slow. It’ll be okay.”

Hyunjin couldn’t help but smile back, even though his heart still raced. But if you believed in him-in both of you-surely he could believe in the two of you as well.

He squeezed your hand, dipping his head to lightly kiss your lips, lingering for a moment before pulling back. “Okay.” He whispered.

He loved the dazed gaze of your eyes, loved the fact that he had that effect on you. 

“Okay?” You murmured back. 

His only response was to kiss you again, harder this time, mind a flurry of thoughts and emotions that grew hazy when you kissed him back. It was just as addicting as before, despite the worries coming back. Your fingers traced the skin of his collarbone, automatically making him shiver, and he wondered what he should do now.

And here the answer was so painfully clear in that moment that he couldn’t believe he hadn’t considered it before. Don’t think, Hyunjin. Just feel.

He breathed in your scent as he pulled back to look at your face-every beautiful detail he’d memorized with his eyes-before setting to work memorizing them with his mouth, lips pressing against the soft skin of your cheeks, your forehead, your eyelids that flickered at his gentle touch. Slowly he let go of the worries, banishing them as he took your face in his hands and pulled you right to him, connecting your lips again. A muffled sigh of content escaped the corners of your mouth, roiling inside Hyunjin with an insane kind of pleasure. He grew slowly more confident, letting his tongue slide into your mouth again and pressing your back to the couch, just like he’d wanted. He felt your hands grip his shirt, press to his chest; he felt your body beneath his own, its warmth under his skin. He felt your mouth move with his, felt your smooth hair with his fingers, felt every inch of you without any more thoughts to intrude.

He let desire flood his body and take over his senses as he took his time loving you; slowly, surely, sweetly.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

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[cursedmoon-doll13]

Blackhearted

(Sirius Black x Reader)

Cw: Noncon, Angst, Smut, Afab Reader, Dark!Sirius, PnV Sex, Somnophilia, Unprotected Sex, Fingering, Crying, Forced Orgasm, Tender But Nasty™️, References to Alcohol Abuse, Reader has head + pubic hair, this got kinda bleak and depressing

READ WITH CAUTION

Word Count: 3.5k

Summary: 12 Grimmauld Place is a miserable home.

But for now, it is yours. A lost and vulnerable soul, you find refuge in the owner of the house; a man as troubled as yourself. Unbeknownst to you, he’s sunken his teeth in far deeper; clutching onto you like a lifeline, and the dark, harrowing isolation of winter may drive him to commit acts unforgivable…

Ao3 || Masterlist || Dividers by @/saradika

In mid-February, it’s so cold, so desolate, it reminds him of sharp, icy fingers, clamping down on— His childhood home, decrepit with neglect and age, is the last place Sirius ever hoped to return to. It’s lost, crumbling into undignified ruins, deteriorating into filth. With his pest of a house elf still clinging to the old family values, it’s properly gone to the dogs, and he’d gladly let them pick off the carcass. 

But now you’re hiding alongside him - not by choice - you’ve taken it upon yourself to try and ‘fix it up.’ Sirius almost scoffs at the mere thought of it— At you, whose nose wrinkles distastefully at the grime and mould that gracefully adorns his kitchen. You don’t understand that the disease has progressed far beyond the point of recovery. It’s everywhere; it’s in the air you breathe, in the walls, in the carpet. It’s lurking inside the very infrastructure, festering like cancerous growth. The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black, haunted by its rotting opulence: the decaying decor, the cursed, priceless artefacts, the tattered, hateful portraits, courtesy of mum. 

Sirius, who has long since forgotten the luxury of owning his own clothes, wraps himself in the same mothball ridden finery his father died in. Sometimes he feels— He’s eaten alive by the fabric. By vestiges of the past. It still stinks of stale drink, and on nights like these, Orion’s son glares down at the bottom of an empty wine bottle, and thinks that he might be following in his footsteps after all.

On a night like this, the aged floorboards squeak under his heels as he prowls the dilapidated halls. Sirius’ stalking route leads to you, as it usually does, far past midnight. Your bedroom door is sealed tightly shut - probably to keep the heat in - but you never lock it. As if he isn’t dangerous. 

Gripping the weathered knob, he twists it, and lets himself in. The dim, yellowy glow of the gaslamp bolted to the corridor wall is his only light, flickering as it pours into the musty guest room he’s lent you. Sirius lingers on the precipice, his fingers still curled around the handle, sobering up rapidly. 

Blinking slowly, he looks down at you. 

You’re lying on your side, both arms grasping the pillow, dressed in that novelty pyjama set (‘to ward off the draught,’ was the unspoken function of it) Tonks had gifted you for Christmas; a sort of consolation prize. Greatest sympathies, to prepare you for the sordid husk you’ll now inhabit— With him, no less, a man you thought at first to be a killer.

And you, well… You’ve been left skittish from whatever you’re on the run from. He reckons that’s why you’ve latched onto him so powerfully, hoping this unredeemed convict will see fit to protect you from the isolation and the horrors. To help fill the long stretches of time when it’s just been the both of you to keep each other company. Sirius can’t deny his own strong attachment towards you. 

Your presence is comforting, and he’s fallen deeply. Too deeply. It’s why he so often finds himself standing here, watching over you. Sirius envies you, the peaceful sleeper. But he also covets you; if only you’d stay and lay beside him, to heal wounds never spoken of… But he doesn’t know how to ask. 

Silently, he crosses the boundary. 

Rising over your unconscious form, he lifts the quilt, a heavy, lumpy thing, and tentatively rests his knee on the mattress. You sleep peacefully on, even as the rusty old bed-springs squeak underneath him. Sirius slides his exhausted body in behind you, and the dark mass of his own scraggly black hair spills over the cushion. For a moment, he lies there, unmoving and quiet. Even at this safe, chaste distance, your body heat, radiating off you in gradual waves, is enough to soothe the permanent chill that’s seeped into his bones… Sirius can’t resist. He shifts, before placing his forefinger over your throat. 

Sirius can feel your pulse, throbbing with blood; you’re a real, flesh and blood human, warm and alive. Merlin, he’s been deprived for so long, a strong vein feels like it’s a lifeline. This is all he’s ached for, but— No... No. He’s already overstepped a line, one he shouldn’t have ever— He needs to stop, he needs to leave, now, before this all goes too far and he ruins it; ruins you, as he knows he inevitably will. 

But he doesn’t. Sirius’ breath catches in his throat as he tilts his chin ever-so-slightly, and he presses his cold mouth against your exposed nape. You twitch, but do not stir. Sirius licks his dry lips and swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down, as he nudges down the fleeced collar of your pyjama shirt with his thumb. The slope of your neck is covered in fine, delicate hairs, and he can’t help but smile affectionately down at you. Your defenceless state is sweetly endearing. To be so close to you like this, almost holding you, tender as lovers. 

Sirius hesitates, then, squeezing his eyes shut as he endures the lurch of churning revulsion in his gut (he shouldn’t be doing this, he shouldn’t—), he leans forward and plants a string of wet kisses over your bare flesh. So human, so vulnerable… You twitch again, shivering as the ticklish brush of his whiskers rubs lightly over your naked skin. Shame burns like acid in his stomach; but his need for you burns brighter, hotter than fire now, all-consuming… He heaves a jagged sigh, and, unable to stop himself, drags the starving flat of his tongue over your neck, lapping up hungry stripes of perspiration. Sirius tightens his grip on you and shudders with relief— He’s finally quenched his thirst, if only a little. Your intoxicating scent, your taste… 

He’s stolen things, too, before this; he’s not proud of it, but he’s done it. It’s convenient enough to blame it on Kreacher, who hoards all sorts of objects in the first place… What is the difference, really, between the Black family heirlooms and soiled knickers from the wicker basket? No, It hasn’t been so hard to convince you it was Kreacher; to lie and to fib— his old, senile house elf is simply a raging kleptomaniac… You trust him so much… And now Sirius has gone and betrayed that trust entirely. 

Merlin, he needs to stop, he needs to… This should be enough… No, it’s not enough… It’s never enough, he’s barely touched you… Sirius groans feebly into the nape of your neck, slipping the palm of his hand under your nightshirt, desperate for your sacred, lifesaving heat, just a little bit— And then he’ll stop, immediately— just a tiny bit more… You shiver once more, twitching repeatedly as the pads of his fingertips skim over your stomach, still asleep… Sirius brushes his lips over your throat again, as he locks you in wiry arms, inching up your shirt, exposing you to the dark and cold. He traces the slats of your ribs, searching further, until he comes to knead coyly at your breast, teasing your nipple. He dips, finding the steady rhythm of your heartbeat, thumping robustly… Proof of life. 

And you’re definitely real, aren’t you? Not a hallucination, not some illusion… He’s sleepless for the nightmares, but the dreams are always worse, because they remind Sirius of everything he can’t have, not ever again… But he can have you. This stray thought, forceful and insidious, leaks into the dark recesses of his brain. Yes, He can have you— It’s his house, his rules, isn’t it? 

Fuck, he’s disgusting. The realisation of what he’d just conceived of, even momentarily, assaults him with a new stab of remorse. Sirius flinches away, pulling his offending hand out of your pyjamas; but the damage has already been done. By now, he’s pressed flush against you, leeching off your comforting warmth, and his dick is straining tightly against his trousers. Merlin… He’s perverse. 

He throws his forearm over his eyes, blinding himself. Sirius intended for this to be a wholesome encounter, to be sweet and innocent. And now… Have all those years of degradation truly rotted him to the core? Is this what he’s become now? A lustful wretch? This has gone too far, too far— He should leave— 

But now, Sirius has known your touch, and it’s embedded itself parasitically into his mind. He’s swiftly hurtling into addiction; he can’t settle for mere table scraps— To retreat with his tail between his legs, only to find a cold and lonely bed, would be unbearable... Sirius rattles a breath, grasping onto that frayed rope of inherited entitlement he’d meant to cut off a decade ago— He deserves this one thing, surely, after a life of torment… Right? 

You twitch again, mumbling incoherently. Sirius grimaces. He needs to be careful… You might be a heavy sleeper, but he’s already disturbed you too much. If you wake up screaming… He wouldn’t like to think of what he might do. But he’ll stop— He’ll stop after this, he swears it to himself, licking his lips, feeling harder and hungrier than ever. 

Sirius’ forearm props up your leg for him to gain enough access, spreading your thighs open. It’s awkward, but he manages. He tugs down the waistband of your pyjama bottoms, just a bit, so he can touch you, feel you so close to him… Sirius’ hand brushes over a soft tuft of your pubic hair, and he twitches a faint smile… So endearingly vulnerable, before dipping his fingers into your pussy. 

You’re not aroused, but the heat of your core is enough to satisfy him, if only temporarily. Sirius hasn’t done anything like this for a long time; it feels unfamiliar, like all human contact does. He nudges away the curls, tracing your labia, before recalling the shape and form of it, and gently rubbing your clitoris. Fondness, mixed in with his sickening shame, rushes into him, and he presses his lips to your nape again, pleading and soothing like an apology. 

Then, Sirius bites his tongue, justifies himself with the excuse of repaying you with sweet dreams, and pushes his index finger deeper inside your pussy. He hums quietly, indulging in your little twitches, the way your walls flutter around him. It’s not particularly romantic to pleasure you without receiving consent, but lying back-to-chest in the darkness, planting scorching kisses down your neck, he can use his mind to fill in the gaps. Easing out his intruding hand, Sirius tastes the heady flavour of your slick— Merlin. He licks his fingers greedily, drenching them in spit, before plunging them back into your warm cunt, spreading wetness over your folds. 

You let out a sleepy whimper at his touch, and he pauses, going completely stiff with alarm. But— But you haven’t woken up… And now he’s uncontrollable, beyond all morality, relishing in your soft, breathless gasps as he toys with your clit, his damp fingers sliding easily in and out of your pussy. You moan faintly, and the noise vibrates straight to his cock. He’s throbbing, now... Groaning, he forces down his guilt and remorse, discarding them as trite, worthless things. You’re enjoying it, aren’t you? Though you’re still fast asleep— Yes, maybe you’ve hoped for this all along… Secretly. Secretly. Of course, you’ve just been too embarrassed to admit it, but that’s fine… Right now, you’re all his. 

But that’s still not enough. 

Sirius knows what he truly needs; to bury himself inside of you, to merge with you entirely, to steal your warmth for himself— This aching desire, it’s wrong, so revoltingly wrong, but so is he; the entire expanse of flesh covering his body feels like prison, mired in filth, and he’ll never be clean again… He only wishes you could alleviate his pain— Oh, but you can, Sirius will find solace in your heat even if he has to take it from you. He grinds his palm against his temple as he decides. He fights it, but his selfishness wins… Yes, he needs it, needs you— Fuck, he’s about to do something unforgivable, commit a genuine offence; but he’ll make it up to you, of course he will— 

Sirius carefully shuffles down your pyjama bottoms until they’re bunched up around your ankles, followed by your moist panties. He shifts, now painfully hard and weeping in his trousers, and allows your thigh to fall momentarily to unbutton them and release his erection. Rigid and leaking precum, his dick falls over your ass. He readjusts his position on the bed and strokes himself roughly, before hooking his forearm around your leg and lifting it. You jerk unceremoniously and mumble, stirring, but he ignores you— He’s too close, he’s gone too far now… Gritting his teeth, Sirius guides his cock into you, finding you elusive and slippery in the dark, but— The slick of your folds sliding along his length feels heavenly. Sirius licks his lips, smearing precum over your inner thighs, and finally enters you. 

He stifles a raspy moan into your neck. The hug of your tight, wet heat is almost overwhelming— Shuddering, he wholly eases himself inside you. Merlin, you feel so perfect around him… Sirius, gasping rapturously, begins to move, savouring every long, torturous drag against your gummy walls. You’re rousing, now, slurring confused murmurs— “What, what’s going on, hm…”

Sirius doesn’t miss the flutter of lashes, a sharp intake of breath— But he continues, regardless, thrusting in slow, tender arcs. Flinching, you let out a strangled, high-pitched noise, and that’s how Sirius knows you’re truly awake— But he’ll make it up to you, he will— he spreads your thighs wide, to penetrate further, sucking affectionate bites into your neck as he ravishes your quivering body. You tremble and shriek, and your panicked struggling fills him with guilty regret. But he needs this now, he needs you now, he’s been alone for too long— And he’s not going to stop until he’s finished taking you… Feverish, Sirius’ other forearm digs underneath the pillow you’re clutching onto, white-knuckled. He tightens his grip on you before he sinks in deeper, spearing into your intimate core

You whimper, spasming involuntarily. Sirius rumbles with approval, his lips still latched onto your throat. He grabs your thigh firmly, bracing himself against the old headboard. He growls and snaps his hips upward, hitting that delicious spot over and over, trying to elicit more of those sweet noises from you. Even if you’re being frustratingly reticent - too shy, he pretends - you’re still unable to muffle your cries, twitching and writhing in his relentless grasp.

The bed creaks noisily as he hastens his pace, showering wet kisses on your rapidly bruising flesh. His movements are heated and urgent now, growing increasingly desperate— Now he’s inside you, he must fill you utterly— He longs to feel alive with you, slipping a hand down towards where you join together and connect, feeling the way his cock effortlessly slides in and out of your pussy. He dips further to rub harshly at your clit, and you whine, arching. Sirius strokes you mercilessly, his wrist cramping from the awkward positioning— 

But it doesn’t matter, you’re spurring him on with your ecstatic moans, croaky with tears. He doesn’t let up, teasing in sloppy, frantic circles as he bucks into you, revelling in the stickiness of your skin against his; the lewd, wet sound of flesh-on-flesh is obscene. Sirius groans hoarsely, his hips jerking and stuttering as your cunt squeezes around his dick with his every forceful thrust— You are enjoying this…    

Fuck, he is too— Hot pleasure jolts up his spine like the tightening of a knot; and you, crying out with loud whimpers as your spongy insides clench and squeeze around him— Sirius can’t take it anymore. He forgoes gentleness, pounding into your cunt with beastly intensity. You choke out a sob, lurching away from him, but he overpowers and holds you down, still abusing your sensitive clit— He’s going to fuck you until you cum, whether you want it or not— And his hungry mouth returns to sink livid, red marks into your neck, teeth grazing your artery. Something in the wooden bed frame cracks ominously— 

But he ignores it, his breathing growing laboured and husky as he slams his hips into you, again and again, forcing you to whine until your voice breaks. You’re shaking violently in his grip— He can sense it, and you’re close, so close— He’s getting sloppier; rapidly approaching orgasm, and your reactions are boiling his blood, whipping up a primal frenzy in his brain— Sirius pinches your clit, and you climax. 

Your euphoric moan chokes into a loud sob. Sirius growls at the way you clench around him, and pins you down with his body weight. His hand slips and pushes your leg up high, fucking you harder still through your orgasmic tremors— He’s following right behind you, on the cusp— You’re impossibly tight—

Merlin, you’re so damn tight— Sirius barely remembers to— He pulls himself out with a heavy groan, and his seed spills messily over the inside of your thigh. Hazy static pours over him, smothering the guilt, the emptiness… As it gradually tapers out, he feels the absence of your heat, of your closeness, and it pangs like the pain of starvation. It takes a moment for him to recover, lying beside you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. Then, he pushes himself up onto his elbow. 

Panting, Sirius’ damp hair clings to his forehead, stinging his eyes. He wipes it, and fog clears, revealing only desecration.

As if murdered, you lie very still— Or try to, but your breathing is ragged and uneven. You’re glistening with orgasmic sweat, chest heaving as he rests your trembling leg back onto the mattress. You jolt, as if hiccuping, still wracked with sobs. Sirius’ heart aches for you— Merlin, no, what has he done?— He wants to take this moment back, but it’s too late now. The only fix he can think of is practical, like ridding a crime scene of evidence… 

Sirius pulls out his wand, flicking shakily, evaporating his cum, but the scent of your lovemaking still lingers, thick in the air. With as much dignity as he’s able to grant you, he tugs your pyjamas and knickers up your hips. He tucks himself in and buttons his trousers, swimming in post-climax numbness. For a few minutes, he resumes his vigil behind you, as if he’d never done it at all. But you’re colder and distant; farther away than he’s ever felt you. Sighing, he gently strokes your hair. You don’t flinch or shiver away from his touch, but lie still, perfectly still… Your tear-stained cheek is still stuck to the damp patch on your pillow. Sirius passes over it deliberately. You’ve been asleep this entire time, blissfully unaware… That’s a lie he’ll peddle for both of your sakes, until this all melts safely into a nightmare.

It’s agony to tear himself away from your warmth, but Sirius knows he’s ruined everything by violating you, and lingering will only hurt you more. He presses one final, adoring kiss to your neck, yearning to embrace you, then slips wordlessly out of bed.

To forbid himself, he uses magic to bolt the lock.

Morning brings clarity. 

He walks into the kitchen, and the stone tiles clack under his boots, echoing, echoing… You’re there, also, preparing a slow, tedious breakfast.

The silence is heavy. Sirius wants to break it, but the quiet feels impenetrable; a chasm of his own design. For a moment, he frowns, looming uneasily over the dining table, aggravated by the clinking of the jar as you spread jam on your toast, eyes downcast.

Then, he pulls out a rickety chair and sits down. 

You don’t smile at him today. You don’t return his probing gaze. You knife up more slimy jam— Too much, now, and the bread has gone soggy. 

If you’d only burst into tears, he’d gladly take you in his arms to hold you now. Sirius could be your solitary comfort, as you have been his… Only, your new, withdrawn, gloomy state unnerves him. His face darkens… Your bond has truly been broken.

But there’s something else, too. 

Remorse gnawed his flesh until daybreak, and was scarred over by something cruel and hard, burrowing gruesomely inside him like an infection.

He could think of it this way: returning to his old childhood home has done very, very strange things to him. Yes… That’s it. Sirius has never had anything so warm and lovely in this place... And indeed, he’s spent much of his life out of control and powerless… But he does have power over you. It occurs to him abruptly. He does have power over you.  

Sirius leans back in his chair with a squeak. His guilt, hot and shameful, broils fiercely in his gut, but it intertwines with a kind of grim satisfaction. 

It’s his house, his rules… 

So why shouldn’t he have you?

[painted-flag]

OF FLOWERS AND DEATH - Aemond Targaryen

Chapter 2: A Modest Proposition

☾⋆⁺₊✧ dark elf!Aemond Targaryen x f!human!reader series. ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series masterlist. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ word count: 4.3k ✧₊⁺⋆☾ series warnings: 18+ depictions of violence/gore, eventual smut, warfare, sickness/disease, some moments of misogyny, and mentions of alcohol consumption. ☾⋆⁺₊✧ your new friend presents an opportunity scarcely ever seen, causing you to embark on a journey into a land you know nothing about with a king who inspires stories of terror.

The air was stagnant and warm. The sun assaulted the ground with intense heat and sweat had begun to drip down your forehead. It was midday and you were a few hours horse ride away from your home. You had left at dawn and arrived at a field of taint that you had been monitoring. Its spread was slow, maybe a few centimetres a day, which was reportedly lower than other rates at different areas of the kingdom; according to records that are sent your way. Seeing the black waste of what used to be a vibrant meadow never failed to instill hopelessness in your veins. 

It looked like mould had clung to the husks of plants, dripping an ugly sludge. You were looking at some killed flowers. Wilted petals covered in drops of a thick black substance caught your attention. You observed the taint with sorrow. The sun continued its relentless attack on you and you figured it was time to quickly go about your plan. You squatted down on the end of the taint spread, careful not to touch it. While you knew it only spread through open wounds to people, you did not wish to solely rely on that comfort.  

Your hand reached into the pouch on the side of your dress and pulled out a corked vial. It was a new concoction you made, after more days of pouring over your notes and theories. It took hours to brew and you had not slept for a long time with worry that something may have gone wrong in the process of making it. The liquid inside the glass vial was a shade of light violet that sparkled as it caught the sunlight. 

You popped the cork cap off and then gently poured the substance on a small portion of afflicted land and held your breath. You waited a few moments for any sign, any indication of progress. Your nerves were building and you hoped this short trip out would bring good bearings upon your progress. 

The grass and flowers that you poured it on looked as though they gained a small semblance of life. The wilted petals sprung up slowly and the sight was the most joyous you had ever seen. A startled laugh escaped your mouth as your breathing began to pick up. Adrenaline shot through your veins, matching the elation your mind was going through. You saw, truly and deeply, a difference made. Green returned and it was like a salve for your soul. 

Yet, those feelings were short when the healing halted and suddenly the taint spread further. What little vibrancy that returned was quickly squashed by the ugly black wilt and you fell back on your behind at the shock as the taint spread further than it once had and touched the toes of your boots. It stopped afterwards and remained as is. 

Nothing but pain rolled through your body. A short, pointless victory. You laid back and started up at the blue sky littered with fluffy clouds. It was there that your self-consciousness began pulling up longstanding feelings of inadequacy. That was the most progress you had ever made, but it did not last. 

“One step forward, two steps back.” You muttered to yourself as you watched the clouds move. You wondered what your father was doing, wherever he ended up after his disappearance. Was he making more progress than you? Surely he would. This was his profession, not yours. You were just a healer, he was the man of science and research. You knew he would be having far more successful results. 

You let out a huff and sat up straight, bringing your knees to your chest in the sun-scorched field of grass. For a while, you stared at the taint, lost in a trance of the darkness that crept about; slowly consuming the world you lived in. Would this be it? If nobody could find a cure, would this be the end of everything? It could not. You would not let it. Though, you could not help but wonder what started it. 

Many people claim countless different origins, some ideas more outlandish than others. Blame on the gods was common, blame on either humans or elves the runners-up. Others pointed to origins such as a natural evil in the world, or a crack in the earth bringing about a primordial bad that had been festering since the creation of the world. You cared not for the exact origins, only if it gave explanations to end it. There was no time for people to place blame, but band together and work to destroy it. 

You got off the ground and turned away from the taint. There was a lone standing tree in the meadow to which you tied your horse off. It was a beautiful black stallion with the patience of a saint. He had accompanied you when you moved to this far-off town when you left the kingdom's capital. You walked up and brushed his mane before unwrapping the rope from the tree. You put your foot in the stirrup and lifted yourself onto the saddle. 

It was another two hours before you arrived home. The sun was further across the sky and you used a cloth to wipe the sweat from your forehead. When you got over the hill to see your home, you stopped the horse immediately. There were six horses lined up outside your home, each one draped in finery. Their saddles looked new and wrapped in colours of green and gold. The colours set you off, a deep shiver crawling down your spine. 

You knew those colours - those of the elves. 

There were two figures standing guard outside, each in armour that replicated the colours on the horses. Green and gold intertwining on metal and cloth armour; each carefully crafted to fit their tall and imposing statures. Helmets covered their faces, but you did not need to see that to know who they were and where they came from. 

They were elvish guards and you knew why they were there. Some elf must have seen you cross into their territory and reported you. You did not believe Helaena was the one who snitched, for she was far too kind to you and you refused to admit your kindness was taken advantage of. Your fear spiked when you realized the repercussions of your actions. Crossing into territories was illegal. The reputation of the elf king was known by everyone - not for any good reasons -  and you knew you would be meeting the executioner's block. 

You pushed forward and dismounted your horse, tying him to a spot on the outside of your house. You approach the door and look at the guards. You could see their eyes through their helms and their gazes were straightforward, paying you no mind. 

“Why are you here?” You asked. They did not answer, each staying stoic in their stances. One turned to open your door, but again, none made any sound. You held your breath and walked into your house, wondering what hell may be waiting for you. 

It was, with perhaps the most incredible relief, that you found Helaena sitting on your couch in the same spot she had been in when you met the day before. She was idly looking at a few of your crickets in their little enclosures. Three other guards stood about your home. They were inspecting all of your shelves, but when you walked in they stood at attention and moved to solid stances. Helaena looked up. Upon seeing you, a smile made its way onto her face. 

She spoke your name and gestured to the couch, “I wasn’t quite sure if you were going to return soon.” You moved to set your bag on one of the tables and made your way to the couch. You sat as far as you could from her, for her personal space and for the sake of yourself. With the guards in the room, you had a feeling that they would strike you down if you made the wrong move. 

“It’s good to see you too. What are…” You ceased and scanned the room again, pausing on each guard, “Am I to be taken?” 

Helaena furrowed her brows and shook her head, “Why would you be taken?” Her fingers fiddled with the wooden cage, tapping the sticks with her nails. The crickets inside were eased by her presence, something you knew elves were capable of doing to all living creatures.

“I crossed onto your land.” You clarified. There was worry deep within you. There was a great possibility of this being your last day. Maybe, like some of the stories you heard, the king would lock you up and leave you to rot in a cell rather than kill you.

“Well, I crossed onto your land as well.” Helaena retorted. You took in her words and understood. If she were to be caught with her guards they would be equally as guilty for stepping foot onto human territory. 

“How is your arm?” You decided to divert the conversation to another topic.

“It is healing well,” Helaena showed her forearm to you. It was wrapped in new bandages, ones that look expensive and intricately woven. “But us elves heal quickly. How are you?” 

“Truthfully, I'm a little disappointed. I tried an experiment today and it worked for a time but…” You trailed off and looked down at your fingers that picked at the skin of one of your hands, “I just wish I had more research material.” 

“Then come to my home. We have this library that has been gathering books for thousands of years. I'm sure there is something there that can help you.” Helaena offered. She leaned forward and placed the cricket cage on the low table and sat back in her position. 

You were caught off guard by her proposition. While you would love nothing more than to jump at the opportunity to look at such a collection of works, the logistics of it all made your head spin. There was no way you could go. Only human representatives of the crown could enter the elf kingdom, and that was few and far between. Once in a hundred years or so. Then, the entire fact that Helaena would be sneaking you in, for there is no way the king would allow a human on his territory. 

The king, Aemond Targaryen. 

You heard stories of his battle prowess, sharp wit, and chilling demeanour. Tales were told of him being a disfigured monster who never knew a moment of mercy. He - according to the stories - was merciless, exacting torture and killing at will. He relished in fear and had a violent temper. You did not know his age but had heard stories of his involvement in the Great War between humans and elves six centuries ago. He was the king then and fields were littered by the bodies of his fallen foes. 

“Helaena, I am honoured by your offer, but there is no way it could be done. I mean…” You lowered your voice to a whisper, “Your king, he would have me killed the moment I walked into that forest.” 

Helaena shook her head and threaded her fingers through the fabric of her skirt. She gave off an attitude of nonchalance as she spoke, “My brother would not do that. I already vouched for you.” 

The feeling of your heart dropping out of your chest and ice moving through your veins took over. You experienced a moment of shock where no words could come to you. Brother? Brother? The elf sitting in front of you, practically the embodiment of gentleness, was the sister of that monster? You felt as though your worldview shifted and there was an inkling of distrust that crept into your mind. If she was his sister, there could be a possibility of it being a trap. 

You had broken the laws by trespassing, a crime that was punishable by death. While she too had crossed over onto your lands, there was no way your kingdom would have her killed for that. It would mean war. It was another reminder of the differences between you and Helaena. She was not just an elf, but a royal as well. There was no greater distance between you two than that, yet, you fostered a friendship. 

Helaena had given you no reason to distrust her; quite the opposite. 

“You have been permitted to live in the castle. You will work under my brother Daeron, as he is the lead healer and has also been studying the taint. My brother, Aemond, is giving you a year. After that, you are to leave and never return.” Helaena outlined the conditions of your stay while you continued to reel from learning about her status. 

You leaned with your back hitting the cushion of the couch with an expression of disbelief, “A year?” It had taken your father over a decade to get the information he had been working on when he disappeared. For you, it took a year alone to read through and make sense of it before you began your experiments. 

“I’m afraid that is all the time he would permit. I barely was able to get you the opportunity to visit at first.” Helaena rose from her seat, “It’s best if you pack now so we can leave soon. It will be dark by the time we arrive at the castle. We’ll be waiting outside.” 

Helaena left swiftly and you were still frozen in your spot. This was such a radical change in your life. You doubted if you could truly turn down such an opportunity. You knew there was really no choice, for refusal would still mean the king had knowledge of you trespassing on their lands; surely he would see your rejection as further ire spurned his way.

This opportunity was a gift, but also a test. Perhaps, at the end of the year, you would then be executed for your transgression. It would be no surprise that such a cruel fate would be brought on you by the king, his reputation preceded him. You also doubted that you could last a year. Living with elves, many of which probably harbour a deep hatred for humans, would likely be a nightmare in itself. You would be on constant alert and in fear. Living in the same palace as the king would no doubt expose you to whatever everyday horrors he committed. You wondered how Helaena could remain such a positive being surrounded by all of that evil. 

You sighed before rising to your feet. You looked around your space and took in everything. You made note of all the important items and went around shoving them into your bag. Books, notes, some rare ingredients, and other knick knacks. You also folded up some of your clothing to take. Only the best pieces, for you, already felt self-conscious around the beauty of the elves and you by no means wished to intensify it. 

It was there, standing at the threshold of your home, that you understood a new part of your life had started. 

Your thighs ached against the saddle of your horse. You had been riding with Helaena and the five elvish guards for many hours through the thick forest on a winding road. Over time, the trees had gotten thicker and taller, expressing the sheer age of their growth. They towered over you, much taller than the towers of the capital castle back in your birthhome. The canopy allowed no sunlight to pool in, but the abundance of fireflies that moved all around, coupled with the lit lanterns the guards had, illuminated much of the path. 

The forest was oddly silent with no trace of any life beyond the dense foliage. You could hear the sound of the horse's hoofs as they pounded down on the maintained dirt path. There was a mystique beauty in your surrounding environment. The enveloping plants looked richer, greener than any you had ever seen. A dark emerald that looked much like the same shade that adorned the horses of your current companions. 

It was oddly idyllic. You felt comfort from the forest, but not in a good way, but rather like an unseen lure reeling you in. There was no kiss of wind that hit you. However, the chill that surrounded you deeply unsettled you. It was a stark contrast to the heat you felt at home from the summer sun. Here, with no light penetrating the thick canopy, the temperature had dropped significantly. 

You had lost track of time, but it did not matter. In the distance, you saw more lights. As your group got closer, you could see the pathways protruding from the large trunks of the trees. They went up and up until you could not see them anymore. Bridges between trees mirrored branches and you could see elves walking about. All the paths were lit by lanterns. You were in awe at how their homes seemed to blend in with the forest around them. 

Moving in further, you saw more settlements on the ground as well. You did not know the material they used to build their pathways in the trees and buildings on the ground, but it was a soft white that reflected the light from the lanterns and fireflies. It was surprisingly illuminated, with the darkness of the forest around being fought off. As your group moved through, more and more elves appeared. They all ranged in height, skin tone, hair, and clothing, but they held two common characteristics; unyielding beauty and distinctive points on their ears. 

There were guards, similar to the ones escorting you and Helaena, that roamed the streets with other elves. They had distinctive gold-shimmering cloaks that allowed them to be seen easily. Elves went on with their day, trading with vendors and mingling about. By all accounts, it looked like a regular city, but their fusion with the nature around them elevated their style. It was harmonious, the relationship elves had with the earth. It made you envious, for back home the human capital was separated from the wildness of the world.  

The sound of rushing water invaded your senses. There was a large river that cut horizontally in front of you. A large bridge of winding thick roots spanned across it. All of your horses were collected at the start of the bridge. Now that you could walk, you felt a little more connected to the place around you. On the other end of the bridge, was a castle built among the roots of the largest tree you had ever seen. The roots would merge with the dark black stone. The stone absorbed all light around it, rather than reflect it like the white stone of the elves' home and tree paths. 

Two grand doors opened, wooden and gelded by dark wrought iron moulded to look like creeping vines. Helaena looked at ease to be home, which was a contrast to your thundering heart and state of fearful awe. Everything around you was otherworldly, yet shrouded in darkness. You and Helaena were escorted down a grand hall, whose walls and ceilings were vaulted by the large roots, as thick as the grand trees outside the castle. 

Another set of grand doors was set in front of you, far more imposing than the last. Your items were taken from you by some servants, to which Helaena assured they would be taken to the room you were to stay in. Helaena gave you a small comforting smile before nodding to the guards by the door. With a near-deafening boom, the doors slowly opened. They creaked as they moved. 

Inside you could see what must be the grand hall. It was at the centre of the grand tree’s roots, with the wood intertwining to make up the walls and ceiling. The floor was the same dark stone, polished to perfection. This entire visit here had left you in a constant state of awe. You and Helaena walked in further. That feeling of elation did not last long. At the far end, you could see a raised dais. It was a throne, made up similarly of tree roots, but had countless swords embedded in the wood. They pierced the thick roots like a dagger to flesh; all gnarly and rough. 

There, upon the throne, sat the most imposing figure you had ever seen. He was draped in black leather; his boots, pants, and tunic, were all expertly crafted. He sat back, in a lounge-like position with his back leaning against one arm and his legs over the other. Upon seeing the two of you enter, he adjusted his posture and moved his feet to rest on the floor. He leaned forward, and the long silver hair on his head moved with him. The top half of his hair was gathered and tied behind his head. 

When you got closer, you could make out more details about him. An eyepatch covered his left eye, with a jagged scar protruding from the top and bottom. It did not mar his face, for the angelic beauty of it surpassed any physical blemish. His jaw was sharp and as strong as the trunks of the elder trees outside. His lips were twisted into a smirk. The eye you could see was the most brilliant shade of bright blue, yet held an unspeakable darkness. You could feel his gaze pierce through the inner workings of your soul, judging and calculating. 

Despite being a king, there was no crown upon his head. He did not need one. His very presence, dark and imposing, was enough to command fealty from anyone. Pieces of the stories you grew up hearing flashed through your current thinking, all now undercut with the ability to put a face to them. 

The elf king Aemond Targaryen was a being unlike any you had seen before. 

Both you and Helaena bowed. Your gaze swept to the floor as you lowered your body. You breathed deeply and evenly in an attempt to calm your nerves, but the feeling of Aemond’s eye deeply unsettled you. It set a fire alight in your body and you could not escape it. When you finished bowing, Aemond swept his attention over to his sister. 

“Mandia, ao maghatan bisa run kesīr.” Sister, you brought this thing here. His voice was not loud, but it echoed across the grand hall. You did not understand his words and truthfully did not wish to, for his tone bordered on disgust. His pronunciation was fluid, and the notes travelled down your spine.

“Issa ñuha raqiros. Īlon vēttan iā deal, rūnagon?” She is my friend. We made a deal, remember? Helaena responded to her brother. 

Aemond took in her words and nodded before sharply responding, “Nyke gōntan daor jaelagon ūndegon zirȳla.” I did not want to see her. 

“She will be living here, you ought to meet her.” Helaena switched to the common tongue and that was when you were able to infer the topic they were discussing. He had not wanted to meet you, which was not surprising, but reaffirmed the fact that you were here solely because of Helaena. Aemond looked at the bandage on his sister's arm and moved to you. You could tell, by the way he regarded the bandages, that he knew you had been the one to come to her aid. You hoped that gesture had earned you a modicum of good grace from him, but highly doubted it. While not being raised around royalty, you knew not to speak until you were spoken to. 

He rose from the throne and maneuvered down the steps to stand a metre in front of you, each step echoed through the hall. His lone gaze fell ladden on your cheek, heavy and hot with inner ire. Your voice got stuck in your throat and you glanced towards Helaena to ask for any form of help. Aemond held his head high while his stare looked you up and down and released a low hum. In his inspection, you felt as if he could see every action you had ever made, every sin, and went about judging as he saw fit. 

As a judge, jury, and executioner. 

“You have a year to find a cure. After that, you will not even think about stepping foot on my land again. You are allowed to be in limited areas of the castle and will be escorted to each under constant supervision. You will work with the healers, though, I doubt a human could make any progress. Good luck.” His wish of luck was obviously fake by the way he spat it out as if it hurt to even feign kindness. 

You nodded at his words, “Thank you for such an opportunity, your grace.” Aemond did not respond to you but held his head up high as his eye moved down your body. He hummed lightly before waving his hand in dismissal. Helaena wished goodbye to her brother before walking you down the grand hall and back to the entrance doors. 

You heard Aemond call out your name and turned to see him on the throne again, in the same lounging position he was in moments ago, “I do not like to be disappointed.” His words took root in your mind and you knew they would haunt you for the time staying in this castle. Of course, we would not wish to be disappointed, you could gather that he likely achieved all he wished; so the being that gets in the way of what he wants would be squashed. You knew you had to find a cure or you would end up being squashed. 

While walking out of the throne room, you could feel the intense stare of the king on your way out. His gaze pierced like the swords in his throne. 

Chapter 3: A Study in Death Preview

“Then I must warn you about what you are about to see, it is not pleasant.” He opened the curtain and walked in, holding it so you could pass through. On the other side were more patients, however, they did not look like the ones you passed. The ones you passed were sick with a common fever, coughing and sweaty, but the ones here had visual effects on their body. 

Wounded elves lay in their beds, most asleep, while the ones who were awake acted caught in a perpetual hell. Their skin looked like glass, shiny under thick covers of sweat but had marked cracks as though it was the bed of a dried lake. There was a dark purple, almost black tint on different areas of each person’s body with their veins protruding to the surface. Some were coughing up blood onto rags as their body convulsed. The sight was grim and you had to suck in a breath to refrain from displaying any signs of discomfort.

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[obitohno]

daydreaming about fwb! aki who swore that he’d never fall for you… and yet, does.

fem! reader, 18+, friends with benefits, unrequited feelings, pining, angst, oral sex, cunnilingus, spitting, spit kink, ejaculation, making out, hands free orgasm

1k (unedited)

reblogs are appreciated ~

(read more here)

it was he who had first aired his desires to take you to bed, but nothing could have prepared him for the way that he then finds himself victim to the stuttered falter of his pulse whenever you grace him with your presence.

time and time again, his lips have grazed the length of your throat, the aftermath of his attentions evidently marring your skin, something akin to pride blooming a dangerous warmth that he dares not acknowledge.

frustratingly so, you’re oblivious to his dilemma, it seems, continuing to interpret the silence that stretches between the two of you as an invitation to take your leave, even with your thighs painted a pretty iridescent that proudly gleams his claim on you.

each time, he watches you go, rushing out of the door with a parting thrown over your shoulder before the lock clicks behind you, unknowingly taking yet another part of his soul along with you. the remainder of the evening is usually spent nursing a cigarette that he repeatedly forgets to flick, lost in thought before cursing under his breath when the ambers and greys break away from the stub to land the bedsheets, hastily brushed away before they make a mess of the fabric.

this is routine, one that he didn’t mind so much, when you’d first fallen into his bed. but now? now, it’s starting to hurt.

the shape of your lips moulding to his own is one that now has him breathless, greedily chasing for more when your fingers lazily drag through the inky tresses of his hair. you, who was once just a body to warm his bed, now distract his every waking thought, whose scent he inhales first thing in the morning with the tip of his nose buried within the sheets, whose contact name has him scrambling to grab at his phone whenever it shines alight with a new notification.

he’s embarrassed, really, because when the two of you had started this little game of yours, it was he who had promised that there’d be no strings attached. and back then, it had pleased him when you had readily agreed. but now, regret is steadily growing each time that you come knocking on his door, accompanied by the shame that gnaws at the lump that forms in his throat when he fails to think of a reason to ask you to stay.

tonight, he can no longer pretend.

it’s no secret that the plush curve of your cunt is a sight that never fails to have his prick twitching, thick and heavy between his thighs. your exposed hole clenches around the promise of what’s to come, a glittering, translucent slither of your sap dribbling through your folds and down the round of your behind. you’re leaking a mess all over his sheets again, aided by the puh-tew of the glob of saliva that is expelled from between his kiss-swollen lips, expertly aimed towards your stretched hole. it isn’t the first time that his drool has laid claim on your body, and yet, each time, he’s fascinated by the way that your entire pussy trembles in return, his fingers messily spreading the beads of spittle over your folds, the pad of his thumb catching on the hardened nub that sings its approval in time to beat of your pulse.

your wanton whimper is sung around the syllables of his name, pitching high when he spits on your cunt once more, the length of his index and middle fingers slicked as they breach past the barrier of your hole. your fluttering walls stretch around the width of him, his thumb now replaced with the heat of his mouth, his teeth roughly grazing over your folds. his knuckles repeatedly catch on your opening, brutally drilling along your gummy walls that dance for him, and his lips suction over your clit and suckle, hard.

melodically, you cry aloud, your fingers tugging at his hair, toes curled tight. the strain on his roots burns in a way that has him moaning, drunk on the taste of your essence, his tongue circling, around and around until your voice crests in volume, the length of your spine arching. greedily, he swallows every drop that your sweetened pussy secretes, a soft groan vibrating between your folds, his tongue replacing his slick-soaked digits, wiggling its way inside your cavern. the sensation has you wailing, hips thrusting, the tip of his nose grinding and nudging at your throbbing clit. again, you’re shrieking his name.

‘aki, aki—ah!—aki!’

the tune of your falsetto is one that has his cock leaking the salt-flavoured liquor from his slit in thick, drooling spurts that wetly splatter all over the expanse of his thigh, a hoarse cry muffled into the skin where his lips are ghosting a trail of kisses over your hip. his spine curves, a choked groan punched from his lungs, and he wheezes in a struggled attempt to catch his breath.

it takes a while for your pulse to settle to a lethargic pace that has you languidly stretching your limbs, halted by the way that he presses in over you, mouthing at your throat. your fingers are tracing over the warmth of his back, welcoming the weight of him between your open legs, his mouth brushing over yours, tongue tracing along the insides of your cheeks, your breathy giggle inhaled into his lungs.

by now, you would’ve already been well on your way out of the door, but thinly-veiled desperation has him distracting you with his affections, which you return with as much vigour as he gives. you nose at the space beneath his ear, arms tightening around him, and with the blush that blooms across the bridge of his nose, hope dares to rear its head, along with the familiar stuttering of his pulse.

his jaw ticks, unspoken words faltering on the tip of his tongue.

because once again, he doesn’t know how to ask you to stay.

© obitohno. all rights reserved. do not repost my works.

[audreyscribes]

Ω PJO DEMIGOD HEADCANONS: ♟EREBUS: PERSONIFICATION OF DARKNESS 🌑

Author’s note: *put head into hands* Alright, so I may or may not have went off from the usual formula (Do I even have a formula for writing these at this point?) and I think I may have made the primordial demigods here more cryptid cause they’re the literal by-product of primordial beings that are also half-mortal? I won’t be including the usual blurbs at the ending cause all of them are probably pushing the word limit Tumblr has but worry not, I made up for it by putting more storylines into the whole thing. PRIMORDIAL DEMIGODS MASTERLIST: [LINK]

You’re a child of darkness. Quite literally. You were born in darkness and rose out of darkness; figuratively and literally. You were wrapped in the clothes made from darkness, a comfort to you as you were brought into a world with a cycle of light and darkness. You were born almost alongside Nyx’s own demigod, Erebus following Nyx’s example; however while Nyx’s demigod was born from curiosity, Erebus sired a demigod that while he was born alongside Nyx, her own child must have to be with them as well.  

You grew up relatively well and peacefully in the darkness, hidden under Erebus’ cloak of darkness. He showed you his domain of darkness, and the darkest region of the underworld where you saw and learned from the ghosts of the dead. 

One night, you were guided to meet the child of Nyx who is your other half, with Erebus telling you that much like him and Nyx were a pair, the two of you were a pair as well. 

You and the child of Nyx stuck together, with you either leading them somewhere or them following you, or you following them as they went from one place to another. This was true when the child of Nyx was ordered by her mother to join forces with the demigod child of Gaea and Tartarus. You knew the Nyx demigod yearned more for Nyx’s affection so they would follow Nyx’s order, regardless of their own violation and feelings. You decided to follow the Nyx demigod, hoping to protect her from whatever may happen; you only can hope that they would remember they could always hide in the safety of your darkness. 

As you can imagine, you can wield the darkness. It can range from simple shadow traveling to manipulation of it. However, your special trait is that whenever there is darkness, you can wield it; within objects to mould like clay, absorbing it, or even manipulating and peering the darkness within others. You can travel through the darkness but careful walking through it; unlike the shadows who have a tether to the world, the darkness is an entirely different domain. It is unexplorable, hides many things, and can cling to you in ways you will not be able to know.

As a part of Erebus and wearing the cloak of darkness cut from Erebus himself, you can relatively travel through the darkness in most domains (the exception of its opposite like light itself), but be careful in bringing others along with you for they may be lost into the darkness or be affected in the ways. 

You tell this power to the child of Tartarus whose power is similar to you, warning them when you both bring those who don’t belong in the same realms as you do (the other being the child of Nyx). When you warn them of the consequences, you are confused when you see the look of uncertainty and fear on their face, before they ask what happens if someone borrows your cloak of darkness. You mention that it would protect them to a degree but it would be little good if they’ve been already affected by it and continue to pursue it. 

Another ability you may have falls under Erebus’ other domain; the darkest part of the underworld. Many souls end up casted into the darkness for their crimes or end up lost in it. In a sense, you can summon the dead but those especially within those that reside in your godly father’s domain. 

A key feature about you, much like the child of Tartarus, the blacks of your eyes seemingly go forever with how dark it is. However, what different is that light doesn’t seem to touch you in a way like others. When the light touches your hair, it doesn’t shine or change like others do; your shadows seemingly dark than others. Fortunately, people don’t usually notice your shadows too much to see something is odd; and you can play off your hair being dyed which also doesn’t shine or filter light like natural hair does.

[littlemissaddict]

Psycho - Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Summary: She's Jason Carver's ex and she's finally rediscovering who she is thanks to a certain metalhead. Very loosely based on the song Psycho by Taylor Acorn.

Word Count: 4622

Reposting to see if I can get it to show in tags.

Walking into the cafeteria and seeing Jason with his arm slung around Chrissy’s shoulders, not two days after she had broken up with him, only confirmed to her that she had made the right decision. His smug grin had her sick to her stomach, so much so that she was tempted to leave right then and there as she was no longer interested in her lunch but she couldn’t. It would only give Jason the satisfaction to think that he had won when he really hadn’t.

Rolling her eyes as she made an attempt to pass the table unnoticed but of course he noticed her. Since the break up it was like she couldn’t get any peace from him; walking to her locker - there he was; passing him to get to her seat in class - grabbing her arm, anything to have a dig at her about how she lost the best thing to ever happen to her and it seemed that right now would be the same.

“There she is the sorry little soul that let me go” he sneered, glancing around the table where the rest of the basketball team and cheer team sat, revelling in the way that they all laughed at his words. Given that she used to be a part of the cheer team, she had hoped that at least a couple of them would ignore Jason’s words but no, it seems like all the bonds she’d created with them were all fake.  What a surprise, she thought as she fought the urge to roll her eyes.

“What do you want, Carver?” she spat, her words laced with poison as she waited impatiently for what he had to say, wanting more than anything to just walk away and have nothing to do with him ever again.

“Just thought you should know that you’ve been replaced so there will be no more need for your little stalker act” he smirked, leaning back in his chair and throwing his arm around Chrissy’s shoulders again. She noted how uncomfortable Chrissy looked and she felt for her, she really did but it wasn’t her fault she got sucked in by his fake charm, hell even she fell for it until she realised that’s just what it was, fake. Now though she was facing Jason’s wrath for hurting his ego but she didn’t care, she’d spent years trying to force herself to fit the mould of what he wanted her to be and she was done with it.

“Oh is that what you think this is, one of those ‘if I can’t have you then nobody can’” she enquired, tilting her head to the side and forcing her eyes to look as innocent as possible, “because it’s not, this is a fuck you Jason Carver, now leave me in peace” she spoke, unable to hide the roll of her eyes as she marched off to find an empty table far away from his stupid face.

Vaguely aware of the stares from those on his table and the surrounding tables, she kept her head high because the last thing she wanted to do was to show weakness to that prick.

The music room was always quiet on a Friday after classes had finished, most kids wanting to leave as soon as possible but she liked the quiet it gave. Even more so now, her notebook open on the table in front of her as her pen scribbled down the thoughts as they appeared. It had been a while since she’d played or even attempted to write but with the events of the past week it seemed that the inspiration that came out of it was the only good thing to have happened that week.

Eddie hadn’t meant to stand in the doorway watching her like some kind of creep. He’d been on his way to the drama room to set up for Hellfire but to get there he had to pass the music room; he also didn’t expect there to be anyone still at the school this late and especially not for anyone to sound as though they were pouring their heart out over a guitar.

Now the music was definitely not heavy enough for his taste but he was a musician through and through so he couldn’t help but admire the talent coming from in the room which was why he’d stopped in the first place. What he definitely didn’t expect to see was Jason Carver’s ex, hunched over the guitar, definitely not looking like herself or how she’d always presented herself in all that peppy getup. No, her clothes, dare he say it looked a lot more like his own, dark jeans and top with a denim jacket over the top and battered converse on her feet. If this was the real her then Eddie wanted to get to know her, not the show she put on for anyone else but he wasn’t going to be able to do that if her first impression of him was from him watching her without her knowledge.

Clearing his throat as he stepped into the room, she looked up, wide eyed at being caught, even more so when she saw that it was none other than Eddie Munson that caught her.

“Didn’t know you played” he spoke, brow arched in curiosity as he tried to make himself appear less intimidating than he usually did, knowing it was the first time that they’d have spoken and he didn’t know anything about her so he didn��t want to scare her. Though he didn’t need to be worried, she wasn’t as meek as she let on, or as she’d played on to keep on Jason’s good side.

“There’s a lot you-anyone” she corrected herself, “don’t know about me” she replied, no bite in her words but not necessarily all that friendly either as she was still unsure of his intentions. She kept the guitar against her body as he came closer, not that she expected him to do anything but it was more of a comfort, a barrier she supposed, between them.

Eddie perched on the table across from her as if sensing her hesitancy and the last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable and it seemed to work, her hold on the guitar loosened. “Yeah, like what” he asked, his curiosity as genuine as his wanting to get to know her.

“That I’m not like everyone thinks I am, the whole way I’m perceived is a mask I created to get through high school but I’m tired, I don’t want to live that way anymore” she revealed, the truth that she’d kept hidden for so long finally out there and it was like a weight was lifted from her even if she’d only confessed it to someone who she didn’t think even cared.

Eddie was shocked by her words; from the outside it seemed like she had the perfect life, good grades, good friends, a boyfriend her parents could be proud of but he should know not everything was how it seemed in this town. “So how do you want to live?” he asked cautiously, his hands pulling at the frayed edges of the rips in his jeans but his eyes never left hers.

“I just want to be me” she sighed, eyes meeting his own and he could see the pain and the pressure behind them of trying to be something she’s not, giving way to relief of being able to move on to finally be free from it.

“Okay how about we start now” Eddie smiled, leaning forward to extend a hand to her in an over-the-top formal way in hope of getting her to smile, “I’m Eddie”

She smiled, accepting his hand and shaking it slowly as she spoke her name back to him, slowly beginning to feel some semblance of her old self.

Eddie didn’t stay long after that as a curly haired boy popped his head into the room looking for his dungeon master, he apologised with a smile claiming that duty calls as he made his way out of the room following the freshman. She could hear them bickering as they made their way down the hall and it made her smile, hopefully this was the beginning of something, something new and real where she didn’t have to hide who she was anymore.

The next few weeks passed in a blur, aside from the occasional jibes from Jason and her spending most of her time at school alone now that most of her friends had turned her back on her, nothing in her life had really changed. School was still the same, she was working her ass off trying to do everything she could to make sure she graduated in the spring so that she could move on from this hell hole. Although the only thing she seemed to look forward to was the time she spent in the music room on a Friday, where Eddie had seemed to make it his mission to come find her before inevitably being called away by the same young freshman each time.

Today, he was already there when she arrived. He looked antsy as if there was something he wanted to ask but couldn’t bring himself to. She didn’t want to push him, knowing he’d ask eventually and when he did, she was surprised he hadn’t asked sooner.

“That song you always play, what is it?” he asked, he’d been wanting to ask from the moment he first heard her playing it but he always remembered a little too late and Dustin was already insisting it was time to go. Although he didn’t give her much time to answer before he was speaking again, “because I swear the music has been stuck in my head and I’ve been asking around but no one seems to have heard it before”

“They won’t have” she says plainly, fighting the smile that plays on her lips at the thought that he remembered it, “because I wrote it” she reveals.

The shock slowly spreads across his face, his eyes blown wide, mouth hanging open but it’s quickly replaced by an overwhelming sense of excitement, “Can I hear it” he asks, face falling when she shakes her head. “Why not?” he pouts, big brown eyes staring at her and she almost caves.

“Because it’s not ready” she answers, only she’s not one hundred percent honest, the song has been ready for weeks but every time she plays it, it just doesn’t feel right. Eddie’s eyes are searching hers trying to figure it out, she relents under his gaze, “okay it’s ready but it’s supposed to be this big ‘fuck you’ song but it’s just too soft” she says, her shoulders slumping in defeat as she sinks further into her chair.

“So, you want something heavier?” he asks, just to clarify before he makes his offer and when she nods, he makes his play, “How about a metal band?”

She huffs out a laugh at his words as she stares at him, trying to figure out if he’s just trying to cheer her up or if he’s being serious but when she sees there’s no teasing in him at all she knows he means his words. “and where am I supposed to find a metal band?” she asks with a roll of her eyes with her arms crossed over her chest.

“Sweetheart, you are looking at the lead singer of the one and only Corroded Coffin” he smirks, “a metal band and completely at your service” he adds and for good measure he plays into the theatrics that he knows always gets a laugh from her as he sweeps his right arm across his torso, bending at the hips in a bow before standing back up.

“Yeah, okay” she laughs along with him.

“Good, sit with us at lunch on Monday and we can work out the details” he says before right on cue, Dustin is calling for Eddie and she’s left on her own again.

Monday comes and she’s a little worried about joining the Hellfire table for lunch, not because of what anyone in the school would think of her because she’s beyond caring now, no she’s worried about what the rest of his group would think. Eddie has been a real friend to her lately and she doesn’t want that to change just because his friends don’t like her. She’s not left with much chance to ponder it anymore as a familiar face pops up beside her as she closes her locker.

“Eddie seriously” she laughs, a hand on her chest in an attempt to calm her beating heart from the scare he’d given her by popping up unannounced.

He laughs, though not unkindly as she steadies herself. “You ready?” he asks and she nods following him through the crowds of students, though her being with Eddie doesn’t go unnoticed, especially as the pass the basketball team’s table. Snickers and catcalls erupt from them as they pass and she doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s eyes find her, checking to make sure she’s okay but she smiles at him as she keeps her head held high, silently urging him to keep moving and thankfully he does.

When they reach the Hellfire table, all chatter stops as they turn to look at her. She can feel herself growing more nervous by the second as all her previous worries come flooding back, until Eddie smacks a couple of them on the back of the head and they seem to remember their manners. As Eddie takes his usual seat the boy next to him, who she recognises as the curly haired kid that comes to get Eddie on a Friday, has begun shuffling everyone on the bench along so that she has the seat next to Eddie. She smiles in thanks to him as she sits down, Eddie looking proud as punch to have her finally sitting with them so long as they boys keep in check.

“So we finally meet the mysterious girl that has kept Eddie late to our meetings” he smiles from beside her and she can tell straight away that this kid is a handful just by the smirk on his face, “I’m Dustin” he adds, sending a wink Eddie’s way afterwards and she can’t help but smile as they go around the table introducing themselves. The older ones seem a little more suspicious of her than the younger ones but she puts that down to them knowing her as Jason Carver’s ex, even the words leave her with a bad taste in her mouth and she wasn’t the one bearing the brunt of his bullying until now it seems.

“Look at what we have here” Jason’s voice sounds from behind her and she feels her jaw clench as he drops a hand to rest on her shoulder. Out of the corner of her eyes she can see the boys around the table tense, Eddie’s the only one who seems unaffected by Jason’s presence. “Little miss perfect has downgraded herself to sit with the freaks” he sneers as his friends’ snort with laughter from beside him.

Plastering a sweet smile onto her face, she turns to face him while brushing his hand from her shoulder, “The only downgrading I ever did was to myself while I was with you so really I’ve upgraded” her voice was sweet as she spoke, a complete contrast from the bite of her words.

“You’re insane if you think that these freaks can give you more than I can” Jason spat, his eyes darkening with anger as he wasn’t used to being spoken back to especially by her.

Beside her she could feel Eddie straightening in his seat, he couldn’t care less when he was called a freak or any of the other hurtful words were being directed at him but when they were directed at his friends or anyone that he cared about that’s when he wanted to get involved. She found it sweet but she didn’t want him starting a fight in the middle of the cafeteria, so with a gentle hand placed on top of his to stop him she turned her attention back Jason, “I’m glad you’ve realised now I think your girlfriend is looking for you” she replied, not giving up on her sweet demeanour as she can tell how much it’s annoying him.

“You really are a psycho, aren’t you?” he says, shaking his head as he frowns, not missing the small touch between her and Eddie which winds him up even more, knowing that she’s left him for the freak.

Once Jason and his friends have left, she turns to find the whole table staring at her. Hiding her face in her hands is her first reaction but Eddie is quick to pull them away, “Now that was fucking metal” he smiles, the table agreeing with him as they all chip in their amazement, all of them even Jeff and Gareth who were unsure at first seeming to be warming up to her which makes her wonder what she was worried about to begin with.

The following Saturday she’s bundled into the front seat of Eddie’s van on her way to Gareth’s for an impromptu session to work on her song with the metal band she was promised.

“Are you sure they don’t mind?” she worriedly asks Eddie for what feels like the thousandth time since she climbed in the van.

Eddie chuckles softly at her, “They wouldn’t have agreed if they did, besides after your little display at lunch they want to see what else you can surprise them with” he teases, knowing she was still a little embarrassed about that but at least it showed that she was genuine in her separation from Jason.

The truth was it had taken the band a little persuasion on Eddie’s behalf to get them to agree to this as Jeff was adamant the he wasn’t going to be playing no love song and even though Eddie had no idea what the song was about he had reassured them that it wasn’t going to be a love song, hopefully he was right.

Pulling up outside Gareth’s, Eddie reassured her once again that it was going to be fine and as they climbed out the van, she could already hear the sound of the band practising and she had to admit they sounded good. Eddie sidled up beside her, passing her, her guitar as he stood with his own in hand, not even hearing him get them out of the back of the van as she was too busy listening to the boys play.

“I know they’re good” he chuckled, leading the way to the already open door of the garage.

All three of them stopped playing as the two of them came into view. “Ah nice of you to join us” Gareth teases, from behind his drum kit as his hand comes up to brush his hair out of his face.

“So little miss songwriter, what do you have for us today” Jeff asks, praying to god Eddie was right about it not being a love song.

“I can show you but bear with me it doesn’t make much of an impact played on an acoustic so afterwards you can put your own spin on it” she rambled, suddenly feeling nervous about playing for them because it had been a while since she had played for anybody other than herself, “or you can say no” she added with a small smile.

Eddie’s smile was encouraging as she began to play but when she started to sing, boy was he blown away. He figured she could sing but nowhere near as good as she was and it seems the boys agreed with him, all of them wearing the same surprised look as himself. He had to admit that she was right about the song though, considering she’d wrote it as a ‘fuck you’ on her guitar it sounded so sweet and floaty, it needed something behind it, it needed the boys. When she finished, the group was quiet until they weren’t.

“Man, you can sing”

“Didn’t think that you would write something like that, you usually sound so sweet”

“So do you think you can do anything with it” she asked hopefully, she was feeling like she was floating from all the kind words they were saying. 

“Uh-uh you got work to do” Eddie joked, stopping her hands as she attempted to put the guitar down, “show me and then we can try it” he nodded, the others picking up their own instruments ready for their instructions.

By the time she left on Saturday evening her song had already started to sound the way she’d pictured it, not that she would do anything with the song apart from maybe ask the guys if they didn’t mind her recording it to keep for herself. Or at least that’s what she thought anyway because come lunch on Monday they were asking her if she wanted to perform with them at The Hideout as a one off. She was unsure at first, one because the song wasn’t ready although unbeknownst to her, they had gotten together the Sunday to practise some more until they believed it was and secondly because she had never performed on stage like that, despite their reassurances that the audience consisted of five drunks.

She gave in though and come the following night as she stepped into The Hideout with the rest of the band that it wasn’t just going to be the usual crowd of drunks, all of them surprised including the staff behind the bar as it had never been this packed on a Tuesday night. Though from the chatter it became clear she was the reason, apparently word had spread that Jason Carver’s ex was performing with Corroded Coffin and everyone, including Jason himself had been curious enough to see the show.

“You can perform with us every week if this is the crowd we are going to get” Jeff laughed gleefully as they stood side stage, preparing to go on.

Eddie agreed but now wasn’t the time for her to hear it as she stood, nervously beside him, her hands fiddling with the hem of her t-shirt as her breaths came out short and fast. He feared she was going to have a panic attack so he tried to think of something, anything to get her mind off performing even if just for a minute. He didn’t have much but sliding off his jacket and laying it over the amp next to him he shrugged off his plaid shirt, manipulating the fabric so that he could wrap it around her waist.

His unexpected touch startled her, making her jump as his hands worked. “Eddie wh-what are you doing” she asked softly, glancing around to see if the others were watching, not that it would have changed anything.

“You gotta look the part, sweetheart” he winked, finishing the knot in the arms of the shirt before pulling his leather jacket back on, “much more metal now” he nodded, a smile working his way across her face as she mumbled out a thanks before it were time for them to go on.

They had decided beforehand to keep her song until last, which she was kind of regretting now considering the size of the audience was much bigger than they’d anticipated, she’d rather get up there first and get it done with. That doesn’t mean to say that she won’t relish in the look on Jason’s face when he realises that it’s about him.

Watching from the side of the stage as the band played their heart out, hoping to make an impression on those in the crowd that has them coming back, she could see the looks on their face how much they enjoyed it, they all looked like natural performers to her and she just hoped it rubbed off on her when it was finally time to go on.

Hearing Eddie say her name, she wiped her clammy palms on her jeans trying to avoid Eddie’s shirt though she assumed he wouldn’t mind if she did accidently considering it would be a lot sweatier if he’d continued to wear it. Eddie flashed her a warm smile as she made her way up to centre stage where he was making quick work of lowering his mic stand for her since he was quite a bit taller than her and when that was done, he nodded to the band to give them the go ahead before they launched into her song.

It started slow, Eddie’s guitar and the slow beat of Gareth’s drums;

I’ve never been one of the crazy ones Never been the girl to leave you like thirty missed calls I’m not a villain but you made me one So I’m throwing knives at pictures of your face on the wall It seems like boys like you all love to say That chicks like me are just insane But boys like you give men a shitty name So let’s play a game

As the chorus kicked in, the whole band began playing as she finally felt comfortable, jumping around like she’d seen Eddie do a few times as she allowed herself to get lost in the song.

Where I throw a little brick through your pretty little face You’re easy on the eyes but you’re easier to hate An angels gonna fall if you come around If my names still on your tongue then I’ll rip it out Since I’m already the bad guy in your head I’ll hit you with my car and I’ll leave you for dead I’ve always like the view from the high road But baby for you I’ll be a psycho

She could see the surprised looks on faces in the crowd and no doubt by the end of this there would be rumours that she had been corrupted by Eddie and joined his 'cult’ but she really could care less as this was the most fun she’d had for such a long time.

Maybe you’ll end up in a body bag If I can’t have you then nobody can Cause I watch all the documentaries I know just where to hide it I’ll put you in a box six feet deep And wait till you wake up inside it

Searching the crowd of familiar faces as she sings through the chorus again until she finds the one person whose reaction she wanted to see, locking eyes with him for the next two lines just to mess with him;

I’ve never been one of the crazy ones I’m not a villain but you make it so damn fun

Breaking eye contact as the chorus comes in one final time, this time her eyes find Eddie who is smiling wildly beside her. The adrenaline coursing through her veins is like nothing she’s ever felt before and it’s making her want to do something crazy, she just hopes that the crazy thing she is thinking of is not going to be something she’s going to regret. As the music fades around her, the song coming to an end, she reaches for Eddie who envelopes her in his arms as if it’s nothing though when she presses her lips to his, his whole body tenses. Realising what a huge mistake she’s just made, she’s off and running down the steps and through the back door, not even stopping when she gets outside. She just keeps running until she’s home, out of breath but home safe away from her mistake.

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Les Misérables 5.4 - Javert Off the Track

I have to say again how well I think the musical expresses the core of this chapter despite having far fewer lines to work with.

Book: Give up Jean Valjean, that was wrong; leave Jean Valjean free, that was wrong. In the first case, the man of authority would fall lower than the man of the galley; in the second, a convict rose higher than the law and set his foot upon it.

Musical: Damned if I live in the debt of a thief! Damned if I yield at the end of the chase!

Book: Javert felt that something horrible was penetrating his soul, admiration for a convict. Respect for a galley-slave, can that be possible? He shuddered at it, yet could not shake it off. It was useless to struggle, he was reduced to confess before his own inner tribunal the sublimity of this wretch. That was hateful.

Musical: How can I now allow this man / To hold dominion over me

Book: “This convict, this desperate man, whom I have pursued even to persecution, and who had me beneath his feet and could have avenged himself, and who ought to have done so as well for his revenge as for his security, in granting me my life, in sparing me, what has he done? His duty? No. Something more.

Musical: This desperate man who I have hunted / He gave me his life, he gave me freedom / I should have perished by his hand / It was his right

Book: But also why had he permitted this man to let him live? He had, in that barricade, the right to be killed. He should have availed himself of that right. To have called the other insurgents to hus aid against Jean Valjean, to have secured a shot by force, that would have been better. His supreme anguish was the loss of all certainty.

Musical: It was my right to die as well / Instead I live, but live in hell!

Book: acts of violence committed by pity upon austerity, respect of person, no more final condemnation, no more damnation, the possibility of a tear in the eye of the law, a mysterious justice according to God going counter to justice according to men. [Note: this is one area where I think the musical errs with Javert - it roots his inflexibility in a (rather Calvinist, for a majority Catholic nation) view of Christianity. That is not the case in the book, where Javert’s religion is the law, the state, order, and in the end that worldview breaks upon the rocks of Christianity.]

Musical: Shall his sins be forgiven? Shall his crimes be reprieved?

Book: He saw before him two roads, both equally straight; but he saw two; and that terrified him - him, who had never in his life known but one straight line.

Musical: And must I now begin to doubt? / Who never doubted all those years

Book: To be granite, and to doubt! to be the statue of penalty cast in a single piece in the mould of the law, and to suddenly percieve that you have under your breast of bronze something preposterous and disobedient which almost resembles a heart!

Musical: My heart is stone and yet it trembles!

Book: To have the unknown over his head, he was not accustomed to that…Now Javert was thrown over backward, and he was abruptly startled by this monstrous apparaition: a gulf on high…

The darkness was complete…A ceiling of cloud concealed the stars. The sky was only an ominous depth

Musical: The world I have known is lost in shadow!…I am reaching, but I fall / And the stars are black and cold / As I stare into the void / Of a world that cannot hold

Book: But how to manage to send in his resignation to God?…

Unnatural state, if ever there was one. There were only two ways to get out of it. One, to go resolutely to Jean Valjean, and to return the man if the galleys to the dungeon. The other –

Musical: I’ll escape now from that world / From the world of Jean Valjean

Book: Could that be endurable? No.

Musical: There is nowhere I can turn / There is no way to go on!

[sol-consort]

Aliens discovering our movies, art, books and video games and realizing why they’re all so precious to us

Like, a turian who comes from a high ranking family but just doesn’t have the abilities or skill the rest of their family has and it’s kinda outlasted for it puts on this old human vid called Encanto out of curiosity and by the end of it they’re a sobbing mess (whatever the turian equivalent of sobbing is) because “Mirabel just like me, fr fr.”

An Asari who just lost her first bondmate to old age and finding one of our sad songs about loss feels so touched by it and listens to it over and over again until she’s processed her own grief.

A Quarian who feel moved by a beautiful sculpture made of scrap metal and spare parts because it reminds them of the flotilla; a fleet of ships all held together with ductape, thread, and a prayer and yet still something beautiful.

The vibes I get from the other species is that they make their vids, games, books, and songs just to entertain, just background noise to fill the silence. Maybe they carry a deeper meaning sometimes but nothing compared to humans who pour their souls into their projects. Humans make fantastical stories out of the little parts of our lives that others can relate to and feel seen.

The handprint paintings on cavewalls come to mind. How instinctive drumming your fingers is how natural humming feels, how your brain spins stories before bedtime unprompted.

As much as war and disease have been parts of human history since the dawn of time, since the first spear was filled down, likewise music and art went with it hand in hand ever since the first flute was carved out, made from hollow birdbones and mammoth ivory, dating back to the time of ancients.

It's therapeutic. No one can deny the benefits of art on your mind and soul. It is what makes life worth living for many, the whimsy, the joy, the passion, the elation, the misery, the envy. The good and bad mirrors and reflections of our inner most desires, shameful feelings, and most creative ideas.

While the other species definitely don't lack in their culture and art—turians face tattoos borrowing from the batonical designs of nature—there is something to be said about the elcor deciding to adapt hamlet out of everything

There is a reason it's human music you hear playing at any self-respecting galactic club, ranging from the Citadel to Omega's own bars, the lights, the atmosphere, the valvety seats and soundtrack has a clear human touch. The human fashion which took over the asari modern wear like a swarm, inspiring many new designs combining the best of both worlds.

Humans aren't the only creative species, nor the one who care most about art. Rather, art comes naturally to us, all of us picked up colouring and drawing as kids, the urge to sing along to the radio, the desire to decorate your room, to spend hours moulding and sculpting characters in videogames even if they're end up wearing a helmet for the reminder of the story.

Art to us isn't necessarily a refined and polished thing like it is to the asari, neither is it an intricate impossibly complex dance with thousands of layers like the elcor. Our art is primal and integral. It's messy and often flawed. It's as mundane and common as the hair on our bodies, and it's everywhere. We breathe it into the world. Otherwise, it might sufficate it inside. It's so embedded within our whole existence that we are often blind to the more mundane forms of art, glossing over the way looking at sunsets gets our hearts slowing down.

Beauty was never the purpose of art for humans, but relief, communication, and self expression.

We look for art in everything, for a story under every unturned stone, for a poetic meaning behind the alignment of the stars, drawing shapes from their formation and assigning it meanings.

The other species could see that. it's what helped our reputation recover faster after the whole First Contact incident. What made the other species forgo their "bullies" perspective of humanity once they sampled our food, tasted our drinks, and were gifted bouquets of our flowers with cursive apologises worded so thoughtfully.

Art is the one thing you can't take from a human, we resort to it even during the most grim times of our life, especially during that, seek comfort in someone's creations, even quietly make our own versions inside the privacy of our heads. Just because art happens behind closed doors—or brains—doesn't mean it didn't happen. It's not a tree, it never required an audience to exist, its purpose is its mere just existence.

It's even infectious, wasn't the humans who got a krogan to agree and film a romantic comedy about falling in love with a human?

Do you think the hanar aren't absolutely fascinated by our tales of the sea, the ruthless spiteful ocean we seem to fear as much as we revere. The sirens, the krakens, the sailor shanties, the beautiful ships, and intricate wood carvings meant to bring luck.

Maybe the Turians can't get enough of human "coming of age" cheesy romcoms because our depictions of teenage rebellion and daring to be "selfish" and come into your own personhood is such a taboo amidst their military culture.

Or maybe they loathe it.

Instead, they prefer the stories about humans coming together to solve problems, realising the strength of cooperation, of beehive-like efficiency and utter trust in one another. Be it war films about soldiers coping with the cruel world while finding warmth in their comrades, or depictions of larger revolts where a whole population works together to put an end to their tyrannical leaders.

Maybe they're secretly Marvel fans, who knows.

Art doesn't have to be deep. It can be fun just for the sake of fun. Simple self-indulgence at its purest form. For every great classical piece of literature has been surpassed in sales by an erotica romance novelette with a shirtless cowboy on the cover.

I think the salarians would watch love paradise and other romantic reality shows about humans competing for one human's affection, hand in marriage, sometimes roses are involved—but salarians watch it with the same intensity of football fans watching a match, it is their own game of thrones, they don't care much for the sex but by the stars the "picking a mate" drama and gossip is equivalent to catnip for salarians

[lifenconcepts]

Oh I love the stars I am channeling all my current wonder and happiness into admitting that gazing upon the sky even in such a lacklustre way, I still feel truly inspired and affected by such a natural beauty that the light from the distant flaming balls of hot mass allow me to see true worth and joy within my own, small in comparison, life. a sight to behold for eyes so hungry for a purpose, a sight for the damned and a sight for the holy. For those seeking destruction and those seeking comfort. Those alone and those so loved.

Awe were once among those stars and that is where we will be when we are gone, and hear me true, I seek not their knowledge but their mystery. A wisdom so far from being held and yet so close to being reached, a yearning we strive for understanding what simply not all are meant to feel captivated by.

Why should they share such gifts with you if you don’t listen? A stargazer can’t reveal as to why they love stars, and yet you try find reason in the most mundane logic as to why.

Simply let go of worry, stay alive, focus or not, you will survive. Strive for a better day, strive for one without worry, just understand that soon enough, you shall complete your journey.

an adventure not limited to destinations, not one with a set goal in mind,

but a good little feeling, leaving all your worries behind.

Need you be reminded of the things so sweet?

of the voices that sing, the chorus all meek?

Hear the caling among the world, a yearning for the beloved, a sight to behold.

Treat nature with utmost respect, and your belief and desires all will be met.

Peace and harmony exist within a calm mind,

those riddled with questions and misery, all stay and signed,

for even the lost souls which wander the world,

will ponder and wonder, what is there to mould?

[juni-aldaine123]

THE ALTAR IS MY HIPS/ jshk ; amanene

・❥・fluff . oneshot . slight suggestive tones . alternate universe . set in 1900s . festivals . human hanako . amane yugi . married amanene . couple

༶•┈┈┈┈┈┈୨♡୧┈┈┈┈┈•༶

There is a melody in her voice as she sings out his name, a beat in her steps as she skips over to him. Amane’s heart stutters in his chest when he turns to look at her.

Dressed in a brilliant red kimono with sakura flowers lined of gold adorning its silky expanse, the billowing sleeves flowing past her fingertips, Nene twirls herself around him letting his eyes capture her image.

“You look beautiful,” he says, but even then, the word feels drab, feels too monotonous to describe someone as vibrant as Nene. She is so breath-taking that it pains his lungs and burns his eyes whenever she lingers close him, too close, that he feels like Icarus as the sun shines down on him with her smile.

He tucks a beige strand behind her ear, his knuckles dancing from her heavy ruby encrusted earrings to her cheek, leaving a feathery trail as she chases his touch. Nene blushes heavily when caught by his knowing smirk. She is so shy that Amane wants to tease her a bit longer; the festival can wait.

He wonders how she will respond. Will she pout and turn her head away and then Amane would have to coax her gently as if she is a toddler? Or will she blush prettily and bury her face in her palms that Amane would pry her hands away, hold them as he smothers her face with kisses.

“Do I make you,” he leans in, so close he hears her heartbeat in his “… feel so shy?”

“Oh yes,” she drawls with a lazy grin, eyes half lidded as she stares deep with his Tuscan sun.

“ I feel butterflies in my belly every time you look at me like that,” comes her bold reply and Amane stifles a chuckle in favour of holding her delicate face, thumb running on her crimson painted lips.

He should’ve expected as much. His Nene is becoming more immodest everyday she spends with him, and he has no complaints.

(“I learnt from the best afterall,” she’d once told him when he pointed it out)

He loves this side of her as well. He worships every facet of her, every fragment, everything, of her.

“Look at you like what?”

“Like I have created this world…just for you.”

“You have.” You are my world, he doesn’t say but knows that she heard anyway.

“You flatter me Amane-kun. But won’t that upset the gods? The ones who have truly crafted this world for us to live in.” She leans into him; he leaves red stains on her cheeks. But Nene doesn’t mind.

“The gods must not take offense, for they were the ones who gifted me their lovely angel.” He draws circles against her flushed skin, relishing in the way it gets warmer the longer his touch remains.

“Their ‘angel’? Am I the only one?” Nene closes her eyes, feeling Amane hot breath on her lips.

“In the heavens and the earth and all that is beyond, you’re the only one in my sight.”

“And….what if I never was?” What if you never met me? What if I was never there?

“Then I must be a blind man.” But even then, I will always find you. I don’t need my eyes to recognize you. I have every inch of yours etched in my memory. If you were never there then maybe I would’ve wandered like a lost soul. There would’ve been nobody to anchor me.

“I’m nothing without you.” Nene tries to protest, but Amane’s mouth seals hers in a searing kiss. It bites her tongue, burns her throat, a fire ignites her lungs. But she is drowning, drowning in his overwhelming love, when his hands curve around her waist; moulding her into himself.

She thinks their love is treacherous, desperate and unflinching, because it hurts when Amane kisses her like she is the salvation to his depravity.

But she also finds their love soft, delicate and pious, because she feels divine when Amane worships like the altar is her hips.

[nerdstify]

I'm writing a Death Note story and need help with the middle. Send your ideas via DMs, comments, or asks. If I like them, I might even draw them! Also open to Death Note art requests. Share any Death Note-related ideas and I'll see what I can do.

(and in this case comments too!)

Start and end of the fic under the cut:

God, the rain was gorgeous. L wasn’t usually one to remark or note on the beauty of people; people did things and said things that he couldn’t understand. They hurt and killed and lied; and for what? For only themselves. But the world- the non-people part of the world- was utterly beautiful. L knew why the rain fell. It brought the plants to life. And even though sometimes it felt like nature didn’t have a purpose- like destructive typhoons and hurricanes- he at least understood that these catastrophes weren’t self-serving. The rain had no greed or selfishness; nothing to gain, and so the chaos was out of its control. The rain was always his favourite, grey and rhythmic and cool. Any beauty he saw in a human was simply a reflection of the beauty of the rain. Watari, cool and graceful and methodical as himself, nurturing lost children like they were plants below his sky. Soichiro, stoic and sturdy, creating a calm and intentional rhythm for L to think to. These people and others he had admired for sharing the qualities of the rain he loved, but there was one more. A conundrum that L couldn’t quite place.

Start:

Light Yagami. Not just the rain, but a monsoon. He was endless and unrelenting. No matter how many challenges you gave him, he dodged and weaved until the rainwater had flooded every crack in the moulding and invaded your basement. L wasn’t fond of people getting into his basement. He wasn’t cool and stoic and calm, but he came with a surging heat and a blinding sun and a furious intensity. L was almost sure he was Kira, because like Light, like the monsoon, Kira barely seemed human to him. He didn’t seem to be killing for personal or even corporate gain. Kira had convinced himself and the world that he killed for righteous reasons; for saving the good in humanity, but L couldn’t believe that. Kira killed because like Light, like the monsoon, he simply couldn’t stop.

He had never before been so attracted to a person, yet so repelled. If Light contained a duality and, say, Kira was a north magnet, and Light was a south– then L was north. There was nothing his heart, mind, and the deepest parts of his very soul craved more than a friend- or so he told himself- like Light.

But Light was Kira.

Wasn’t he?

Ending:

He knew it. Of course Light was Kira. There was no way around it. L was doomed by this narrative of friendship he had written for himself. Light was so perfect that L couldn’t have beared to lose him. So charming that the barely human, hardly affectionate, happily lonely L had warmed to him. Welcomed him. Shown him the smallest, quietest parts of himself. But Light was barely human too; becoming less and less by the day. And as L grew more and more attached, Light grew further away. A part of him had known from the very beginning how he would die. It wasn’t a slip-up in safety or privacy, it wasn’t a miscalculation, or a misjudgement of character- in fact he had judged Light perfectly from the very beginning. It was trust that had killed him.

His first, his best and worst friend, using him even now. No doubt faking his grief towards the task force. Or perhaps the grief was real. Despite it all, L couldn’t help but clutch onto the glimmer of hope he kept locked tightly in his ribcage, as the light faded from his eyes, that he could still mean something to Light, despite using him and throwing him aside.

Like he did Misa. Like he would his father and Sayu. Like he did his own soul. Like he did everyone once they stopped being fun to play with. L laughed weakly. Kira really was a child.

He had always known he would die right here, in task force headquarters, where he was supposed to be safe, and at Light’s hand, who was supposed to be his equal. He had imagined dying with a subtle smirk, Light finally incriminated, and a successor lined up to catch him. But in his ideations of death, not once had it occurred to him that it might hurt so much.

The grief, the guilt, the regret, and most of all the gaping wound that Light created, ripping into him with his bare hands and clawing at the insides of his chest, twisting a knife right into his gut as he pretended to care that he was gone.