#sorry this has taken a decade and a half... writing has been a struggle but we back on the grind i think

[josephslittledeputy]

WIP Whenever

Tagged by @socially-awkward-skeleton​ @direwombat​ @detectivelokis​ @river-ward​ @adelaidedrubman​ @inafieldofdaisies​ @marivenah​ (ty lovelies!)

I’ve got a few wips saved up, so I’ll start off with Datura in her Mar*el Verse

"Containment breach, experiment 347 is loose. All personnel must immediately evacuate the facility."

The automated alarm monotonously advises while red lights flash around the room, like an ominous strobe light. The sound of gunshots and screams were getting closer, causing one of the scientists to drop what was in their hands, startling everyone when the glass shatters on the floor.

"Sorry!"

"Goddammit Kaitlin, pull yourself together!"

"Yes, Doctor Amos!"

"Containment breach, experiment 347 is loose. All personnel must immediately evacuate the facility."

They were almost done. The room itself now looked as clean and empty as the day they arrived, save for the tables along the walls and various pieces of medical equipment.

“Containment breach, experiment 347 is— Hellooo.” The interrupting crackle of the intercom causes the whole room to pause, the frantic footsteps and rustling and shredding of papers grind to a halt as everyone slowly turns toward the disturbance. “Now, there wasn’t much of a selection, buuut—“ Someone crying in the background causes the speaker pause. “Shhh, you’re ruining everything!” There’s a sickening crunch, followed by the gargle of someone choking on their own blood, and then… silence. “Now, where was I again? Ah, yes, here we go!” The voice cuts off and what follows is music.

“Is that the… Macarena?” One of the scientists at the back dumbly questions.

~~~

Her hips wiggle to the beat as a peal of laughter escapes ruby stained lips and she finally feels free, free, free! Twirling, she does a jump and a slide, sinking her claws into the nearest guards throat. “Ha!” Crimson stains clash against the blue shade of her skin, like splotches of paint on a blank canvas.

“Hey! Put your hands up!” Another guard shouts as they round the corner, gun shaking but pointed in her direction.

“No, you!” She giggles, wiggling her fingers in their direction.

“What the-?” They drop their gun and raise their hands.

“Isn’t this so much more fun?”

They dance to the music together as if they were choreographed and had practiced for hours, and isn’t long until a couple more guards round the corner and get sucked into the commotion.

This one is a bit longer, but Willa’s dark au is finally getting interesting :’)

"Mama, why do bad things happen to good people?"

The seemingly innocent question catches her mother off guard, startling her with its raw honesty. "Well, sweet pea, God likes to test His children."

"But why?"

“Sometimes, when people are having a hard time, they're overcome with doubt." She strokes a hand over her daughters head, watching the unruly blonde curls spring back up after. "That's when He'll test us, so that when we persevere and overcome these tests, we'll know that our faith in Him is real. That He hasn't abandoned us."

"I don't get it." Shaking the hand off her head, she turns around, meeting her mothers blueish-green eyes. "If He loves us, then why doesn't He already know our faith is real? Why do we need to be tested?"

“Oh, my sweet, you'll get it once you're older." She smiles, grabbing her hands in her own. "And then you'll understand why your hands are stained.”

"Stained? But they're not-" Her words stick in her throat when she looks down to see her hands slick, wet, and so very, very red. "Mama!" She cries out, horrified. "What's on my hands?"

"Oh, don't be silly honey." Still the same saccharine voice she remembers from childhood. "You know that’s my blood."

"Don't forget mine."

Her head turns achingly slow, spotting the towering figure in the doorway with a nagging terror lining her stomach. "Pa?"

“Well I’ll be. You remembered!”

Blood oozes from the walls, covering the floors and stretching out towards her, eager to have its taste of flesh. She scrambles back when it gets too close, scrubbing her hands against the material of her dress. But the crimson stains stick to them like paint, never coming off.

"Oh, come now, don't be like that! We can be a happy family again, you just gotta take this knife out."

"What?" She trembles, looking up to see her Father in front of her this time.

"Well? C'mon kiddo, it hurts!" A wide, maniacal grin splits his face.

"Now you're the one who's being silly, dear. You know she'll never take that thing out." Her mother chirps up behind her with a titter. “Not unless she's about to plunge it back in again.”

They both let out full bellied laughs at the same time, the sound ricocheting in her head, and the blood finally reaches her legs. She tries to get up, but it keeps her there, like a fly stuck to a glue trap. The more she struggles, the more it pulls her down, until she's drowning in it.

All she can see is red.

"NO!" The scream tears from her throat the moment she wakes, covered in a layer of sweat.

She can't see, and maybe that should be a blessing, but right now it feels more like curse. She needs to see, needs to make sure the blood isn't still clinging to her like a second skin. She needs-

"Wouldja shut up in there?"

Her head whips over to the door that opens, and she takes the opportunity to sprint toward it, pushing past the person in the doorway and not looking back.

"Hey wait!" Quick footsteps follow the yell and it isn't long until she's tackled to the ground.

"No! I won't go back! I WON'T!" She claws at their face, a futile effort with her gloves blunting her nails, so she goes for the next best thing. Teeth. She latches onto whatever is closest and pulls, coming away with a metallic taste that she hurriedly spits to the side.

"Ah!" The person holding her down reacts, raising a hand to the gushing wound she'd inflicted, their knees pressing down harder to hold her. "I need back up, NOW!"

It isn't long until more footsteps join them in the hallway, but she's frantic now, she can't see straight. No, worse, she can't even think straight.

Where is she?

"Give 'em the bliss, hurry!"

"No, please, I'll be good this time!" Her broken pleas do little to faze them. Were they listening to her? Did they even care? "I'll be good, I promise!" She sobs when her struggling limbs are held down, followed by a sharp prick to her neck. A few seconds later, her movements grow sluggish, her mind slows, and her eyes begin to roll into the back of her head. Garbled voices still come through, and she’s able to pick up what they're saying before passing out.

"They're almost ready to confess. John’ll be happy..."

.

.

.

When she comes to this time, it isn’t from a nightmare or in some frenzied state, not with the remnants of bliss still coursing through her system. Heavy lids open to a darkened room, arms and legs strapped to a chair with the same familiar leather bit tucked into her mouth. She's in the confession room, again. The same one she's grown familiar with over the week that she's been here. Well, at least she thinks it's been a week, since there's no way of telling time in the bunker. Either way, so far there's been a lot less confessing and a lot more torture, especially from the scratchy material of her half ripped shirt, covered in her dried blood. The door behind her opens and, once again, she doesn't need to look to see who it is.

"My, my, you had quite the little incident earlier, Deputy." John doesn't bother to look at her on his way over to the small table in the room, instead he's more focused on setting down his toolbox and getting things ready.

With the bit in her mouth, the best she can do is a muffled insult. "Fuck you."

He turns around with a look of faux shock and a hand over his heart, as if offended by her words. "There's no need to be so cruel."

Neglecting a reply, she rips at her restraints, showing her displeasure over her situation. If that didn't show it, her scathing glare certainly would.

"Now, I know we haven't been on the best of terms, but I think that'll change soon." He walks over to stand in front of her, bending at the waist and watching with satisfaction when she pushes herself back into her chair. "You see, I’m an understanding man, Deputy. I want to know what drives you, what could cause you to suffer from such wrath. So! I did a little digging, and what I found was... very enlightening."

Her blood goes cold and she freezes, her scathing glare quickly turning into a look of hesitance and fear, despite her best efforts to hide it. Her eyes follow him as he stands to his full height and walks over to his toolbox, turning his back to her while he undoes the clasps and pulls out pieces of paper, and not his usual tools of torture. Turning around with a flourish, he holds the papers up with a gleefully menacing grin.

"I know that you had a troubled childhood." He leans against his table, briefly scanning the papers before looking at her again. "That your parents were not the most nurturing. I even know you lost a dear childhood friend in a terrible incident. One that haunts you still, just as your parents do."

If she wasn't strapped to the chair, she knew her hands would be shaking, tempted to wrap her hands around his neck and cut off his words. Her teeth sink into the leather material in her mouth, preventing them from grinding together. She didn't want to remember. She's worked so hard to keep the memories at bay, to lock them up and throw away the key.

"And I know that you used to see a therapist before coming here."

She's shaking her head now, not wanting to listen any longer. She won't confront this, and she'd sooner die than relive it. "Shut uh." She utters, pulling at her binds.

"Now we're getting somewhere." He sighs with a slight smile, satisfied with her reaction. "Let's start with your friend, Deputy. What happened to him? Do you even remember his name?"

She doesn't answer. She's too busy containing her emotions, trying not to let the memories flood her mind. The mix of emotions are too much, so she tries to numb them, to numb herself to the emotional pain. She liked it better when he was torturing her physically, not mentally.

"His name was James Williams, and police suspect that his death was foul play." His eyes flick down to the page then back up. "Filicide. You know the word, yes? The killing of one's child?"

She shakes her head again, knowing what’s coming next.

“But this article in particular was very interesting.” He holds it up and begins to read aloud. “A fire that broke out early morning last Sunday is now being classified as an arson. Sherry Williams, 45, and her husband Jason Williams, 50, died after being taken to the hospital with third-degree burns.” He stops reading, lifting his eyes and lowering the paper, watching her reaction with a tilt of his head. “I think you know what the rest of the article says, Deputy.”

She pulls at her binds, squirming to get loose, to cover her ears and ignore the words being thrown her way. “Shtop!”

But John doesn’t stop, not when he knows that he’s finally getting somewhere. He sets the papers down, picks his tools up, and moves to stand in front of her. Parting the flaps of her shirt that were ripped already, he stares down at the tattoo on her chest that he’d etched onto her skin a few days ago. The words ‘WRATH’ stood out in dark, bold lettering, the skin around them still red and irritated, and he knew his next actions would do nothing to soothe them. But this was the process, his process, and part of her Atonement.

Willa squirms when his fingers caress her skin, tracing over the letters with a sadistic fascination in his eyes, causing her stomach to curdle in disgust. That disgust quickly gives way to a desperate attempt to escape when he brings a knife into view. She only has to wait for a few seconds before the bite of the blade presses into her skin, prompting beads of blood to bubble up as it traces over the lettering of her sin. Her teeth sink into the leather in her mouth, denying him the satisfaction of hearing her make a noise yet. Without a pause, he’s already onto the second letter, then the third, and it isn’t until he’s on the last two letters that she finally lets out a muffled whimper.

John stops, lifting his gaze from his work, causing blue eyes to clash against her own green eyes. “Comfortable, Deputy?”

If she could have spat in his face, she would have, so she settles for the next best thing: a head butt.

“Fuck!” John curses, dropping the knife in favor of clutching his now aching head.

She can’t help but to laugh, even if her head was now throbbing and her chest was burning, the sight of John in pain was something that tickled her pink. The next few moments are lightening quick, he bends down, snatches up the blade, and stabs her thigh.

“AHH FUCK!” Looking down, she observes the knife stuck halfway in, almost deep enough to dig into bone. “Why the fuck woo you do that?!”

“Why would you headbutt me?!”

Breathing through the pain, she shrugs her shoulders. “Touché.”

"I think," He yanks the blade out, taking great satisfaction in her muffled yell that trails off into a pained whimper. "We'll continue this later." Without any further comment, he leaves her alone in the room, slamming the door behind him.

[usmsgutterson]

Hello!I saw your requests are open and I'm so excited because you're such a good writer!! If it's alright, could you please write "If we have to leave our bed today, I will kill the resin we have to" hugs from your prompt list with Kaz x Reader? Maybe when he's a little older maybe late 20's and is a lot more comfy with touch (still has bad days/moments of complete touch aversion of course) but maybe he's slightly touch starved if anything in this fic? Thank you xx

Autumn- K.B x gn! reader

Hi!! This request was very fun--I always love writing/reading these types of fics because what can I say, my favs deserve to grow and change--so thank you for sending it in!

I know I'm probably starting to sound like a bit of a broken record with it now, but I am also very sorry for how long this took! I've been meaning to write it since it came in but life and motivation slipped away for a bit there. I hope you like it despite how long it took and again, I am SO SORRY!!

Fic type- this is so so so SO fluffy!!

Warnings- there's a couple of mentions of anxiety in relation to his touch aversion and kaz's touch aversion is discussed a lot. Kaz is also probably a little ooc, and this was written at around half past midnight and then queued for later, so the editing might not be as good as it could be

As Kaz woke, he found that the first day of autumn was to be your favorite kind of day. The kind where the leaves had already begun to change colors, the kind where a downpour hit Ketterdam, the kind where such a downpour still didn't manage to drive the pigeons away from the clubs and the two of you had not a thing to worry about in the world because you refused to allow yourselves that kind of worrying.

One of his arms was draped over your waist, his chin against your shoulder, and his heart kicking off at a racing pace because of it.

Waking up like that still sometimes sent his body off into a thousand different directions, each one more fervently anxious than the last, but the come-down from the anxiety and the anxiety itself had been easier to get through as time went on.

Kaz ghosted his lips against your shoulder. Everything is fine, he told himself. I am fine. I am holding the person I love, and they are alive, too, and we are alive together.

He felt you stir, wrap your arms around his waist, and effectively pull him into a hug.

You pulled away after a minute, and Kaz's hand moved up, gently tracing your lips.

"Any obligations?" You asked.

"None of note," Kaz said. "Or--none that I am unwilling to leave to tomorrow."

You grinned. "So, a day in bed it is, then?"

One of your arms moved to rest against his shoulder, your hand finding his hair like it were clockwork.

"If such is what you fancy," Kaz said. "I, of course, fancy it too."

You laughed. Kaz pulled you closer and you let him, content to be wrapped within the embrace that it had taken him a decade to be able to pull you into.

Kaz's touch aversion had been something that you never really minded. You loved him regardless of the fact that he couldn't touch you, and his actions made up for all of the hugs, kisses, and affections in the world anyway.

But, when you were eighteen and Kaz found that the mere idea of holding your hand was something with which he still struggled, he decided he was going to find a way to get better.

He wanted to do it for you, for every wistful smile you gave when you watched Matthias press a quick kiss to Ninas cheekbone, for every single one you gave when you would notice Jesper approaching Wylan, only to wrap his arms around Wylans shoulders and press a kiss to his forehead when Wylan leaned back and said hello.

But, on the other side of that coin, Kaz decided to do it for himself. Jordie had died when he was nine, and while he wasn't sure he would ever stop grieving the brother he'd lost to Pekka and his cons, he knew that he could not scorn the idea of touching others forever. He could not forever put off the idea of ending a business deal with the shake of a hand in his ungloved one, couldn't forever glare at people who'd dared touch his arms or hands or shoulders in passing.

A decade had gone by since he'd made that decision, and all in all it seemed to have paid off.

Sure, there were indeed bad days, but that was to be expected. Things like a long lasting touch aversion don't just go away overnight, and Kaz knew that. You knew it, too, and you didn't fault him for those bad days whatsoever.

"I love you," you said as Kaz pulled away enough to press a kiss to your forehead. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Kaz said, part of him cringing at how long it had taken him to repeat the words back. The two of you had started dating when you were eighteen and Kaz couldn't say the words until you were twenty-three, when you'd already been saying them for a year and telling him that his actions spoke louder than his words and that you didn't need to hear him say it back.

He'd stopped viewing love as weakness at twenty-three, when an old but well respected gang associate had told him that trying to think love made him anything but strong was idiotic while the group was on a heist in Ravka.

The bloke was seventy, maybe, and had apparently adopted that mindset early on into his life. He'd kept it up til he was in his fifties and cost himself a family, a partner. Thinking of love as a weakness was something he'd gone on to regret, and while he'd indeed found the love of his life at fifty-two, he still regretted all else that the mindset had cost him.

Loving you, he realized, made him strong. On his most difficult days, you were there to offer a listening ear and a solution.

Love was not a weakness, as it turned out, and some days, despite what the seventeen year old Kaz Brekker might've said if he knew, love was what kept twenty-eight year old Kaz Brekker going.

One of your hands treaded through his hair before moving down his forehead, along the scope of his nose and his cheekbones, then his chin and his lips and the center of his neck, finding the divot at it's end that indicated the middle of his collarbone.

Kaz decided, in that moment, he would kill the reason you needed to leave your shared bedroom if one came up. He loved moments like those as much as you did, cherished them with everything he had because they were few and far between.

You pulled him down just a bit, pressed a kiss to his forehead and then a quick peck to his lips after he'd nodded and affirmed it was okay to, and Kaz looked at you and all that he could think of was the fact that you were so close.

You were so close to him, and he was so close to you, and he didn't want to do anything more than get closer.

"I love you," he said, breathless and touch starved and full of enough yearning to last five lifetimes.

"I love you too," you responded. Kaz's lips dipped near yours, and when you nodded, he kissed you.

It was kiss that said everything that Kaz couldn't manage to form into words, gratitude and joy and contentedness and sheer, undying and fiery love.

When Kaz pulled away, you were grinning, and so was he.

Eventually the two of you drifted off to sleep again, the only thoughts in your minds having been how much of a joy it was to be in the others company.

[crazykuroneko]

My ★★★½ review of Interview with the Vampire on Letterboxd https://boxd.it/4HWSYf

So, it's out, folks. Just FYI, the last time I watched the movie was on HBO probably a decade ago, when I was deep in my vampire phase. Now, when I reviewed it, I tried my best to differentiate POV of a casual viewer and of someone who knows the novel's major plot. That review above is from a casual viewer's eye, but as a fan of the franchise, I'd give it only 3 star, and yes, it's mostly because of the writing.

As I said in that review, the script focusing more on fulfilling plot points did a disservice on the characters, and a lot of them is on Louis.

The script - whether it's the things it doesn't include, or the things that have been changed - makes film Louis a shadow of book Louis. You see him tortured by feeding on humans, but the movie doesn't show you why. They only gave you one short line to Lestat, something "sorry I still care about humanity" or something. It doesn't show that it's tied to his Catholic guilt or something more convincing. And you still have him as a slaver here, that definitely doesn't help people to sympathize with him. It's such that when Armand says "you're beautiful because you reflect your era" etc etc I was taken aback, because the first half doesn't depict his struggle as something beautiful. It makes him looking like a whining student, you're wondering why Lestat putting up with him. And they also took out the unhinged aspect of Louis' personality: e.g. attacking a priest, staying with Armand. When you don't know the book, it does look satisfying how Louis left Armand, but that also cut a lot of what makes Louis Louis imo. Like, a lot of things on Louis' characteristics don't make any sense due to these erasure and changes.

The script does favor Lestat and his actor's a lot. It doesn't show how controlling Lestat could be, while in the book there are moments where Louis and Claudia are really afraid of him. Cruise also got these scenes where he could show his range as an actor (really like his microexpressions when Claudia is about to kill him)

All of these make the NOLA era feels camp, but Paris era is really Gothic. You don't want tone changing like that in your movie 😭

Also I don't really enjoy the male gaze (no wonder straights never thought Loustat are gay here, the boobs misdirected them). The victims are always shot in eroticly, but they really double down when it's a woman (and most of them are women). And that naked woman on the stage scene still upsets me. Yes, I know, that's the point yes. But they could have been more focused on the horror on her face. And this scene also badly stands out because the tone change: if it felt like Gothic horror from the start, I wouldn't have been that surprised.

Anyway, there's an essay could be made on the changes Anne did here and the consequences they have on the characters compared to the changes Rolin and Co have made. But I'll leave it to anyone who's better with words than me hah!

Lastly, let me make a controversial acting ranking:

Tom Cruise - indusputable, the script literally helps him

(Not 2nd, but more like 5th, the gap is that big) Brad Pitt - the script drags him down, he's pretty good in scenes without Cruise

Kristen Dusnt - age handicap would put her above Pitt, but there are lines that I feel too "heavy" for her, and that's definitely not her fault. She has done a great job for someone in her age. Still a queen shit

Christian Slater - his character is so limited but he made it work. he has that banter chemistry with Pitt. But didn't really capture Daniel's out-of-his-mind at the end

Antonio Banderas - if I didn't know this should be The Armand, perhaps he would've been higher, but he's not my Armand, sorry. He's charming, but there's no an inch of seducer in his Armand. His whole plot makes him looking like a loser 😭

[godofdystopia]

Sashannarcy Week Day 5: Outfits.

Since I know next to nothing about fashion i believed it would be a struggle to write this one. It surprisingly wasn’t, but again i don’t know fashion so who even knows.

Anyway, this story is basically me repeatedly chanting ‘Trans Anne!’ at the top of my lungs over and over. It also has Sasha realizing she’s Bi and Marcy realizing she’s in love with Anne. This is the gayest entry I've ever written and I'm proud of it.

Thanks again to @phrogfrommars for hosting this Sashannarcy week. I’ve loved participating in it so far.

In this story,  Anne has finally come out as a girl and her two totally-not-girlfriends decide to take her shopping to update her wardrobe. Will these totally-not-in-love-with-one-another friends survive the trip? probably not, they’re gay as hell.

words: 2.8k

“Cmon girlfriend, let’s go! We’re burning daylight.” Sasha said as she and Marcy pulled Anne by the hand deeper into the mall.

It was a bright summer day, the sun was high in the sky and beat mercilessly against the ground. Anyone with half a mind would have stayed cooped up inside with the AC on full blast. But Sasha and Marcy wouldn’t, no, Couldn’t afford to today.

Today they had one of the most important tasks ahead of them, one that if failed or screwed up, would haunt them for decades to come.

They had to upgrade Anne’s wardrobe.

One wouldn’t think that would be so important as to steal away Anne from Thai Go and travel halfway across LA to where the good stores were, or to do so while the heat was near a hundred degrees outside. They had all gone clothes shopping before, mostly Sasha, but they’d all done it, and yet this wasn’t like any other shopping trip they’d ever taken.

This would be the first time the girls had gone shopping to get girl clothes for Anne.

All she had were boy clothes in her wardrobe which, to be fair, was because two days ago she hadn’t been out to anyone. Then she took her two best friends out to the park where they met and told them, with great difficulty and fear, that she didn’t feel like a boy and hadn’t for a very long time.

Sasha and Marcy weren’t sure what she was expecting their reaction to be, and to be honest they didn’t want to think about it. They just hugged her and told her that no matter their gender she would always be their friend.

The tears flowed freely as the three girls hugged one another, just holding each other as Sasha and Marcy comforted their friend. She’d been terrified of how they would respond and yet there was only acceptance. She was a complete mess: Tears and snot running down her face from the force of her sobs but right now she didn’t care.

She had never been happier than right now.

“Uh, guys?”

Sasha and Marcy looked up at the Thai girl, who was still crying happy tears from everything. She was looking at the both of them with a shaky smile. “There’s, there’s something else too.”

Sasha just put on a patient smile while Marcy squeezed her again. Both of them waited patiently for their friend to continue.

“Um, if it’s not too much… Could you, um…” She blushed a bit, looked down at the ground, took a deep breath and looked them both in the eye.

“... Call me Anne?”

And that, as they say, was that.

Anne was happy, and currently forcing down any thoughts about how she was going to come out to her parents, but right now her happiness and bliss overruled any fear or doubt.

“Come on Anna-Banana! We gotta goo!” Marcy whined as she tugged Anne towards the clothing sections with Sasha. Both girls stopped to stare at Marcy before they both descended into giggles.

“I’m- I’m sorry, ‘Anna-Banana?’” Anne asked between giggles as the taiwanese girl blushed.

“I’m trying out new nicknames since my old ones don’t fit anymore.” Marcy said as she turned away from her friends with a pout. “I thought it was good…”

“It’s fine marbles, don’t sweat it.” Sasha said as she brought an arm around to pat her on the back. “That one might not stick, but when we find one that does you’ll forget it even happened.”

Anne looked nervous however, looking at every passing person like she was expecting them to jump in front of her and deadname her then and there. “You know we don’t actually have to do this, right?”

“Actually, we kinda do, F-anne-cy Anne.” Marcy said, before frowning and muttering ‘2/10’ to herself.

“Anne, you literally have no girl clothes.” Sasha paused and looked at her, frowning. “You know what you told us when you came out? That you’ve been wearing your mom’s clothes to try and feel normal. We’re getting you girl clothes even if it kills us.”

Anne sighed. “I shouldn’t have mentioned that.”

“Well too bad, you did. And now we’re going clothes shopping to get you some new threads.” Sasha replied as they dragged Anne towards the shop, rows upon rows of girls clothes hung up on racks as far as the eye could see.

Anne had always wanted to go in one but she’d never really been confident enough to step in one.

Her mom, Marcy and Sasha would sometimes bring her along with them to give advice and carry bags of clothes for them, and she would imagine herself in whatever clothing caught her eye and would sometimes make her way over to some of the racks to just hold the clothes in her hands while the people she came with were in the changing room.

And now she was actually going to be in one, as a customer.

She forced herself not to cry, but from the gentle smiles Sasha and Marcy gave her, a few sniffles must have snuck out.

“Hi! Can I help you girls with anything?” The cashier, a pretty looking college aged woman with a pixie cut, said with a smile.

“Not really, but thanks.” Sasha said as she and Marcy pulled Anne along with them.

“Alright Marcy, this is the most important shopping trip of our lives! Grab whatever you think Anne will look nice in and meet back up by the Changing room.” Sasha said, her face full of determination. Marcy, equally determined, nodded seriously and ran off to grab whatever clothes caught her eye.

“Alright, you just wait here while I go grab some clothes. You’ll look like the most popular girl in the mall by the time I'm done!” She said cheerily as she ran off.

Anne just sat down and, with a happy smile over how her friends were helping her with this, waited.

**********

“Okay girlfriend, let’s try this!”

Sasha and Marcy came back with piles of clothes in their arms and got to work. They would mix and match clothes and thrust them in Anne’s arms.

Anne entered the changing room with something Marcy brought her and came out.

She was dressed in a light green summer dress with floral patterns all over it. The sleeves came down to just past the shoulder and were ruffled and pretty looking. A pair of bright pink knee socks with Kitten designs on them led down to her normal shoes.

Anne looked anxious, like she was waiting for something. Sasha and Marcy had a pretty good idea of what.

“Go ahead already Anne.” Sasha said patiently while Marcy made ‘go on’ gestures with her hand.

Anne, her face breaking out into a dopey smile, immediately began to spin around and around, the skirt twirling in the air as she did so. A little ‘Whee!’ left her lips as she did so.

Sasha and Marcy both had the same thought enter her head while Anne made her skirt spin with glee.

‘She looks cute.’

Sasha and Marcy both blinked at that, though one took it better than the other. Sasha, who had never thought of girls like that before, felt confused and odd. Marcy, who had thought of girls like that before, felt weird about thinking of her friend like that.

She felt bad enough thinking of Sasha like that, and now Anne?

They were both broken out of their thoughts by Anne grabbing a bunch of other dresses and rushing back into the changing room, a giddy smile on her face.

**********

Anne looked the dress over.

It was more fancy than she would like. The skirt was hooped, like something from the 50’s, and was white with black squares making it look like a chessboard.. The top was pure white and had a black lotus over the heart. She liked it when she could make the skirts twirl, but this was also nice. Overly fancy, but nice.

The jacket she wore over the shirt was a poofy thing, white as chalk but with gold lettering on the back in the form of  some signature of whatever celebrity had made and endorsed the clothing.

Anne felt like she was about to walk down the red carpet for a movie premier that she was the main actress in.

“See? You look pretty like that!” Sasha said, before blushing a bit as she realized what she just said. “I mean, soo pretty. The guys will be lining up to ask you out!”

,,, why did that thought make Sasha unhappy?

“I just… I don't know Sasha.” Anne said, rubbing one arm. “I… don’t think this is really me.”

Sasha just stared expectantly and Anne continued.

“I don’t like designer clothes or any of this. I like wearing floral dresses and shirts with funny slogans on them. And also cats, cats on the shirt would be nice.”

“Well, you could’ve just said something.” Sasha said.

Anne looked uncomfortable and rubbed her arm. “I didn’t want to say something because… you said it was popular. And I thought… it’d make me seem more like a girl if I-”

Sasha walked forward and Hugged Anne tightly, the Thai girl hesitated before hugging the blonde back. They both jumped a bit when a third pair of arms wrapped around them, Marcy putting her head on Anne’s shoulder.

“Anne, you don’t need ‘popular’ clothes to be a girl. You are a girl, and we both love you.” Sasha said seriously as she looked Anne in the eye.

“You’ll always be a girl to us, Anne. And nothing will ever change that.” Marcy said as she leaned her head against Anne’s.

“I… Thank you.” Anne hugged them both tighter, a dopey smile on her face as she did so. She liked hugging them.

“You know what we need to do now, don’t you?” Marcy asked excitedly, as she looked between them.

“More clothes!”

**********

“Well, what about this?” Anne came out in a black gothic dress with skull designs along the shoulder with a velvet corset around it. The skirt was so incredibly ruffled that it looked more ruffles than skirt. The sleeves werte mesh and she had Fingerless gloves over her hands. Knee high combat boots with more laces than the corset on them made the ensemble look like she was the most gothic punk girl ever.

“Do you really want to go the goth look Anne?” Sasha asked, trying to imagine Anne in the clothes she had worn when they all went through their emo phase together. ‘She’d look good in that.’ she thought to herself.

“Well, I think it looks nice!” Marcy said proudly, a little blush on her cheeks as she kept looking at Anne’s arms. She admired the muscles she could see on them, and then blushed and slapped her cheeks as she realized what she was doing.

‘C’mon girl, Anne’s my best friend. Don’t be weird.’ She thought to herself.

“I… kinda agree with Sasha on this Mar-mar. I mean, I like the dark look.” Anne said quickly at seeing Marcy pout. “I just think I want something a little less… um…”

“No, it’s fine. Really.” Marcy said just as quickly, putting her hands up with a smile. She then reached into her bag and started to rummage through it. “I actually brought something I think you’d look great in Anne.”

She pulled out a deep green sleeveless dress with black, blocky embroidery along the hem as well as the neck line. Actually, the more Anne looked at it, the more it looked like…

“Marcy.”

“Yeah, Anne-tastic?” Marcy asked, then frowned and shook her head. “Yeah, Anne?”

“Where did you get a Minecraft Creeper Dress?”

“Oh, this?” Marcy looked it over and held it up against herself. “Well, while you and Sasha were talking about clothes I saw the dress a few stores down so I decided to bring it over.” She held it up to Anne. “You like?”

Anne just blinked at her. “You found, bought, and brought over a whole dress in the little bit me and Sasha talked?”

Marcy blinked owlishly, before wincing. “I… might have forgotten to pay for it?”

Anne choked on air while Sasha laughed, picking up Marcy in a hug and lifting her. “Oh, I just knew there was a little rebel in you Mar-mar! I’m so proud!”

Anne laughed at the display while Marcy went into yet another little panic, her mind repeating the word ‘Strong’ over and over as she was twirled with little to no difficulty.

‘Why am I like this? They’re my friends and I'm being… very weird about them today.’ Marcy frowned to herself. Anne, meanwhile, kept eyeing something out of the corner of her eye and walked over to what looked like a rack of extremely glittery and girly dresses.

“I’m, I'm going to try one of these on, i think.” She said as she grabbed something that looked blue and ran back into the changing room.

Sasha and Marcy sat back down on the bench and waited.

And waited some more.

“She’s looking very nice, isn’t she?” Marcy asked suddenly.

“Hmm?” Sasha looked over at Marcy, the taiwanese girl not looking in her direction at all as she asked. If Sasha had looked up, she would have been able to see Marcy’s face in the mirror and see the blush on her cheeks. “Yeah. I mean, she looks okay I guess.”

‘More than okay, actually.’ And there were her weird thoughts again, she’d been having them more and more since Anne came out to them. She’d always had a crush on her when she was a guy so it make sense that she was coming to terms with not liking her now that she was a girl.

… right? That was what was happening, right? She wasn’t, she was straight. She liked guys, not girls. She had the years-long crush on Anne to prove it too!

“Okay, I'm ready.”

The curtain pulled open and Sasha and Marcy felt their breath be stolen.

Anne was… she was. She was wearing a beautiful dark blue dress with a light blue top, little gems played across the top that sparkled in the light. She fiddled with the hem of the dress as she looked at her two friends.

“So, um, how do I look?” She asked hesitantly.

Sasha and Marcy, they had no words. Sasha could only stare at Anne as her mind went haywire, her thoughts running together as she did so.

‘Holy shit, holy shit! She’s soo gorgeous, what the hell! I liked her when she was a guy, but now? Oh my god, she’s too goddamn beautiful, this is too much.’ Sasha went increasingly redder as she realized a truth she could no longer ignore.

She was attracted to Anne.

She was attracted to Anne as a girl just as she had been attracted to her as a guy.

She was Bisexual and attracted to Anne no matter what.

‘Oh my god, I’m Bi!’

As her thoughts went even crazier at the realization she wasn’t as straight as she thought, Sasha managed to croak out “It looks great, girlfriend!” in a shaky voice.

Marcy, meanwhile, had gone so red in the face that she pulled her hoodie strings tight, covering up her face. She held up two thumbs up, as she didn’t trust her voice to not say something extremely embarrassing like ‘You’re the most beautiful girl I've ever seen,’ or ‘Please go out with me, I want to ruin our friendship and turn it into a romance actually.’

‘I’m too gay for this. I’m gay and she’s too pretty I’m going too die. I’m attracted to both of my best friends, what the heck!?’

Anne just looked between the two, confusion running through her as well as… happiness? A weird sort of happiness that came from seeing her two friends flustered over her.

‘I… like them looking at me like this…’ Anne blinked as that thought popped into her head. Where the heck had that come from?

“Great, uh, I'm gonna go pay for it i guess.” Anne went back into the dressing room. The second the curtain pulled closed Marcy collapsed and covered her already hoodie covered face with her hands as the words “Prettyprettypretty…” repeated over and over.

Sasha just sat and looked into space as she came to terms with the fact she was Bi and in love with her best friend.

All the while, the shop keeper just smirked as she watched the girls panic.

‘Oh my god, these bitches are gay. Good for them, good for them.’ She thought to herself. She’d give them a discount.

Maybe.

[lipstickbisous]

𝐛𝐥𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐢𝐜𝐞 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦

a/n: this is for @celestialbarnes' 4k writing challenge!! the prompt is "you said you loved me." "i lied." it's funny bc with the character and prompts i actually found this super challenging, but i loved writing it!!

pairing: bucky barnes x reader, former!stucky

summary: when the nightmares come, and the memories return, at least he has you there. and when he doesn't, his ghost appears.

warnings: angst central, mentions of financial struggles, implied suicidal thoughts, reader is a dick, mentions of stucky, sad!bucky, smut; sir!kink, bucky speaking russian, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), choking, creampie, slight cockwarming 18+ MINORS DNI

word count: 3.2k

the following work is my own writing. do not plagairise or copy and paste my works onto another platform. message me about credit.

masterlist

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

his iron hand is covered in a felt glove that hits the hem of his jacket sleeve, entirely concealing the vibranium from prying eyes. metallic fingers lift a gathering of plastic bags filled with groceries almost tearing through the bottom like he's lifting air. the weight on his left arm hangs with a force of gravity as he struggles to push in the key to his front door. the ceiling lights of his apartment hallway would've been considered tasteful in 1945, but now he could see the shadow of cobwebs and dust collecting on the tops. it created a filter over the lighting that made the hallway look haunted and abandoned.

when bucky had been pardoned by the government, he didn't see it as a sign of hope. he knew that without steve, there was no one to assure that he'd be given a safe home, he'd be protected. and without steve, life had been duller and gray. there had been a blossoming love for the blue-eyed man that sat inside of his chest, and then, it had started to plant itself deep in the burrows of his heart. seaweed-colored vines found themselves tracing the outline of his skeleton, and each leaf that bloomed was another aching memory of him. moments in brooklyn that had taken place decades ago were still fresh and he dreamed of them every night. how was bucky to cut them out by himself?

when he looked up, he saw the tufts of blonde hair underneath the hallway lights. his lips were parted in shock as his heart shattered again. "i'm sorry," he had whispered, shoving his hands together nervously, picking at his nails and the sleeve of his navy blue jacket. bucky's mind was racing, heart was soaring as he approached him, and he wanted nothing more than to run into his arms.

"need help?" a voice echoed through the hallway, and suddenly, the walls didn't seem so haunted anymore. he was gone, but that was for the better because here you were and bucky didn't need anything else. you were light and when his eyes looked up at you, he could've sworn an intake of oxygen forced itself into his 100-year old lungs.

it was an easy answer. bucky didn't need to do it by himself, because just in the moment of his thundering darkness, of the smallest thoughts at would it be like to end it right there, you took a pair of shears and slashed away all the vines. the leaves scattering the insides of his body fell, and the suffocating grip the roots of that toxic love had on his heart were released. bucky could breathe again and steve was forgotten. because here you were.

and god, was he thankful. he only lightly chuckled while a deep red hue took over the skin of his cheeks. you approached him delicately, licking your tongue over your lips for repeated moisture and reached out to take the key from his quivering hand. he stepped to the side with a small smile and allowed you to unlock his door. he'd allowed you so many things, opening so many places he didn't know existed...not even steve could do that. "what'd you buy today?" you asked, grabbing several of the bags he had and set them on his kitchen counter.

he followed your actions and shrugged, "not much," and flipped the switch of his kitchen lights. they were a blaring white-light that made his head hurt if he looked at them for too long. damn it, he thought to himself. new light bulbs were the one thing he'd forgotten while at the store. "just enough to get through the week." he would've offered to cook you dinner, but with the assumption that with this late hour you would've already eaten, he shrugged it off. "what're you here for?"

it was an abrupt question but he didn't mean it with harmful intentions. with a sigh, you crossed your arms and looked to the tile floors. the way he looked at you were if he was a small bird, his wings broken and feathers plucked and you were the only one who could heal him. "i didn't know if you were busy," but the healing was over. he could finally soar again without a limp and you were no longer needed--it hurt to think about for too long. "i didn't want you to be alone."

he could feel his heart swelling to a size ten times larger than what it had been before, locked away in its ivory cage. the only one who had held the key had been him, but you tore it from his hands because he did not deserve it. you did. "i don't want to be a bother to you," he smiled poorly and ineffectively. there was still that small part of james buchanan barnes that doubted everything everyone told him, and you were hoping all the moments in the world spent together could fix that.

"jesus," you mutter with a light breath, one that's small but enough to replenish bucky with life. "you're never a bother to me. i love you." those words would be the death of him. he longed to hear them as he fell from the train, whispered into his ear every time his memory was reset because bucky had never gotten a chance to do something for himself. but this--this relationship, this beautiful thing he had with you--he finally had control. you begin to unpack the groceries he'd gotten, seeing that a carton of black cherry ice-cream was already beginning to melt, but before you get the chance to throw it in his freezer, bucky's ionic arm pulls you by the waist.

the other one grabs your cheek and attaches his lips to yours with an aggressive but desperate kiss that ached with need. he was soft and warm, darting his tongue between the opening to your mouth and letting it meet yours. with the sudden though appreciated action, you let the ice cream carton fall to his kitchen floor, the lid popping off so that white cream and cherry chunks create a puddle near your feet. bucky doesn't dare break the connection of you two as he lifts you by your thighs, hoisting your around his waist and carrying you to his bedroom door.

his lock had been broken when he'd moved into the damp and smelly apartment, so he turned himself around and pushed the door open with his broad back as you peeled the fabric that covered his chest. his shirt was dismantled to the side, left to find sometime in the morning. "james-" you whispered through your kiss because, as he'd told you the one night you had shared dinner, you were the only one allowed to say that name. that small part of him that was still james buchanan barnes wanted to hear it from your lips only.

"sh," he quickly silenced you, placing you underneath him on his mattress like you were a delicate feather, and a touch too rough would turn you to dust. his metallic fingers pulled the ragged jeans you'd chosen that morning, leaving your legs bare to the freezing air of his home. he noticed the way your skin prickled with the cold and immediately engulfed your lower half with him. you were soothed with a loving rush of warmth as he peppered wet kisses around your thighs and waist. the bumps on your skin were gone and you felt whole again. his kisses moved to your stomach as he crawled over you with a look in his eyes you'd seen before.

"please, james," you threw your head back once his lips latched themselves to your neck. one arm wrapped around your torso, supporting your back, and the other was tracing the outline of your body with gentle touches. trailing from your shoulder to your waist, to the place between your legs that ached. cotton panties clothed your bottom and front, but they'd have to do more to get in his way.

he looks away for one moment and freezes. there he is, sitting in the chair bucky had placed in the corner of his room. he wore only a tight pair of black boxers and it clung to his skin like a second layer. his hair, dirty blonde and greasy, hung on his forehead. he had his head propped on his hand, watching intently at you both. but when your hands cupped his cheeks, and pressed him closer to you, he disappeared and the anxiety melted into your touch.

the tip of his finger pressed directly on your clothed clit as soon as he began to suck on your jaw, pushing your head back even more than before. "baby," you immediately clenched around nothing, squeezing your hand around the metal limb and he could've sworn you almost bent it.

his chuckle was deep and rumbled from his chest so that it vibrated your entire body underneath him. "what do you want, honey?" his voice dripped with fox-like slyness and his smirk had you flooding into his head.

"make me feel good..." you trailed off, eyes fluttering shut so you never noticed him move lower down your body. he pulled your panties to the side and pressed his tongue flat against your folds, so your warmer and wetter than before. his spit mixes with your fluids when he rips the cotton into shreds and throws it next to your head. "please, sir," you croak and bucky growls into your core between your legs. you wrap them around his neck and his face only reddens a tiny bit when his primary focus becomes exploring the inside of your heat. his tongue darts past your opening, wet as he pushes through the barrier only slightly stretching you. the muscle is tight and clamps down around him, but he lets the tip of his tongue push up, down, to the sides, and up again.

you released the pressure around his neck mostly because the addition of his finger against your bead was more than enough to handle. "i know you love that, doll," he whispers against your cunt, literally dripping juices from his mouth. it trails down his chin where it sticks to the curve of your ass. "love my fingers toying with your little pussy, edging you so you can cum all over my mouth," his words are filth, but then again, he has his face shoved against your wet lips, his nose bumping that sensitive spot so you moaned even louder with every passing second.

your nods are stuttered with a, "yes, sir," before he pulls away, placing both of his hands by your shoulders and meeting your eyes. you whine and groan, letting your hips rub the air for some sort of friction and bucky only smirked. gone was the thought of him and here was the beautiful presence of you. he began to unbuckle his belt, unbuttoning his jeans and sliding over the boxers covering his manhood. he held his weight in his hand, giving small strokes so he grew firmer and heavier, rubbing the head through your folds to gather your slick. you moaned, "no, james, let me help-"

his fingers took your chin so your eyes drew from his length and met him. "i just want you," bucky whispers inches away from you and pressed himself against your hole, stretching open your walls so you suffocated him. "so perfect, doll, so fucking tight."

your moan took control of his heart, leaving a clenched fist squeezing the muscle in his chest. you pressed your head into his hand he'd placed underneath you, curving your back so he rutted into a new angle. "m-more, sir," you whispered breathlessly, and it almost came out with a rasp.

"what was that, little girl?" he sneered, smirking into your ear. you could feel hot breath fanning against the side of your head, an addition to the pleasure in between your legs. his fingers trailed down your stomach with a little tickle to wear your clit dragged against his length as he continued to set a brutal pace. his balls met your ass with every pounding thrust, and his fingers harshly pinched your clit. "this good enough for you, baby doll?"

your nods are rapid and desperate, eyes squeezing shut when he hits that spot inside you. he notices it when he does--your mouth twitches and your hand shoots up to the wrist that holds your clit when he begins to rub it. "yes, sir, t-thank you," your voice cracks, words are staggered, and it's exactly how bucky likes to see you. vulnerable because he made you this way. all undone just for him.

the hand underneath your head manages to wrap around your neck, applying a pressure that cuts off your air supply. "fuck, sweetheart, this cunt's wrapped around me so tight," all of the pain, all of the suffering, and all of the dreams of ending it were nonexistent in moments like these. everything that was remnant of him was gone and for once, bucky was okay that. "so fucking perfect," he cried, eyes watering when you clenched down around him. his ghost no longer haunted him in both the shadows and light. it was like you scared him away, arms defensively shielding bucky from any harm that he could possibly cause. and yet, here you were, unraveling like a thread from a sweater simply because he could do it to you.

the pressure on your pearl, his thumb ensuring you couldn't fully breathe, and the way he continuously rammed into your sensitive spot, you were so close. you could already feel yourself just barely letting go around him, and he could too. "not yet, malen'kiy," he grinned, leaning down so his lips dragged over your chest down to where you bud clung to the cold air of his home. his eyes met yours with a playful glance as soon as he wrapped his lips around your nipple, immediately sucking harshly.

"you're evil," you manage to giggle cutting yourself off with an unexpected, pornographic moan when his teeth nipped down around you. he pulls his hand away from your neck to hear what other noises you have to give.

his chuckle was deep once again and this time, it vibrated your entire body. both of your bodies fluidly moved together, pushing and messing up the sheets he'd tightly fitted against his mattress earlier that day. you knew there'd be a puddle of your juices left on the blankets, and like always, you'd offer to wash them for him and bucky would decline. "just cum, doll," he speaks lowly. he's teasing you and he knows it.

"c-can i please cum, sir?" you batted your eyes, innocently pouting for a release. it was close and painful to hold it back any longer, growing more intense with every moment passing.

the smirk played on his lips was threatening and scary. you couldn't even remember all the times he'd denied you of an organism, pushing you over so that your toes dangled off the edge of the cliff only to pull you back. with his lips still wrapped around your bud, his hips still jutting against yours like he was a rabid dog, grunting and groaning, he spoke clearly, "cum."

if bucky could record your moans, cries, sobs, and screams--and maybe he has...--he'd listen to it until the day he died. your thighs shook around his hips, somehow loosening and tightening yourself. as you flooded around him, he could feel the warmth surrounding his length and just as you finished convulsing, clawing his vibranium arm and pulling at his hair, his tip brushed harshly against your cervix.

"fuck!" he groaned, as a shot of white fluid filled you to brim, leaving a heavy weight that spilled out with a tickle when he finally pulled from you. "oh, honey..." he must've stayed inside you for an hour, collapsing so his chest met yours and his kisses stayed on your jaw. and when the emptiness did return, leaving you to miss his cock already, he watched your eyelids fall heavy with sleep. bucky pulled the blanket over you, falling slump next to your body and wrapping his arms around yours.

your light snores and breaths were music that lulled him to sleep. the white noise he needed because the silence was scary now. he'd stayed awake for two hours after you'd fallen asleep, watching the way your chest rose and fell with an inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale pattern. and when his eyes drifted over to the armchair in the corner of his room, his ghost was no longer there to taunt him.

time flew and morning came, like always. and like always, you left without anything to wear underneath your pants and a kiss on the lips from him.

his feet padded throughout his apartment floor, wearing nothing more than black boxers and a cheap cotton t-shirt he'd gotten that barely protected him. he strolled over to his window that overlooked the street, and chuckled when he noticed you discreetly limp to your car. as you drove away, creating a distance between you, that darkness that overtook his soul returned. your presence drifted and no more could he hold you, and now, the vines began to grow.

they grew lethal thorns, bloomed toxic blossoms around his heart. he began to suffocate again, feeling a pain his chest that only you could alleviate. but now you were gone. it was when bucky wandered into his kitchen with sagging shoulders, he stepped into a wet puddle of melted ice cream and black cherries. it covered the ball of his foot with a sticky, gross layer and he collapsed.

he folded, leaning into his lap and holding his head in his hands. tears leaked into his palm, slipping through the cracks of his fingers and onto the floor. his face turned a bright red, only this time it was due to a rush of blood and an oncoming headache. he cried your name, he cried his name, and on the third body-racking sob of a garbled "steve", it was like he had summoned his arrival.

his phantom presence left a chilling feeling in the air. and without even having to look up, bucky knew that this version of steve wasn't even real. this wasn't his ghost. this wasn't him. this wasn't him returning to see bucky because he cared. this was a part of bucky's imagination, a sick and twisted form of therapy because when bucky didn't have you, he had nothing else. "you said you loved me," he had cried, biting down on his knuckles and wrist. when he met his blue eyes with a heartbroken glance, steve's expression didn't budge.

bucky had created this version of steve--this evil and cruel version of him that only made this heartache worse. he brought this torture on himself and now, he could barely handle it.

he stood, towering above him with his fists clenched. his eyes bore a hot hole in bucky's skull and every passing moment was hell. there were flames beginning to engulf bucky's body, burning his skin and leaving him as a pile of dust. after all, that's what he had been for those past five years, leaving him to learn that he didn't really need bucky. and that tore every part of him apart.

"i lied." he muttered, lips tight against his teeth as if it hurt him to say it. but still, he stood above bucky with an emotionless stare.

his cries filled the walls of his home for the rest of the day, waiting for the next chance he got to hold you again.

mutuals: @balenciagabucky @cloudystevie @honeyloverogers @steebsbabygirl @ronimina @honeychicana @fairytaleseb @just-one-ordinary-fangirl @avengersbau @bvckysmoon @sapphireplums @a-little-counter-esperanto @letters-to-esme @capsiclecevans @babyyhoneyydarling @honeysucklesteve

[retrievablememories]

stuck with you | yoongi

title: stuck with you pairing: yoongi x reader, taehyung and jimin as side characters genre: fluff request: “Can you do a idol!Min Yoongi of BTS request of his crush being best friends with Jimin and Taehyung and him and his crush consistently fluster the other but they never realize until one day he does and finally make as move despite everyone telling them for weeks that they like each other?” word count: 3.3k warnings: some cursing, mentions of the pandemic a/n: i’ve been actively avoiding writing anything concerning the pandemic/lockdown cuz let’s be real, we’re all here to have fun, not think about real-life shit...but i decided to try it here

i wasn’t sure how to write their living arrangements tho since most of them seem to have their own places? so i just used the hannam the hill house for reference 🤪

“How have things been for you guys lately?”

Taehyung and Jimin exchange skeptical looks with each other, which you don’t catch because you’re too busy picking over your food.

“We’ve all been stuck in the same damn place for weeks now, so you tell me.” Taehyung chuckles, shaking his head. 

You visiting their house right before the stay-at-home mandate was issued ended up with the three of you—plus Yoongi, to your luck—being cooped up in the same house for almost two weeks now. It wasn’t wholly a bad thing, since you got to be with your two best friends, but living with three men was pretty much as messy as you’d expected it to be. “Wow. Never thought we’d run out of things to talk about.”

Jimin tries to humor you. “Things have been fine, you know...same as always. Except for Yoongi-hyung acting like a lovesick weirdo. But you wouldn’t know about that, would you…?” Jimin feigns an innocent look.

You look up from your plate. “A lovesick weirdo for who?”

“We’ve been through this like 20 times already, Y/N,” Jimin sighs.

“Yes, and every time I tell you you must have the wrong person because that makes no sense whatsoever.”

“He’s lovesick over you,” Taehyung reiterates, like you didn’t catch the gist the first time around.

“I don’t think Yoongi likes me.” You shake your head and make a face at the notion of it, trying to disguise your irritation at them constantly trying to provoke your emotions.

“Why not? There’s a lot to like about you, don’t downgrade yourself.” Jimin insists.

“He doesn’t even act like he does. If anything, he gets all odd around me.”

“That’s just how he is,” Taehyung says, leaning back in his chair. “You’d think you’d start to catch onto this after being here for so long, but…”

“No, she’s too busy being too embarrassed and intimidated to even get within 4 meters of him.” Jimin and Taehyung both giggle at that, and you shake your head.

“You guys are like little schoolkids. How many more big tales are you going to think up before our quarantine lifts? You could probably write a book by the end.”

Taehyung shrugs, putting his arms behind his head. “I might do that, as long as you let me make you and hyung the star-crossed lovers who are too dumb to tell each other how they feel.” He stretches his leg under the table to nudge your shin with his toes, knowing how you hate when he puts his bare feet on you, and he cackles when you protest loudly.

“Will you stop trying to get my hopes up for nothing—?” 

Speak of the devil and he shall appear. Yoongi steps out onto the terrace with the three of you a few minutes later. He shields his eyes against the sun’s sudden brightness after he slides open the glass door, holding his other arm up.

“Look who’s appeared!” Jimin says excitedly, his eyes glittering with enthusiasm.

“You’re loud,” Yoongi grumbles, though he’s mostly speaking to Taehyung and Jimin. “I can hear you laughing from downstairs.” Your body tenses up and melts all at the same time, and suddenly you feel like you don’t know how to do anything right—like hold your chopsticks correctly. They shoot out of your hand when you try to use them again and hit the patio floor. You look at them forlornly.

“You good?” Yoongi asks, a smile fluttering across his lips at your clumsy actions.

“Uh, yeah I’m fine.” You can only glance back at him, embarrassed that you’ve made yourself look like a clown. Jimin laughs like he’s just witnessed the funniest thing on Earth. You shake your head and push away from the table, wanting—no, needing—a quick exit. “I’ll just find some more of those…”

Jimin shakes himself free of his sudden bout of laughter and jumps at the opportunity. “Wait, I’ll get them for you.” He bolts up from the chair before you can even think about it and goes back into the house, already planning to take his sweet time on his mission to get you new chopsticks. Taehyung picks up the hint almost instantly.

Yoongi turns back to the doorway after Jimin disappears through it, his movements a few beats too late—as if he’s just now realizing the other man left. “What was that about—”

“Oh shit!” Taehyung’s exclamation cuts into Yoongi’s question. In a sweeping motion, Taehyung “accidentally” elbows your water off the table, sending the bottle splashing out onto the patio in sad little streams. You jerk away from the splash, but the water droplets have already gotten you.

“What the hell?!”

Taehyung shrugs like it was inevitable and gives a sheepish smile. There’s an undeniable scheme lingering in his eyes, though. “Looks like I’ll have to get you another one.” He stands up to get your aforementioned water, though you begin to form the idea that you’re not getting any water at all.

You sigh and rub your fingers across your forehead. The heat of the sun has turned from pleasant to uncomfortable, and you don’t even have your water to take the edge off. Great.

Yoongi turns back to you, his eyebrows creased. “That was weird.”

“They’re just trying to…” Force us together? You’re too embarrassed to say anything like that, and your words trail off in a stammer. Why did they ever think this would be a good idea? Yoongi raises his eyebrows in curiosity at your bitten-off answer. “An-anyway, that doesn’t matter. So...what are you doing out here?”

Yoongi shrugs, smirking slightly. “Well, I do live here.”

You snort to cover the way your stomach cuts a flip at his smirk, and you reach for your food in a nervous gesture before you remember your chopsticks are still gone. “You sorta seem like a vampire, though. I’m surprised you came out to get some sun.”

Yoongi mulls over that thought. “Hmm…a vampire, huh?” He runs a hand through his pitch-black hair, and even though the gesture is just an afterthought, it makes your heart skip a beat. You almost want to roll your eyes at your reaction to that simple movement. “Don’t tell me you were one of those obsessive Twilight fans over a decade ago.”

“And if I was?”

“Would you enjoy being bitten by a vampire?” Yoongi regrets it as soon as he says it, and you ducking your head into your hands doesn’t help the flaming embarrassment. “Fuck, that was stupid—sorry.” Your shoulders are shaking with laughter, and even though it’d be cute in another context, he feels like he’s about to combust. So he decides to make a run for it. Maybe a cowardly move on his part, but it seems like the best one right now.

“Hyung, you can’t be serious—” Jimin calls out to Yoongi as the older man brushes past once he gets back indoors, but the other man tries his best to ignore Jimin as a blush crawls up his neck. “Go back and tell her. It was the perfect moment!”

“There’s gonna be a lot more of that mess until we can leave,” Taehyung says, peering through the glass at your now confused expression and shaking his head. “God, one of them needs to say something before I lose my mind.”

--

Like Taehyung predicted, there’s a lot more of “that mess” over the next week. You and Yoongi continue to tip-toe around each other, unsure of how to appropriately handle each other and never unable to shake the awkwardness that colors every interaction.

The most notable incident of all, however, occurs when Yoongi does his laundry one day and somehow finds a pair of your underwear mixed in with his clothes after taking them out of the dryer. How the hell did they even get there, and how did he not notice them before?

Bound to his usual fierce overthinking, he stands there for a few long moments, wondering what he should do. Obviously, the only answer would be to return them to you. But then what if you think that’s weird, him somehow having your underwear? Or what if you assume he’s some pervert who’d taken your panties on purpose?

And to his great luck, that’s precisely when you walk into the laundry room. You give him a timid smile and greeting, which melts away into pure embarrassment when you see him standing there as if he’d just been framed for murder—and your deep red panties sitting in his laundry pile.

Yoongi’s gaze darts between the laundry and your eyes, his jaw working aimlessly as he tries to come up with something that makes sense.

He decides on “I didn’t know they were there,” though this feels just as inadequate as it sounds.

“M-maybe I threw them in the wrong bin,” you rush out, and in the same breath you cross the room to practically snatch them out of the pile of his clothes. You know you couldn’t have done it, though, which leads your mind back to those two sneaky men who’ve been trying to exercise their terrible matchmaking skills as of late.

“A-ah, yeah—maybe,” Yoongi agrees half-heartedly, rubbing the back of his neck.

You both pause for what feels like an eternity, for a reason you can’t decipher, and you think you might burst from the sheer discomfort of it all. “Well—th-thanks. One less thing to wash, I guess.” You try to laugh, but the sound comes out high and forced. Similarly, Yoongi’s answering smile is tight around the corners.

The next few days after that, you are both unable to maintain any kind of eye contact. Taehyung and Jimin are endlessly amused by the way you and the older man dance around each other like two ghosts struggling to inhabit the same space.

You make up for it slightly by turning all of Jimin’s white shirts into a splotchy pink once you find out that this was indeed his terrible and silly idea.

--

You’ve been sleeping in Jimin’s and Taehyung’s beds since you’ve been barricaded in their home with them, which none of you really think twice about. You’ve been friends with them for years and don’t see either of them other than platonically, so it’s not awkward for you or them. Although it was originally intended for you to mostly stay in Jimin’s bed, you end up alternating between the two, climbing into whoever’s bed you feel like that particular night. Neither of them mind the switch-up, and Taehyung likes using you as his personal pillow, so it all works out.

If there was anyone who minded at all, it was Yoongi. It wasn’t a burning jealousy, because he knew he had no right to feel like that about you—not when he couldn’t even admit to you that he liked you. But it didn’t make him want to jump for joy to know you were in either of the younger men’s beds, even just as friends.

He spent many nights imagining you were beside him instead, warming the empty spaces of his bed, whispering to him and telling him about your day. It didn’t matter if he already knew everything you did that day because you’d all been living in the same space for weeks. He still wanted to know. 

But until either of you made a move, he didn’t know when that would happen. If ever.

He didn’t even know if you’d be interested, or if you saw him the way he saw you. You were never as close to him as you’d been with the other two men, and although that could be explained by you being best friends with them for years, he honestly chalked it up to you not liking him as much. Taehyung and Jimin had tried to tell him the exact opposite several times before, but he wasn’t really convinced. Not with the way you seemed to lock up around him—like if you said or did the wrong thing, he’d hate you forever.

If only you knew he could never feel that way about you.

--

You decide to sneak your way to the kitchen for a late-night snack one night, your socked feet scuffing quietly on the floor as you make your way to the kitchen. However, your plan is derailed when you run into Yoongi in the hallway, who has apparently just taken a shower. He’s fully clothed—thank God, because you’re not sure how you would’ve survived it otherwise—but the towel on his wet hair speaks to his recent shower. Your immediate response is to jump in surprise, feeling like you’ve been caught red-handed; although there’s no law stopping you from getting something to eat in the middle of the night.

“Oh—Yoongi.”

“You’re still up?” he asks, pulling the towel away from his face so he can see you better.

“Uh, yeah...I was just getting something to eat, I guess.”

“No crime in that. You’re tip-toeing around like you’re nervous about it, though.”

“I didn’t want to wake anyone up.” You shrug your shoulders, trying to appear more nonchalant than you really feel. “But I see you’re already up…” Your words trail off behind you as you walk into the kitchen. Yoongi watches your retreating back before making the split-second decision to follow you. He’s not really sure why, previously intending to go back to his own room. 

“Were you getting something to eat too?” you ask, turning back to glance at him when you hear his footsteps behind you. You’re admittedly happy at the idea of spending a little more time alone with Yoongi, though you’re still nervous as hell.

It’s probably not the best idea to say I just came because I wanted to be next to you, so he nods to your question. "Uh, sure, I guess. What were you gonna get?”

“I don’t really know, just whatever’s in here…” You open the fridge and stare into it absentmindedly, your eyes raking over the food but not really seeing it—not with Yoongi’s presence hovering behind you.

Eventually you settle on some leftover rice and kimchi—which there’s always plenty of—not wanting to expend too much energy on cooking anything new.

You and Yoongi sit at the table together, using the light of your phone’s flashlight and the under-cabinet lights to illuminate the room instead of the overhead. Maybe it’s a little strange, but you like the ambiance of it more than having the harsh overhead light on.

The room is quiet for a while as you both eat, which you don’t initially mind. But you can’t ignore how Yoongi keeps stealing glances at you, like you aren’t going to notice, like he isn’t sitting right in front of you where you can see. It makes you antsy, but not necessarily in a bad way.

“Is something up?” you finally ask, keeping your eyes on your half-empty bowls, too nervous to look straight at him.

He hums like he’s thinking intently about it. Then he decides to rip the band-aid off and says, “You’re always tense around me.”

“Oh.”

He chuckles at your short response. “Why?”

You feel like you’ve been backed into a corner, and you hesitate. “Well, you’re always weird around me. Why is that?”

“Touché.” Another tense pause where he thinks of what to say, and then, “Jimin and Taehyung swear you like me.”

You try not to react so obviously, but your spoon clatters against the side of the bowl. If he’s acting weird because of the idea of you liking him, how can it be possible that he returns the feelings? Maybe he doesn’t know how to let you down easily. You suddenly feel ridiculous, like you’ve been wasting your emotions on nothing. “...I see.”

“I thought they were...trying to play some game. But, since you’re here now...is it true?”

Maybe if you close your eyes hard enough, you can poof yourself out of existence. If you felt trapped before, you really are now. You blurt out the first thing you can think of, trying to save yourself.

“Before you think I’m stupid for liking you, you should know they’ve been saying the same thing to me about you. So. Yeah.”

Yoongi looks at you full-on. “They told you I like you?” A nervous grin fixes itself on his lips, which makes you second-guess yourself. At this point, your head and heart are tangled in a knot. Why does your love life have to be this difficult? “So that’s it, then.”

“What is?”

“We like each other.” That makes your heart rate pick up. “...and didn’t even figure it out until just now, despite everyone else’s ‘help’.”

You take a shaky breath. “You like me.”

Yoongi nods, glancing between his hands on the table and your face. “I should’ve said it sooner.”

Despite yourself, you feel the corners of your mouth twitch into a slight smile—one that’s colored with relief and a tinge of lingering nervousness. “Later is better than never, I guess.” You find yourself laughing from the way all your stress slowly unwinds itself from your body, and Yoongi joins you, his eyes sparkling in the dark.

“So. This means we’re dating now, right?”

“I hope this isn’t considered our first date.” You snort, looking around the kitchen.

Yoongi shakes his head, placing his cheek in his hand with a sleepy smile. “I promise I’ll take you somewhere nice...after the pandemic is over.”

“We might be waiting a while, then.” Finished with your food, you go to quickly wash the dishes in the sink, and Yoongi slides in next to you to do the same. Another silence falls over the two of you, but for the first time, it’s not uncomfortable or pulled taut with words unsaid.

When you finish, Yoongi leans against the counter, his eyes openly tracing over you, wearing just a big T-shirt and shorts. It’s a simple outfit, but it warms his heart.

“Come sleep with me,” he says suddenly. You crack an awkward smile at that, and he’s blushing before the last syllable even leaves his lips, because he understands how that sounds. “I mean, actually sleep. It’s late.”

You pretend to hesitate on it. “I don’t know, Taehyung might miss me…”

“Taehyung and Jimin have had you all to themselves the past few weeks. It’s my turn now.”

And with that, you let him take your hand and guide you back to his room, maneuvering carefully through the dark house. His bed is new to you, but it’s instantly comfortable—like home. The smell of him surrounds you, as does his arms when he pulls you closer. You smile against the fabric of his shirt as you tuck your face into his chest, his chin on top of your head.

“Goodnight,” he murmurs, his fingers curling around your shoulder. His voice is soft and low, already halfway to sleep.

“Goodnight, Yoongi.”

[wish-that-i-was-buckys-girl]

hey! could i possibly request a blaine one shot where the reader is another girl working on the ski patrol with blaine and they absolutely hate each other, but one day they get stuck in a snowstorm during work and end up lost for a few days? and during those few days they just get more and more lied up with each other until they just end up hate-fucking our in the open? it can end however, but i’ve been dying for some blaine action🥰🥰thank you💕

Thank you so much nonnie! I enjoyed writing this so much. I hope you enjoy it too!

Warnings: Fat Shaming, smut, slight bullying.

If there are any misspellings I’m sorry! I wrote this all on tumblr and didn’t get a time to proofread it in a different document.

Ice, Ice, Baby.

_______________________________________________

You walked to the cafe for hot chocolate at seven o’clock in the morning to prepare for your shift. It wasn’t easy being on ski patrol, that’s for sure.

Dads always tried hitting on you while you were trying to watch their wives kids struggle to learn the most basic of skiing. You just nodded in agreement and smiled a little to get through the conversations. Wouldn’t wanna get written up for being “rude” to a paying member of the resort. It wasn’t always so bad, some of the dads were kind of cute, and they always tipped well if you just did the bare minimum of looking good and reacting to their advances. You weren’t even supposed to get tipped, but that didn’t stop them. However, you didn’t enjoy watching their wives glare at you around dinner time. You could always feel their eyes burning into the back of your head.

Although you absolutely loathed the attention from the dad’s (besides the occasional tip), there was one reason why you absolutely dreaded going to work every day.

Blaine. You could say he was the Blaine of your existence. Shitty dad jokes always crept into your head due to how much time you end up spending with them.

You had tried being nice the first couple of weeks into the job, only to be met with incredible amounts of misogyny and downright assholeishness. God, you hated him. It was so unlike you to hate anyone, but the kid was ruthless.

He always made nasty remarks about the way you look, whether it was your facial features or your weight, he had it covered. Even though he always tried to get his friends to join in on the action, they never did. Everyone else liked you at the resort. Blaine was the only problem.

You made your way up to your snowmobile, tredging in the deep snow with your backpack and snow shoes on. You secured your hot chocolate and your backpack before riding it all the way up to your post. The post wasn’t too bad by itself. It was close to a nearby cabin in case of emergencies, stocked with food, with working water and electricity to last for up to a month. Even longer if it was less than 4 people.

You finally arrived at your post, hoping Blaine wouldn’t be there yet.

He was.

Fuck.

“You’re looking plump today y/n, more than usual. Must be from all the hot chocolate you’ve been drinking” he said laughing to Chaz. Chaz just rolled his eyes under his sunglasses. You could tell.

“Ha ha Blaine, you’re so original. It’s not like I’ve heard that one before yesterday. Or the day before that. Or the day before that.”

“Yeah, well I think saying it everyday is a good reminder. Maybe I’ll see you in the resort gym one day because of it.”

“Why? Is it cause ya wanna see my tits bounce in a sports bra? Get ya all hot and bothered?”

Blaine just gritted his teeth in response. You could tell he wanted to say something, but didn’t cause he didn’t want to give you the wrong idea. Or the right idea.

Blaine always had a pretty girl on his arm. You doubt he was attracted to you, but you say those things because it shuts him up every time.

You bundled up extra today. The news said there was a possibility of a snow storm, but it was highly unlikely. Still, the wind chill was extremely cold today, making you double up on the clothes underneath your snow suit. You wore a beanie, mittens, and a scarf too, just in case.

You and Chaz chatted for a while, Blaine giving you resentful side glances and a few eye rolls here and there to show his detest towards your interaction. God, what was his fucking problem?

At about noon, Chaz took his lunch, leaving you and Blaine alone for at least a half an hour.

Silence filled the mountains. Barely anyone was out on the slopes due to the potential storm coming, but that didn’t stop your job from making you go out anyways.

The silence was broken with a call from the walkie talkies. It was your manager, Janice.

“Get off the slopes, news just confirmed one of the worst snow storms to hit this side of the mountain in three years. I repeat ge-“

The walkie talkies went silent. The wind began to pick up, starling both you and Blaine. You acted quickly, knowing this could be a life or death situation. You both hopped on your snowmobiles to get to the cabin nearby. Unfortunately, Blaines wasn’t working. You quickly shouted “Get on!” Reluctantly, Blaine hopped on the back of your snowmobile. Thank god it was his snowmobile that wasn’t working. You’re not so sure Blaine would’ve rescued you if it was your snowmobile that died and not his.

You reached the cabin just in time, the snow finally picking up with the wind. You quickly grabbed the keys from your snowmobile and stuck them in the front door.

“Hurry! Jesus Christ we’ll die at this rate!”

“I’m trying asshole! Stop yelling at me!”

The door finally swung open. You and Blaine rushed inside, aggressively slamming the door behind you and locking it.

Both catching your breath while clutching onto your things, you made eye contact.

Of course you thought.

Of course I’m stuck with the one goddamn person who hates me in the middle of one of the biggest snowstorms of the decade.

Blaine didn’t hold back what he was thinking.

“Great, I’m stuck with Fat Albert with minimal supplies. We’ll be out of food by tomorrow.”

You scowled at him snd stood up.

“THAT’S IT. First of all, I’m not fat. Second off, even if I was, that is none of your goddamn business to make comments on it. I have fat on my body. Just because I’m not the twink of the century like you doesn’t mean I should be degraded for it. We are stuck here for god only knows how long. If you just shut up I’m sure we can make it through this. But you’ve got to stop being such a fucking asshole to me all the time.”

Blaine just stood there and rolled his eyes again at your response. At least he didn’t open his loud mouth.

Such a fucking drama queen.

_______________________________________________

As the sun began to set, your stomach started to growl, loudly. You resisted eating all day due to Blaines comments, but you knew you had to eat at some point.

You gathered the courage to make your way into the kitchen to look around.

Thank god they keep this up to date regularly.

There were tons of cans of different soups, ravioli, spaghetti, fruits and vegetables, and non-perishables that would keep you sustained for a long time. Especially with only two people being in the cabin.

You decided to microwave some of the ravioli. Just as you opened the microwave door, it shut again with a hand directly planted on the glass.

“Well well well, what do we have here? Is two ton Tony looking for a little snack?” Blaine said in a mocking tone.

“Fuck off Blaine. It’s dinner time, I’m hungry and I know you are too. You just haven’t eaten yet to prove a damn point and humiliate me. Now if you don’t shut up I will eat all the food and make sure you starve to death.”

He grimaced at your response and walked to a cupboard to look for food of his own. Thank god. You swore you were five seconds away from giving him a swift punch to the face.

You both ate your dinners in separate rooms. You didn’t want to interact with each other more than you had to.

After a few more hours of existing in separate rooms, you decided you wanted to fall asleep for the night. You casually walked into the bedroom, having absolutely no pajamas to change into, you figured you would either sleep with the clothes you had on or just sleep in your underwear. There were enough blankets to keep you warm if you did end up choosing the latter. As you walked into the room you noticed something horrible.

There was only one bed.

How could this even be possible? There were supposed to be four, as most times three to four people were on ski patrol.

Then you remembered three out of the four beds were taken out two months ago, as they were desperately disgusting. The shipments for the new beds hadn’t come in yet, figuring a situation like this wouldn’t even happen at all.

Go figure.

You decided since you got to the bedroom first, you’d have the bed. Fuck Blaine, he’d been an asshole to you the entire time you’ve known him, he can sleep on the damn couch.

You began to strip, thinking it was wise not to smell up the two sets of clothes you had to last you for god only knows how long.

You ended up sleeping in a bra and underwear. Normally you wouldn’t have even worn the bra, but considering Blaine was in the building and you couldn’t lock the bedroom door, you figured it was the safest bet.

As you crawled into bed you heard footsteps heading towards the bedroom.

Here we go.

Blaine entered, looking just as bewildered as you did when you found out there was only one bed.

“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”

You ignored his comment, simply rolling over under the covers.

He stormed over to the bed and ripped the blanket off, revealing your half-naked body in the process.

You became infuriated.

“Hey!!! Do you fucking mind!” You said screaming and grabbing for the blanket.

Blaine stood there in a daze for several seconds, not expecting to see as much as he was planning on seeing.

Thank god I had my bra on.

You expected Blaine to have a comeback to seeing your body. Something about a beached whale ending up in the bed, or anything along those lines. Surprisingly, he didn’t. He had nothing to say at all. He just turned around and slammed the door behind him.

What the fuck was his issue? Whatever it was, he better fix it fast. Your patience was running thin, and it was only day one.

_______________________________________________

Several days had gone by, and the snowstorm wasn’t slowing down at all.

Blaine had ignored you at all costs. If he had to interact with you, he always made some snide comment under his breath. This somehow pissed you off even more. At least before you didn’t have to guess what he was thinking, he said it directly to your face. Now, you had no clue what he was saying about you. God it made your blood boil.

It was around lunchtime again when you saw him. You had chosen to eat chicken noodle soup that day, as you had been colder that day compared to most others.

On your way out of the kitchen, you bumped into Blaine.

You heard him make a comment under his breath again, something alone the lines of “.......fucking bitch.......where you’re goin.”

You had had enough.

“What the fuck did you just say?”

He was taken aback by your abrasiveness. Nonetheless, he still had a response to your question.

“I said, watch where the hell you’re going you fucking bitch.” He enunciated slowly, in a condescending manner.

You were done.

“I’ve had enough of this fucking bullshit Blaine. Why the hell do you hate me so much? What the hell did I ever do to you?”

“Your looks have insulted me from the day I met you. I learned all that I needed to know by just looking at you.”

Out of no where, you decided to shove him. You shoved him so hard he hit the wall behind him.

He looked confused and offended.

“Did you just shove me?”

“I don’t know, did I just shove you? Or did you trip over your enormous fucking ego?”

Blaine stood up tall and pinned you to the wall.

He looked you dead in the face, his eyes piercing into you with anger and something else...

You returned his stare, hopefully having the same effect on him that he was having on you.

After staring at each other for what seemed like an eternity, Blaine kissed you, hard.

You resisted, you resisted so much but your head didn’t have anywhere to go. After a few seconds you gave into the kiss, slowly moving your lips with his. You hated to admit it, but his lips were so soft. It was like kissing clouds surrounding the gates to heaven.

Finally, Blaine pulled back and began staring into your eyes once more. Again, you lept at each other. You grabbed his hair and the side of his face, while he grabbed your hair and your ass to hike up your leg against his hip. Your lips were on each other in no time, sucking and pulling on both his lips and his tongue.

God you were so turned on.

You hated that he made you feel this way but fuck if he wasn’t good. He felt so goddamn good.

He hoisted you up against the wall, your legs wrapping around his hips as you continued to aggressively make out like the two horny twenty-one-year-olds you were. After kissing for five minutes straight, Blaine put you down so you could both remove your pants.

You spoke first “We don’t tell anyone about this.”

Blaine just nodded in agreement, eager to put his cock inside of you.

He hoisted you up against the wall for a second time, wasting no time shoving his cock into your pussy.

“Ohhhh fuck Blaine... go slow go slow...”

You also hated to admit it, but he wasn’t lacking in at least one department.

He smirked, knowing it was too much for you in such a short amount of time.

“What’s wrong y/l/n, can’t get fucked right either?”

“Maybe if you fucked me better I wouldn’t have to complain so much.”

All the talking had allowed time for your pussy to become soaked. Blaine could feel how wet you were. He also noticed how tight you were.

“Fuck, your pussy has been this tight the entire time and you never told me?”

“Oh Jesus Christ just shut up and fuck me before I change my mind Blaine.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He also took it upon himself to take that as the cue to go as fast as he needed to.

He started pumping in and out of you at a rapid pace, making absurdly loud slapping noises in the process.

You couldn’t help but moan into his neck, his name on your lips every ten seconds.

“Fuck, fuck , fuck Blaine don’t stop! Oh god don’t fucking stop.”

He loved hearing his name come out of your mouth like that. In all honesty, Blaine has wanted to fuck you since the day he met you. He suppressed that lust with crude comments, hoping the feelings would subside. Guess that didn’t work out too well.

“Yeah you like that baby? Huh? Like that I’m fucking your pretty pussy?”

“Oh god yes Blaine! Fuck me harder!”

He wasted no time, pounding into you as fast and as hard as he could. You couldn’t help but let your eyes roll in the back of your head as he fucked you so good you thought you were about to see God himself.

Blaine loved seeing you like this, drained by him fucking you relentlessly. In fact, he loved it so much he felt the need to repress his feelings once again, which would be his last effort in trying to do so.

“I still fucking hate you, oh god, oh fuck.”

You looked at him, dead in the eyes, and said “Bold words coming from a man who’s cock is in me.”

All he could do was smile, going in for another kiss while he continued to plow you.

Both of your moans filled the cabin, screaming with no shame, knowing for a fact no one would hear you.

You felt a tight coil forming in your lower stomach, causing you to hold onto Blaine’s shoulders tighter.

“Oh fuck Blaine, I’m gonna cum, oh god I’m gonna cum.”

Blaine took it upon himself to whisper more comments in your ear as you reached your climax together.

“Goddamn right you’re gonna cum on my cock. This is my pussy. No one else gets to touch it, just me. Cum for me baby, you can do it.”

You both screamed as you came, Blaine unintentionally spilling his seed into you. Thank god you remembered to bring your birth control pill.

Just as you two were coming down from your high, you noticed something out of the corner of your eye.

Not something, but someone.

It was Chaz.

You hadn’t noticed while you were fucking, but the snow had cleared up enough just for a one person rescue party. Chaz had come in just moments ago. However, he didn’t say anything. He really didn’t have anything to say. He was stunned.

As you both stared at Chaz, you were the first to speak.

“Well, fuck.”

[stonylovessteve]

SLS 2021 Creator Reveals

We’ve reached the end of the exchange and that means it’s time to reveal the creators of all our works!

Thank you for putting so much love and effort into Stony Loves Steve 2021, you really made it a great experience. We hope everyone loved it as much as we did!

Giftees, be sure to leave a comment and kudos on your gift if you haven’t already. All our creators worked hard to make this event a success, so show them some love.

You can now post your work publicly outside of the exchange. Tag it as #stonylovessteve2021 on tumblr and we’ll reblog you. @ us @stonylovessteve on twitter and we’ll retweet you.

Below the cut is the final list of all the works produced for the exchange and the creators.

Cold as Ice, Warm my Heart by lil_aussie_girl for parkrstark (MCU, 1.5k)

The cold took away one love already, and his greatest fear is that it will do it again - before he has the chance to say those three important words.

Strength Like The Sea/A Familiar Yet Foreign Face by Lacrimula_Falsa for funkyspacegirlfriend (AU, 3k)

There had to be another explanation for the ugly burning feeling in his chest because this wasn’t a rom-com and he’d known Steve for less than a day.

After years of his father fruitlessly searching for one, Tony finally gets to meet a real-life vampire.

· · ·*‒*‒ ‒ ‒*‒ ·*‒ · ‒ ‒

Anthony.

No, not Anthony, because Anthony had crumbled to dust right before his eyes. But this man looked so eerily similar to him, he could have been Anthony’s twin brother. Only the eyes were different, warm brown instead of cold blue. After being woken nearly a century after he went into stasis because the pain of losing his lover Anthony was too much, Steven meets a man who looks just like him.

I Know There is Comfort Where We Overlap by jellybeanforest for ghosthan (Ults, 10k)

As a relic of a bygone era, Steve struggles with feelings of isolation and severe depression made worse by his recent breakup with Jan Pym. He secretly hooks up with random strangers chasing a sense of connection with someone, anyone. Things are going (not) well when he and fellow Ultimate, Iron Man, are tasked with infiltrating a Thai resort serving as a front for illegal arms dealing. Only catch: They must go undercover as a married couple on their honeymoon.

finding steve rogers by jacobby for geekymoviemom (MCU, 6k)

Steve sighs. “Sorry. I wasn’t a very good tour guide. Ma always told me about the town, but she never got into specifics.”

Tony takes Steve’s hand in his and places it close to his lips. “It’s your first time here too. We understand.”

AKA

After a botched mission with SHIELD, Steve takes a vacation with his family to a town in Ireland.

Things are knot as they seem by BladeoftheNebula for DepressingGreenie (AU, 3k)

Everyone assumes Captain America is an alpha and Steve doesn’t see the harm in not correcting them. After all, Alphas command respect while omegas are still considered far too delicate for leadership.

And sure, it sucks hiding his designation when he’s in love with Tony Stark, the hottest alpha he’s ever seen, but what alpha would want an omega who could lift them with one hand?

So it’s fine. It’s not as if anyone was ever going to find out his secret anyway…

A drop of love by CapAL for Perlmutt (AU, Comic)

After sleeping for 70 years Steve wakes up to a world that he doesn’t understand. As an age-old vampire he’s seen a lot of things in his life, but nothing has ever confused him as much as the bubbly Starbucks barista Tony. They meet by chance and Steve stays. He falls for him, even though he knows he shouldn’t, and together they explore modern New York, while Steve tries to hide his true nature from Tony, afraid that he would send him away if he knew the truth.

The Fake Prince and the Cat  by Neverever for Fluffypanda (AU, 5.5k)

Steve is sent in place of Prince Brock to marry the libertine Tony Stark. It's better than he thought it would be, plus he makes friends with a cat.

father to son by parkrstark for HogwartsToAlexandria (MCU, 2.5k)

Steve had been planning on asking Peter to be his son, officially, for weeks now, but he always chickened out because he didn't thik he was good enough for the boy. Funnily enough, Peter had the same idea, but when he showed the adoption papers to Steve, he didn't have the best of reactions.

The Best Half Of Me by Huntress79 for RoseRose (AU, 1.5k)

An encounter with one of his exes at a charity gala opens Tony’s eyes about how much he really loves Steve - and how much he’s looking forward to their future together.

neither here nor there by ghosthan for  Welcoming_Disaster (616, 18k)

Captain America comes back from Dimension Z changed. He has had over a decade of his life taken from him, as well as the woman he loved. Stoic, secretive, and traumatized, much of what he experienced remains a mystery to SHIELD and the world; Tony is there to help him heal, and uncover the truth about how much Steve has lost.

The Eventide Aspect by geekymoviemom for ishipallthings (MCU, T, 12k)

“Yeah, Cap, about that,” Tony says, looking rather sheepish as he scratches at the back of his neck.

“Yeah?” asks Steve.

“Well… remember those half-baked ideas that I mentioned?  I’m afraid this might be one of ‘em,” says Tony.

“Okay.  Care to explain it to someone who doesn't speak technical?”

“Ahh…” Tony trails off, mumbling under his breath again.  “Yeah.  Um… if my theory is correct, I’m thinking that when we stepped through that window, we might’ve entered another dimension.”

Looking by Robin_tCJ for Vento_Lunar (MCU, E, 4k)

After a raid on a HYDRA base, Steve's body reverts back to the way it was before the serum. Tony still wants him.

You Had Me in the First Half by Corsets_and_Cardigans for Robin_tCj (MCU, E, 2k)

Steve is on his way to meet Bucky for a movie before their football team goes away for a game. Too bad Tony has plans for him! He'll apologize to Bucky for it later.

the rest is history by starksnack for muchmoremajestic (Avengers Academy, G, 2k)

It's Steve's birthday and he usually likes to spend it alone. Of course, Tony has other ideas.

Basically just some soft AvAc fluff.

(Let Me) Love and Be Loved by HeLovedYou for wikketkrikket (MCU, T, 6k)

Steve forgets how to self-sabotage his own happiness.

He also forgets his team, his soulmate and the last three years of his life.

avengers featuring steve’s doppleganger vol 1 (FANCOMIC) by wingheads for jellybeanforrest (616, Art)

tony dates a man who looks a lot like steve. everyone can see it, everyone knows what that means, except tony, who doesn't seem to realize he's dating steve's doppelganger. steve doesn't see the resemblance either and actually comes to like tony's new boyfriend, but then one of the other avengers spills the beans that they look exactly alike to tony, who can't unsee it now and breaks up with the new guy, only for steve to be sad that his baseball-buddy won't be around anymore.

Hart Island by Amber_Skye for lil_aussie_girl (MCU, G, 12k)

Steve is acting out of character, and Tony and the other Avengers can’t work out why.

the soul of dragons by funkyspacegirlfriend for Amber_Skye (MCU, T, 2k)

Steve’s dragon companion is the largest Tony’s ever seen up close. And she captivates Tony from the very first moment.

Just in the Knit of Time by DepressingGreenie for picturecat (Avengers Assemble, T, 2.5k)

Steve only has a week to tell Tony he loves him before his secret is leaked to the world.

Learning Curve by picturecat for Huntress79 (Avengers Academy AU, G, 2k)

Freshly defrosted, Steve Rogers is the newest teacher at the Avengers Academy—an attempt to guide and teach the newest generation of heroes before they have to take on the burdens of their teachers. Steve himself has a lot of learning to do.

First Impression by veryvincible for wingheads (616, M, 7k)

The Avengers find the schematics of a deadly weapon in the hands of an up-and-coming villain. To safely retrieve the data that led to its creation and keep the city safe in the process, they have to take a very subtle approach. The man-- Jack Marshall-- has an eye for hunks and a tendency to get vulnerable with them. The team could use this to their advantage, if they have the right assets.

Enter Steve.

Dandelions and Lilies by Wikketkrikket for CapAL (AU, G, 4k)

Written for CapAL for the StonylovesSteve event 2021.

A summer job in the florists is pretty good, as summer jobs go; and when a handsome guy comes in with some very particular requirements it gets even better.

Or it would, if Steve wasn't lying about the meaning of every bouquet he sold.

Potshot by jellybeanforest for jacobby (AU, T, 2.5k)

In an expansive wasteland infested with hordes of the undead, Steve, leader of a group of ex-military operatives known as the Avengers, searches for survivors and supplies in the ruins of the old world.

That’s all well and good, but Tony would do just about anything for an American cheeseburger.

For Stony Loves Steve 2021. Based on a prompt by jacobby.

Remorse and Rapture by oliverparker for optimusprime13 (AU, E, 6k)

When Steve's mother falls ill, he's forced to move in with the family she works for. He's not thrilled about it.

Shards of Eternities by Perlmutt for starksnack (AU, T, 5k)

Rumor had it that the war would soon be over. It could not end soon enough. Until then, Anthony would wait for Steven. He would wait and protect their child. He would wait and write another thousand letters for his alpha, his mate, his husband, if only he would come home, come for him, come for them.

Two Can Play That Game by JehBeEhh for Becci Barnes (BeccEEE) (MCU, T, 4k)

Tony Stark is many things. Patient isn't always one of them. Especially not when there's a happily ever after at the end of that bout of patience.

Uncovered by mariana_oconnor for Corsets_and_Cardigans (MCU, G, 6k)

Steve didn't think the tip-off was anything more than the usual nonsensical conspiracy theory. He only went to check it out because he was curious. He definitely wasn't expecting it to be a trap.

Build Me Up Buttercup by ishipallthings for BladeoftheNebula (4k, M, MCU)

Tony sees the gold letters spelling “Stark” on the edge of Steve’s hood and his mind grinds to a halt. Steve looks good wearing his name. Too good.

(In which Steve starts experimenting with a new style. Tony does not find this infuriatingly attractive, thank you very much.)

Discovery [Art] by Fluffypanda for captainstars (Art, G, Noir)

Renowned adventurer Tony Stark discovers a carving of a lost civilization's protector.

I left my heart (at home with you) by captainstars for UisceOneLove (2k, G, AU)

It shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did.

The man grinned at him, wide and beautiful. Steve couldn’t help sneaking another glance towards the heavens. They really lost their citizens fairly easily. Steve would like to say this was the first white robed beauty he had come across until now, but he wasn’t.

(OR)

Steve moved to a cabin in the woods hoping to live the life of a hermit werewolf. When Tony Stark decided to become his new neighbor, it threw a bit of a wrench into Steve’s plans.

(OR)

A werewolf and an incubus cuddling in a tree.

Raspberry Beret (I Think I Love Her) by ralsbecket for oliverparker (4k, M, 3490)

When Steve looked at Natasha, he knew in his heart that she was what put his derailed train back on its tracks. For the first time since they met, Steve felt like he had some semblance of a plan for his future. And he wanted Natasha to be a part of it.

Savior Complex by optimusprime13 for HeLovedYou (18.5k, G, AU)

Wealthy businessman Steve Rogers stumbles into barely-getting-by Tony Stark in a cemetery, and they hit it off immediately. Steve is enamored by Tony’s razor-sharp wit, his startling intelligence, and his penchant for building stuff. He has a problem though - he can’t stop wanting to save everybody around him, especially Tony - who is struggling to make ends meet. However, Tony is too proud and stubborn to accept any help from Steve. But when Tony gets kidnapped to act as bait for Steve, how far will Steve go to save Tony when it means sacrificing himself?

Through His Stomach by RoseRose for JehBeeEh (2k, G, MCU)

Steve decides he wants to try to cook with all the new ingredients he has found in this new time, but he needs someone else to taste-test his creations. Tony is holed up in his workshop, so he makes the perfect guinea pig. The two of them grow closer over several meals.

Iron & Sapphire by Becci Barnes (BeccEEE) for Lacrimula_Falsa (AU, 5k)

Steve can always sense him, long before Tony enters his cave. It makes his blue scales tremble and his big wings flutter in excitement. Tony brings light and warmth into this musty hideout he calls home. And food. And while they may be as odd a couple as you can imagine, that won't stop them from bantering and cuddling just like anyone else.

Man On The Moon by Welcoming_Disaster for veryvincible (616, 7k)

Things haven't been the same since Steve has found out about Tony's secret identity. A mission that goes wrong forces both of them to confront why.

I Love You to the Moon and Back by muchmoremajestic for mariana_oconnor (MCU, 3k)

After Steve gets attacked in the woods, certain changes start happening.

Happy Birthday to America's ass by njava97 for ralsbecket (MCU, 2.5k)

It's the night before Steve's birthday and something is very wrong.

Magic's in the Moving Portrait by UisceOneLove for neverever (AU, 9.5k)

Without his ma, Steve's lost his ability to make art. In walks new wizarding student Tony Stark, who also happens to be his new roommate. All hope might not be lost just yet for him and his brush.

Reach The Sky by Vento_Lunar for njava97 (MCU, art)

Non-serum Steve Rogers saves the world. (And Tony saves him)

[broughttoyoubytheletterf]

Telling the Family (ficlet)

At one time I was going to write an entire series of how different people react to finding out Elizabeth is running for President but this is the only one I ever finished. I’m cleaning out old files, so here have it. 

“You have to talk to your family you know.”

“Hmmm?” Henry continues to keep his eyes on the book in front of him.

Elizabeth plops down on the other side of the bed, disturbing Henry and causing him to give her an annoyed look. “I’m just saying, you should have a conversation with them.”

“What are you talking about?”

“The campaign,” she responds simply. She settles into bed, pulling the covers up to her waist and grabbing a policy book from the floor.

He stares at her, agape, “Really? You’re just going to throw that out there and leave it to me? Isn’t it a little early to tell them anyway?”

She avoids his gaze and flips open the binder. “Give them some time to process everything, you know Maureen will have thoughts she needs to share. Plus, it’s going to be an invasion of their privacy as well.”

He huffs. “Well shouldn’t you be there when we talk to them then?”

“No.”

When she doesn’t elaborate further, he tugs her reading material out of her hands. “You’re telling me that you’re ready to face the scrutiny of the entire country but you won’t come with me to talk my family.”

“Yes,” she says blithely. She looks thoughtful, “What do you think the chances are that Maureen votes for me?”

He laughs. “Eh, I’d say about 75%, she’s mellowed out a bit since Dad died. So there you go, another reason to come with me, get some experience stumping for votes with intransigent constituents.”

Mulishly she says, “I don’t wanna.”

“Petulant isn’t a good look on you Elizabeth.”

She side-eyes him. “I’m not being petulant, I’m being realistic, I think the chances are better that she votes for me if I’m not there. Also, you’re lying, you like all my looks.” She laughs and straddles his lap.

He grips her waist and smiles. “You’re right.” He leans forward and blows a raspberry on her neck. “But you are coming with me.”

Two weeks later she is sitting on a couch next to Henry at Maureen’s house. She is bouncing Maria on her knees and the four-year old is squealing in delight. She still doesn’t know how Henry conned her into coming and got it to actually happen. She’s dealing with no less than three separate international incidents that could spiral into crises at any moment, but Henry hadn’t let her use that as an excuse. She’s dragged half the State department with her it feels like, Jay is in DC holding down the fort but she has Blake, Kat, Nina, and Daisy in the motorcade out front and Matt is down the street at a coffee shop feverishly writing a speech.

Henry is tapping his feet next to her. He had been uncharacteristically quiet on the drive here, though that could have been because she spent most of the time on the phone, doing her best to restrain herself from yelling at her entire Bureau of East Asian Affairs. She’s not usually a yeller, so maybe Henry is not the only one nervous about this conversation.

Maureen comes back into the room, balancing a tray of glasses. “I have coffee for everyone, but I’m afraid I only have regular creamer, none of that flavored stuff.” She looks pointedly at Elizabeth as she sets her load down. Elizabeth barely keeps herself from rolling her eyes, she asked for vanilla creamer once, a decade ago, and Maureen still likes to act like it was the height of privilege. The child on her lap is getting restless, so she puts her down and she runs off to play.

After everyone is settled into their seats with their drinks of choice, Maureen breaks the now heavy silence. “So is there a particular reason you gathered us all here? Is one of you dying or do you just like to see your subjects scurry?”

Elizabeth lets out a breath, clearly Maureen is feeling particularly intractable, which does not bode well for this discussion, but she also knows that the other woman mostly gets that way when she’s scared. She responds quickly, “Both of us are fine, as are the kids, they send their love by the way.” It’s almost imperceptible, but Maureen relaxes. “The reason you wanted to talk to everyone, all at once, is because…” she rehearsed twelve different was to say this but she still feels unprepared. Henry reaches over and squeezes her hand.

As if saved by the bell she hears the front door open, and when she looks over Kat and Blake are standing there, wringing their hands. She looks at them expectantly. Kat grimaces, “Apologies all for interrupting,” she focuses her attention on Elizabeth, “Ma’am, I’m sorry, but we just heard back from Chen’s office, he says they’re moving forward with their plans, immediately, they’ve already started..”

Elizabeth interrupts, her face turns murderous, “Get me Chen on SVTC now.” She might yell that last word. She stands up, “I swear, China is going to be begging us to sell Taiwan drones by the time I lay out the alternatives, which reminds me, Blake let Russell know I am 100% behind repositioning the fifth fleet, maybe some military posturing is just what we need, remind them that we have our own array of antiship missiles and that they do not want to get into a damn shooting war with us. Especially over some fucking drones.” She stalks over to the doorway. Kat looks taken aback, Elizabeth rarely curses at work, or ever. She doesn’t even want to look back and see what Henry’s family looks like.

She purposefully softens her tone, though she feels like preventing World War III, for the fifth time this year, merits some coarse language. She gestures towards Blake who is already on the phone, “Tell Russell I think Conrad should call Li. Ask if he wants me on the call.” Blake nods. “And I swear if this is the Assistant Secretary’s fault again, I’m firing her, I don’t care whose niece she is.” She slams the front door behind her.

Henry stares at the closed door for a moment, and sends up a quick prayer for peace, both for the world and in his family. He turns back towards his family, who look a little aghast. He’s not surprised, Elizabeth has done her best to not talk about work around them, and she definitely never lets her temper show like that. He smiles in what he hopes is a disarming way. “So, that might take a bit, so why don’t we talk about something else? Shane, how’s the new job going?”

Shane starts to respond, but Maureen stops him, “I’m not going to wait around while Elizabeth is off starting wars, so just tell us whatever it is you wanted to tell us Henry and then you can both gallivant back to DC.” Maureen’s husband squeezes her shoulder in support and Erin and Shane are purposefully avoiding his gaze so he imagines that he isn’t going to be able to put this off until Elizabeth gets back.

“This is really more her thing than mine, so it would be best if she could tell you.” Maureen glares at him. “Okay, okay, we just wanted to talk to you guys about some changes in our life, changes that might effect you, though we’ll do our best to prevent that.” They all shift nervously. “Well you’ve probably heard the rumors and speculation, but we wanted to let you know it’s true, Elizabeth has decided to run. She won’t be announcing for a while yet, we’re thinking in about four months, but we wanted to let you know now.”

They stare at him blankly, until Erin asks, uncertainty in her voice, “Run for what?”

He almost laughs, because he forgot for a moment that there is a whole world that doesn’t follow politics obsessively, that doesn’t spend every second enmeshed in world affairs. “President,” he responds simply.

That sends them all atwitter and there’s lots of cross-talk and yelling and accusations. He spends the next 45 minutes fielding questions, from Elizabeth’s position on abortion (he tells them they’ll have to ask her, he’s well aware his wife is ardently pro-choice, but he’s not stepping on that landmine before it’s necessary) to, once the kids wander back in, whether that means they can get free tickets to football games.

Elizabeth slips back in, she looks marginally more relaxed, so he takes that to mean there are no nuclear missiles currently incoming. Maureen spots her first and pins her with a glare. “So I hear you’ve decided you want to be an actual queen.”

Elizabeth moves further into the house and resumes her seat on the couch next to Henry. “Well democratically elected is the plan,” she says lightly and reaches forward to grab her now cold coffee. Maureen guffaws. “And really that’s only if I win, which is still a relative long-shot.”

“Once again you’re only thinking of yourself.” Oddly, Henry notes, Maureen’s voice doesn’t have its usual venom.

Elizabeth takes a sip out of her cup. “I like to think I’m thinking of the greater good, how to ensure a better future for our country and the world. Believe you me this isn’t something I sought out, I never thought I’d do this.” Henry struggles to hide his smile, because Elizabeth sounds exactly like a politician, she doesn’t think she’s ready, but in moments like this he sees it. And if he calls her a politician to her face he won’t have sex for a month.

[pendragon-ally]

Okay so @fishoutofcamelot​ gave me permission to write a fic based on this post and I finally got around to doing it. I’m really sorry for the wait, I hope you like it!

Someday...

Arthur is mortally wounded in the battle of Camlann and Merlin's worst fears are realised in more ways than one.

*

   Pain.

Merlin is no stranger to it, has learned since the day he arrived in Camelot just how many ways he can hurt.

Some of the pain has been physical, like the cramps in his stomach when he’s eaten breakfast too quickly in his rush to attend to Arthur on time or the throbbing ache in his temples the morning after the odd occasion he’s spent time in the tavern with the knights and the white hot pain when he’d fallen off his horse once when out on a hunt with Arthur and had sprained his arm so badly he’d thought he’d broken it at first.

But with the right treatment, those pains heal without any evidence that they were ever there.

Emotional pain is different. Like the grief Merlin has felt each and every time he has lost somebody he loves (and all those he barely knew) in his efforts to fulfil his destiny and protect Arthur with everything he has.

Merlin has always succeeded. Until now, he’s never failed to keep Arthur safe.

But in a split second everything changed, the world tilted and began to spin backwards and now—

Well now Merlin knows that grief and love can sometimes go hand in hand to create a pain so blinding he can barely breathe through it because Arthur is dying, has spent two days slowly spilling the crimson of his life through a wound left by Mordred that Merlin can’t heal no matter how hard he tries.

His magic feels like a useless, trembling thing inside him, terrified that it’s about to lose everything. Arthur has grown quieter over the last few days, and Merlin tells himself that it’s because of the wound, the long journey to Avalon— anything but what he secretly fears is the truth.

That now Arthur knows he has magic, that he’s a sorcerer, he’ll never see him the same way again. Whatever the outcome of this journey, Merlin fears he’s lost Arthur anyway.

But still he’ll try. He’ll try because he can’t let Arthur die. He can’t.

They don’t have the horses, they don’t really have anything that can help them at this point, Arthur keeps telling him to stop, that he can’t go any further but Merlin won’t listen.

He can’t let Arthur die.

And yet when Arthur slumps down heavily, abruptly and without much warning, all but dropping on top of Merlin, this time feels different somehow.

Like an end that’s coming, an end they can’t outrun no matter how hard they try, no matter how powerful Merlin might be— because they can’t beat Fate unless Fate wants it to be so.

“All your magic, Merlin, can't save my life.” Arthur’s voice is barely there, more gasping breaths than words and Merlin’s heart recoils in his chest like it already knows what’s coming.

“I can.” Merlin can’t give up— will never give up trying to keep the most precious thing in the world to him safe. “I’m not going to lose you,” There can be no me if there can be no you.

Merlin’s whole body is shaking but he staggers to his feet, holds Arthur tight against him and tries to help him stand but his efforts quickly prove futile. Arthur has no strength left and Merlin finds himself balancing on the edge of his own personal nightmare.

“Just, just leave me.” Arthur says as firmly as he can manage, struggling against Merlin’s embrace.

Merlin feels cold all over, as though every drop of blood in his veins has turned to ice. “No, Arthur why would you say that?” he holds Arthur tighter still, heart in his throat and tears on his face. “I won’t leave you alone to die.”

“I will not die in the arms of a sorcerer,” Arthur rasps, looking up at him with sapphire blue eyes full of so many emotions there isn’t enough time to process them all. Merlin wonders whose heart he can see breaking.

“I’m not just a sorcerer, Arthur, I’m your friend and I don’t want to lose you, not now. Not like this,”

Arthur makes a sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “I’m already lost, Merlin, and after all it was you who said that there can be no place for magic in Camelot.”

“I didn’t mean— Arthur, don’t do this, please, not now.” Merlin begs, presses a hand to the side of Arthur’s face and sobs when Arthur flinches away as though Merlin struck him. “I’m sorry, I love you more than anything and I’m sorry.” Merlin’s whole heart comes spilling out before he can stop it, desperate and terrified and close to tearing itself apart. “Please Arthur— please don’t send me away.”

Arthur struggles again, shaking his head and reaching out to grasp at the grass in an effort to pull away. “Merlin, if you’ve ever cared for me at all just… leave! ”

Much too loyal and much too in love to cause Arthur more pain in what are now so clearly his last moments, Merlin, for once, does exactly as he’s told.

Swallowing hard, Merlin takes a single deep breath, ignores the smell of metal, blood and a life almost lost and inhales the familiar scent of Arthur beneath all of that, warm and still comforting even though the world is ending. He imagines that he can still smell the lavender water that he’s spent the better part of a decade combing into the golden blonde of Arthur’s hair.

Merlin exhales—

Lays Arthur down on the grass gently, squeezes his eyes shut and dares to press a whisper of a kiss to Arthur’s head, so light Arthur won’t even feel it—

And lets him go.

Merlin doesn't open his eyes again until he’s taken several stumbled steps away. Far enough that Arthur won’t be able to see him but close enough that he’ll hear Arthur’s voice should he call for him.

But no words ever come.

All Merlin can hear is the gentle rustle of the trees around them and the ragged inhale exhale of Arthur’s breathing, growing more fragile by the second.

From here Merlin can still see the tears on Arthur’s face, the flutter of his eyelashes and the way morning lights them up like blue flames even as they flicker into embers. Merlin can feel Arthur’s heart splitting, wonders if Arthur can feel his too… wants nothing more than to take Arthur in his arms and hold him one last time because this is it— he’ll never get the chance again. He knows this, but still he chooses to respect the wishes of his king.

Merlin wraps his arms around his own body and holds tightly, instead.

His magic reaches out though, frightened but determined, to wrap itself around Arthur like an invisible blanket to still his shaking hands and settle his fearful heart. Merlin’s magic does what he cannot do himself— it holds Arthur tightly, whispers silently that it loves him and that it’s okay,  it’s okay to go, Arthur, do not be frightened.

Moments later Arthur stills, his eyes close and when he breathes out Merlin prays for a rasping inhale that never comes. It’s over.

When Arthur lets go of this world and his soul begins its journey to the next, Merlin feels it like the earth has been torn out from under him and he’s falling into an endless pit of black emptiness, like he is being crushed from all sides and his bones are cracking beneath the pressure, the fractured pieces piercing his organs until there’s no blood left to flow— Merlin feels it like his own soul has been taken too.

Perhaps, at least in part, it has.

“Arthur!” Merlin shouts, hoarse and broken.

Unable to stand there a second longer he rushes back to Arthur’s side, drops down next to him and takes his pale face in both hands. “Arthur!” he chokes on a sob, almost forgetting how to breathe. “No, stay with me Arthur please… come back. I said I’d protect you or die at your side and I’m still here so don’t you dare go somewhere I can’t follow. Arthur! ” He shakes Arthur though he knows there’s no point, presses their foreheads together and waits for the earth to fracture around him, beneath him, all around him.

He probably won’t even notice. The world as he knows it is already ending.

Instinct and anguish has Merlin screaming for Kilgharrah, his voice tearing from his throat and echoing back at him until all he can hear is his own grief.

Only the sound of Kilgharrah’s great wings breaks his cries. “Kilgharrah. I would not have summoned you if there was any other choice. I have one last favour to ask.”

His old friend needs no further explanation, carries both he and Arthur to the lake, sets them down carefully and watches silently as Merlin desperately tries to drag Arthur to the small boat that will take them to salvation.

“Merlin. There is nothing you can do.”

Merlin chokes back a sob, refuses to let Arthur go. “No, there has to be something… please, I’ll do anything just tell me how to bring him back.”

“I am sorry, young warlock,”

“I can’t lose him! I love him!” Merlin shouts, tears streaming endlessly down his face, and Kilgharrah looks at him like he’s known this all along, like Merlin’s secret heart has never been a secret at all. “Our destiny cannot end like this. Arthur can’t die hating me…”

“As I have told you before Merlin, a half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole.” Kilgharrah tells him kindly, gently, but it does nothing to soothe Merlin nor does it slow the black hole of grief and loss expanding inside of him.

Merlin shakes his head, holds Arthur tighter than ever like his embrace somehow has the power to change things. There’s no point of course, Merlin doesn’t have the power to change anything.

He never has, and he feels stupid for ever believing that he could keep Arthur safe until old age. “It makes no difference. Arthur is gone— destiny means nothing anymore…” Merlin trails off, unsure of what he’s even trying to say in the first place.

That he doesn't know what he’s supposed to do now. That he failed to do the one thing he’s dedicated his life to. That maybe, in the end, it wasn’t about destiny, Camelot, or even Albion.

Maybe in the end, it was Arthur himself that Merlin was desperate to see grow and flower for years to come. Now that will never happen.

“Though no man, no matter how great, can know his destiny, some lives have been foretold. Merlin... Arthur is not just a King— he is the Once and Future King.” Kilgharrah tells him. “Take heart, for when Albion's need is greatest, Arthur will rise again. It has been a privilege to have known you, young warlock— the story we have been a part of will live long in the minds of men.”

When Kilgharrah takes flight a moment later, Merlin knows it’ll be the last he ever sees of him.

Merlin is truly alone.

After that, the world blurs. Time has no meaning and Merlin can’t recall the things he’s done mere moments after he’s done them. He doesn’t remember throwing Excalibur into the lake, doesn’t remember going through the motions of laying Arthur to rest in that little wooden boat, tears on his face as he whispers goodbye over and over even though he knows he’ll never truly let go.

Arthur is Merlin’s forever, always has been, always will be— even if that forever must now be faced with half of his soul shrouded in shadow, lost in darkness without Arthur’s light to guide him.

Maybe one day, Merlin will learn to shine on his own.

But for now Merlin stands there on the shores of Avalon, trembling and sobbing, his heart in pieces scattered to the wind as he watches that boat carry Arthur away across the still water until he can barely even make out the shape of it.

What he’s supposed to do now, Merlin does not know. He can't linger here any more than early morning mist can but he knows that he can’t return to Camelot either.

How can he stand there before Gwen, his Queen, before the knights who have always treated him like a friend and Gaius who has been like a father to him, and tell them that he failed?

That Arthur— that their beloved king is dead because of him.

 There can be no place for magic in Camelot.

Arthur couldn’t forgive him, in the end, and so Merlin can’t forgive himself. Not now. Not yet, he needs time. He needs to grieve, to stitch closed the wounds torn into him with Arthur’s passing and he can’t do that in Camelot.

And so Merlin does the only thing he can. He takes a deep breath, turns away from the lake and he walks. Where to? He has no idea; all he knows now is that he’s leaving the same way he arrived all those years ago.

Alone.

Perhaps he’ll return in the future. Perhaps Kilgharrah’s words will ring true, Arthur will rise again and will need Merlin by his side once more. Next time, Merlin won’t lose something so precious.

Next time… someday in a far off future not yet written, Merlin will get the chance to right that which was done wrong and do things differently.

Someday, Merlin’s I’m sorry and I love you more than anything won’t be too late.

Someday, his king will come back to him.

Someday, Arthur will understand, will forgive Merlin and maybe, just maybe—

Arthur will love him in return…

… Someday.

 *

Can also be read on AO3!

[noxtms]

MARCH 15TH, 2021. it’s two days before the planned st patrick’s day parade ( and evening celebrations ), and the spring festival is in full swing. the joint events have been as huge a success as they always have been : local business has boomed, and to those that care, it’s a pity that arcanum wasn’t back up and running in time to cash in like so many other stores had.

the building that had once been both life’s work & ancestral home of the trelawney’s had lay empty for the best part of two decades, and unfortunately, it showed. structurally sound though it was, near everything within required replacing - be it from water damage caused by several large holes found in the roof or destruction that had been caused by the innumerous break-ins over the years. magic could only go so far, especially when one was working alone. since the purchase of the building had gone through the month before, sybill had taken to apparating to london each weekend, working room by room. a vinyl of celestina warbeck’s greatest hits played loudly from a vintage turntable was her only company as she bustled throughout the building, early morning to darkest evening. it was slow going, and the work had grown monotonous, over time - but she had never expected anything else.

the fifth floor - containing two mirrored bedrooms sybill intended to invite cassia & oriana to personalize - was the first finished. she was making her way top to bottom, slowed even more by the onslaught that was memory. this was the birthplace of cassandra trelawney, the originator of their family status. this was where sybill had spent formative years, walking thin corridors, climbing spindly stairs, learning to read tea leaves at a shaky table in a now dusty kitchen, recording her dreams in a leather bound notebook she had kept on bedside cabinet in the room she had now reclaimed. this was home, and she had been gone from it for far too long. 

the lower shop level would be the last to be tackled, working as she was, and so, the bell above the main entrance remained broken. this would join the long list of things to be blamed for why sybill did not hear anyone approaching - scrawled somewhere between the loud record that they’ll find scratching at it’s end & the happy crowd beyond grubby windows that did not remain so, for long. the truth is that when the ministry finds sybill, they’ll only be able to make a guess at what truly happened.

they will theorize that it was unlikely she had any forewarning ( a uniquely ironic phrase, given the woman’s status as a debated seer ). she probably knew her attacker, though it’s hard to say - there is no sign of struggle, and the killing curse does not leave a mark. even if she had realized in time to have a defensive instinct, her wand - nine and a half inch hazel, with a unicorn tail hair core - was found on the floor above her, resting on a rickety coffee table and so very far from reach. they will say she died before it happened, and there’s no reason to think that she felt any pain, or that the situations were connected. 

the formal report will lodged by overworked aurors some hours later will not have certain details. there is no witness to the woman with wild hair & hooded eyes, nor her two companions, who apparated into the lane behind the building and entered through unlocked door. no one saw her look of fear, when throat cleared behind her & she turned on heel to see them looming in the doorway. there was no need for a silencing charm. sybill, unable to understand the position she was in, never called for help. bellatrix wasn’t there to interrogate her, and thus, didn’t give her much of a chance, anyway. their time together was short & sweet. the green light went unnoticed, and the loose cannon that was a seer with potential to urge foes in right direction against them was taken off of the playing field, with ease. conspiracy theorists in the future, inclined to look that bit deeper, may get a closer approximation of the truth than those aurors ever did. 

but then again : it wasn’t their first priority. 

it was such a lovely day. the sun, not quite beating down upon the heads of everyone bustling through the alley, still shone with more strength than it had all winter. the lack of brisk breeze made even the long shadows cast by mismatched buildings almost warm. the wwn predicted rain later that evening, and mothers ushering their children along stole glances every now and again towards the sky, waiting to see the telltale sign of dark clouds rolling in.

the first indication that anyone has to something being truly amiss was actually the sharp drop to the temperature, and the rolling fog that fell over them all, thick enough to hide anyone - and anything - more than a few feet away. thick enough to blot out the sun. the shadows grew longer. they stretched outwards. when the first scream pierces the air, only those nearest are able to see what’s causing those notes of fear.

it doesn’t take more than a moment for everyone else to realize. as the alley explodes into pandemonium, the dementors descend onto them all. 

ROUNDUP OF INITIAL FATALITIES & INJURIES ( AS OF THIS DROP ):

sybill trelawney is very, very dead. as brutal as this’ll sound - that isn’t very relevant to this plot drop as a whole, so don’t worry about it ! she’s not.

OUT OF CHARACTER:

rather than transition the on dash event threads towards this plot drop, we’re going to do things a little differently with everyone’s current needs in mind. on dash will remain the period of time that is the start of the month through to the 15th ( which will make things a little less intensive as we begin the next part of the ooc noxtms ~ celebrations ~ ). off dash, and on the discord, several channels covering a number of businesses have been established. they each have a character cap of seven to make things less confusing, and can be used for plot drop rping !

as always with a plot drop of this nature, the discord announcement will include the allowance for injurys. there’s a smaller cap on these than usual, since the dementors themselves are sort of .... 0 - 100, and the injuries themselves will have to be discussed as happening in the chaos rather than from the dementors. that is, unless you uhhh ... really want your character to get a little kiss kiss ! that can be arranged !  

the galleon system list has also been updated and now includes a reward of 250 galleons ( per character it’s completed for ) for a 250 word minimum drabble / self para, written with the patronus charm & it’s much-needed usage during this plot drop in mind. if this were english class, the prompt would probably be something to the effect of : write a detailed description of your characters happy memory, or what their experience is about to be, conjuring their patronus in this specific situation. you have a LOT of freedom on it, and can write it in any way you see fit. please feel free to use the tag nox.task on any posted to the dash ! 

there was never any intention of having a st patrick’s parade / party event. sorry for bamboozling you all, but i think it’s safe to say that after this disastrous ides of march, those events will have been cancelled ! once you’ve read this post, please give it a little like ! 

[matildaofoz]

The Harvest Pt.1 (Warlock!Michael x Reader)

A/N: Happy Halloween, Witches and Warlocks! Here it is, part 1 of The Harvest, the one night of the year were predator and prey come to revel under the Blue Moon. 

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: Cursing and the promise of more to come in Pt. 2

Tag List: @prophecy-is-inevitable​ @jimmlangdon​ @drasangel​ @leatherduncan​ @sexwon131​ @rocketgirl2410​ @9layerdevilfoodcake​ @vulgarprayer​ @michaellangdonstanaccount​ @michaellandgons-sunshine​ @iwillboilyourteeth​ @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul​ 

I hope I tagged all of you who showed interest, if not - I’M SORRY! Forgive me (and shoot me amessage so I can add you for Pt.2)

Fair Maiden,

you are hereby cordially invited to attend the annual celebration and Warlock tradition that is The Harvest.  

Upon the last night of October, you will partake in the ancient tradition as a guest of honor, taking place at the Langdon Estate.

All further necessary arrangements will be divulged to your person at an appropriate time.

We look forward to welcoming you and remain until such time

Sincerely,

Ambrose Holt,

High Warlock

The hand holding the parchment sank into your lap after you finished reading its contents out loud to your mother and stepfather. Confusion and a hint of fear flitted over your features and you began to worry your lip as your eyes skimmed over the contents again in an effort to make sense of them.

“That damned Son of a Whore, Ambrose Holt!” your stepfather cursed, beginning to pace the length of the drawing room.

“John Henry Moore, hold your tongue!” your mother hissed, taken aback by his foul language. Her eyes followed him around the room as she scooted closer to you on the chaise longue to take a look at the letter herself.

“It's all my fault! I never should have taken the two of you back here with me. I was foolish to think that something like this wouldn't happen,” he seethed, running his hands through his dark hair. He stemmed himself off the fireplace mantel, his mind racing at the significance of the letter.

“We'll tell them she won't attend, it's simple,” your mother retorted, placing one hand atop your own still clutching the piece of paper. The look on her face told you that she wanted to believe her own words more than anything.

“Darling, that won't be an option. Once you are invited you have to attend, you do not decline a High Warlock's Summon. This is a direct attack on me in the most barbaric way and I’ve dragged you both into my mess.” A humourless chuckle rumbled from his chest at the admission. Your mother’s hand squeezed yours tightly, lips drawn thin as she watched her husband. This was beyond a nightmare. He needed to come up with a plan, a way to halt the events that had been set in motion but begun a long time before he met you and your mother.

“I need to pay a visit to an old friend,” he muttered under his breath suddenly as he pushed himself off the mantelpiece and rushed for the door.

“Where are you going?” your mother threw after him but he was already out in the hallway.

“I’m going to see Behold Chablis. Don’t wait up for me!” he shouted before the front door slammed shut and the two of you were left in silence.

“It will be alright, Angel. Don’t you worry,” your mother said. She forced a smile and you weren’t sure if her words were meant solely for your own reassurance.

You remained silent, looking down at the letter, an uneasiness settling in the pit of your stomach. If your stepfather sought the council of another warlock when he had sworn of his brotherhood for over a decade, it was a bad omen of things to come. Your eyes traced the elegant penmanship on the page. The Harvest. Whatever it was, it made the skin on the back of your neck prickle.

The letter had arrived that afternoon while you were busy tending to the garden with your mother. John Henry had taken custody of the letter, delivered by a private courier and paled as he saw the High Warlock Council's sigil etched on the envelope beneath your name.

Before your mother's marriage to the Warlock, you had believed the supernatural to be but flights of fancy, parables adorning the pages of children's fairy tales as a way to keep them from misbehaving, whispered his hushed voices over a candle under the guise of a full moon to scare each other. All that changed with John Henry's entry into your life at the age of 12. While he was himself a Warlock, a fact he kept hidden from everyone around him except for you and your mother, he had come to condemn his kind several years before. He felt his brethren had strayed from the righteous path of magick, meant to guide, heal and better the lives of those through who's veins it flowed in favour of a darker, more sinister purpose. At the centre of it, he believed the Langdon's were to blame. They had corrupted those around them, slithering their way even into the High Council itself and changing the fabric of the ancient brotherhood.

He told you what he thought you would need to know when you were old enough to at least partially understand, for your own protection should such a time arise. You were not of his blood but you were his daughter and he had sworn that he would protect both your mother and you. The arrival of the letter had made it clear that the time had come and he wasn't sure he would be able to make good on his promise to you after all.

He did not come back that night and after you mother had retreated to their bedroom, you too went up to your room to ready yourself for bed. However much you willed it, sleep did not come easy. In the darkness of your room, dimly illuminated by the moonlight pouring in from the windows, your eyes were drawn to your writing desk were you had placed the letter. The words kept running throughout your head and the more you thought about them, the less you felt you understood them. With a huff you turned onto your side, squeezing your eyes shut tightly in an effort to stop the thoughts running a mile a minute. It must be past midnight by now and you were no closer to falling asleep. The last day of October was just over a week away and even though you couldn't possibly know what the night held in store for you, you'd be damned if you showed up unprepared. You may not be magically-inclined but you were well-versed in the art of reading. John Henry's library was just down the hall, the myriad of manuscripts and tomes softly calling your name in the dead of night.

“Oh, curse all this!” you muttered under your breath, throwing the blankets off your body and tiptoeing across the room to the door, evading the creaking floorboards that would alert your mother. She was a terribly light sleeper. The air around you was frigid, your nightgown doing nothing to keep out the chill that crept up your legs and over your bare arms. You edged along the wall to your desk, placing the knitted shawl hung over the chair around your shoulders.

Quietly, you inched across the hallway, stopping for a moment to look at your parents closed bedroom door. Silence. Taking it as your cue, you flitted to the door on the far end of the corridor, hoping to God that he hadn't locked it. Gingerly, you pushed down on the handle so it wouldn't squeak. The door swung ajar. Unlocked. With a small satisfied grin, you pushed through the opening and closed it behind you silently. A relived sigh escaped your lips as your eyes struggled to adjust to the dark room, any moonlight blocked out by thick curtains. You had only been in John Henry's study a couple of times, to stand at the threshold as you told him that dinner was ready or to venture in to bring him a cup of tea while he poured over manuscripts behind the large mahogany desk. While he did believe wholeheartedly that a lady should be educated beyond learning to play the piano and housekeeping, he had made it clear that the books in his study were off limits.

“There is nothing in my study that a young lady such as yourself need concern yourself with. The less you know, the better,” his words rang in your ears. You wagered he would be eating his own words right about now, considering the events of the afternoon. You scoffed, as you inched your way across the plush carpet under your bare feet, to where you believed his desk was. Your eyes were beginning to make out the silhouettes of the furniture and soon enough your hip bumped into hard wood. You winched at the the small pain and your hands began to feel out for the box of matches you knew he kept on the desk somewhere. He could easily light the candles or the fireplace in his room with a snap of his fingers because he had shown you. However, he preferred not to, saying it made him feel more like any other man who was not gifted with his supernatural inclination.

“Ha!” you exclaimed as your right hand came upon the match box, your left coming up over your mouth to stifle the sound. Several seconds went by with you as still as a statue as you waited to hear your parents bedroom door creak open. When no sound bar the pounding of your heart reached your ears, you let out a breath, cursing yourself. You couldn't risk being found out when you hadn't even begun to gather any information. Without wasting any more precious time, you swiftly took out a match and light it on the rough side of the box. The flame came to life before your eyes and all you could see was the bright light for several blinding seconds. Your eyes roamed over the desk now bathed in the small flame and you found the candle holder. You took off the glass cover and held the match to the wick, lighting the candle and placed the cover back over the now burning candle to keep it from being blown out. Hooking your finger into the holder, you ventured over to the wall of books, suddenly discouraged from your task at the sheer volume of knowledge stacked into the ceiling-heigh bookcases tat adorned the wall. This was going to be much more tedious than you had anticipated. Your eyes began skimming over the spines, half of what was on them not making any sense to you.

The Seven Wonders, The Musings of one Augustus Bromhold, Lupercalia throughout the Ages, The Warlock's Pocket Guide to Necromancy. You continued along the shelves, some of the books so old that in the dim light you couldn't make out the writing and some didn't seem to have any on the spines at all.

A Complete History of Warlock Traditions

At the title, your mind went back to the letter. The Harvest had been described as an annual tradition so surely, in a book entitled 'A Complete History of Warlock Traditions' it must be mentioned. You peeled the tome from the confines of the shelf and went to sit in the armchair stood next to the cold fireplace in the corner. You placed the candle on the small side table and and opened the book at the back, hoping to reveal the glossary. Having found what you were looking for, you flipped back to the page and began to read, teeth softly gnawing at your lower lip.

The Blood Harvest, an archaic ritual celebration held on the 31st of October was outlawed by the High Warlock Council on 4th April, 1763. Still referred to by outliers of the Warlock Brotherhood simply as The Harvest, in an effort to conceal the brutal nature of the dark rite of passage ritual, it is rarely observed to this day. The High Council has prosecuted the outlawed celebration and of those who oppose the rule of law and remain faithful to the ritual to this day. 

Celebrated annually before its outlaw, the ritual invoked the divine duality. Warlocks and human women, dressed to represent The Horned God and Triple Goddess respectively, partook in the ritual sacrifice on All Hallow's Eve to appease the supernatural beings that stalk the living on the night of the undead. Often cited to bestow great powers on the Warlocks who successfully complete the ritual rite of passage with one of the women selected, it is now widely regarded as nothing more than bloodshed, sacrificing those unfortunate and unknowing females to a slow and painful death at either the hands of the Warlocks if they so choose or the creatures invoked as formidable foes to the young men as a way to prove their supremacy over the dark forces and step into adulthood.

A cold shudder ran down your spine as your eyes read over the passage, letting the book sink into your lap. How was it possible that a High Warlock invited to you to an outlawed tradition by the High Council itself 100 years ago no less? Unless, it was no longer outlawed...John Henry's knee-jerk reaction to the letter no longer seemed so cloak-and-dagger.

A sudden creaking of floorboards on the other side of the door made your pulse thrum in your neck. Had your stepfather returned or perhaps you had been too loud and your mother had heard? You would've heard either the front door or the bedroom door open but then your mind was still swooning from your discovery. Gingerly, you placed the book on the side table next to the candle and inched to the door. Your breath caught in your lungs as you listened, on ear pressed to the cool wood. You could hear someone, something on the other side. The sounds of scratching against the wood made you shrink back, one hand coming to rest over your chest, your heart beating erratically. Your other hand reached for the door handle and you collected your wits about you before you pushed down the handle and yanked it open. You were greeted by a mass of fur and dark eyes that shot up to your face, equally as surprised as you were.

“Oh heaven's, Rosie!” you hissed, trying to calm yourself down at the sight of the family dog that must've heard you wandering around and decided to see for herself what you were up to in the dead of night. She tilted her head slightly at the mention of her name, looking past you and into the study that was off limits to her, her nose sniffing at the foreign scent of the room. If it wasn't for your incessant insistence that the St. Bernard was despite her outward appearance, nothing more than an overgrown lap dog,your parents would have kept her outside almost exclusively. With a lazy curiosity, she stepped over the threshold past your legs to inspect the new-found territory. You quickly walked past her to place the book back in its place on the shelf and took the candle holder in your hand, before turning around to see that Rosie had plopped herself down on the carpet in the middle of the room, watching you through her friendly heavy eyes.

“Rosie, you know you are not allowed in here. Well, technically neither and am I so where does that leave us? Come on, let's not leave any trace of us being here,” you berated her half-heartedly, grabbing her by he collar in the hopes that she would grace you with compliance. She looked up at you with an expression of indifference, seeing as your late-night musing must've roused her from her slumber downstairs as she came back up on all fours with a huff to trot out the room in front of you, waiting at the threshold.

“I don't know about you, but I could use some fresh air, what do you say?” you whispered in her direction, her presence calming your frazzled nerves somewhat. With one final glance around the study, you exited, making sure to shut the door as quietly as possible, leaving no trace of your trespassing. Should your mother, wake you could put the blame on Rosie for rousing you to go outside. You'd make sure to bring the candle back up with you, when you came back later. With a nod of your head, you silently bade her to follow you down the stairs and out the front door.

The midnight air was as welcome to your burning skin as it was chilling, serving to ground you and you pulled the shawl tighter around your shoulders with one hand, the candle in the other dimly illuminating the air around you. You watched the lit wick flicker slightly, growing and wavering in intensity, shielded only by the glass from the wind. Ever since this afternoon, your world had begun to tilt on its axis, threatening to plunge you into the unknown, to blow out that candle and yet there was no glass cover to keep you from being engulfed by the darkness that surrounded you. Rosie began to make her rounds around the front of the house and you became lost in your thoughts of what would happen but a week from now. John Henry had tried to shield you, believing it was safe to finally return to his birthplace with you in tow. Now it seemed, all those years of shielding you from his past would come to haunt your present.

Rosie's low growl beside you pulled you out of you reverie and your eyes snapped into the direction she faced, teeth bared and snarling. You struggled to see the source of her sudden defence through the candlelight blinding you of your surroundings and the dense mist that settled over the ground at night. Beyond the stone walls along the gravel road, you could make out a cloaked dark form and for a moment you thought it was John Henry who had come back from his visit to his old warlock friend. Yet the tall figure stopped about 100 yards away in the middle of the road, an ominous feeling creeping up your legs and spine at the sight. Your house was nestled in the countryside, the next estate and their occupants miles away. You stood, frozen to the spot as you waited for the figure to move. Around them, the fog grew thicker, spreading outward like pipe smoke blown against a glass pane, and engulfing both you and Rosie, who began to growl beside you.

Michael watched as you left the house, your nightgown billowing in the frigid night breeze, revealing glimpses of the smooth skin of your legs. When Ambrose Holt had told him of the letter sent to John Henry's stepdaughter, he knew he needed to see for himself what would ultimately be the downfall of that heretic Warlock who had come too close to undoing all of what his family, his father had set out to achieve. To restore the warlock bloodlines to their former glory and to retake what he and many others considered to be their birthright. It was foolish to think that mere humans could achieve what his kind had over millennia, he scoffed at their hubris in the face of such mundaneness. John Henry had forsaken his kind and had tried to smother their power, their supremacy.  He should've remained in his self-imposed exile, Michael mused as his eyes took you in, still unaware of his gaze on you, smiling at the way the breeze plucked small strands of your hair out the loose braid you wore to bed, the way it flushed your cheeks a rosy red. You would make the perfect Goddess to his Horned God.

He could whisk you away right now when you offered yourself so freely, unattended in the middle of the night, your pet of a dog wouldn't stand in the way one bit. Patience, he chastised himself as he walked closer along the road with calculated slow steps, his black cloak swishing around him, his hood drawn down into his face. He had waited this long to take revenge on John Henry, he could wait a week more, even though you made it hard for him when your eyes finally spotted him, raking over him at the sounds of that wretched beast beside you. Underneath the hood, he grinned, satisfied by your reaction. He could smell your fear even from here, so deliciously terrified at the site of him, frozen on the spot. He had you precisely where we wanted you. With a barely cognisant flick of his wrist at his side, the fog grew ticker around him and his invisible fingers reached through it to graze along the backs of your legs and up your spine. Oh, he was going to enjoy this years Harvest more than ever when the prize was you and all you embodied.

You felt the fog move against the base of your neck, distinctly like fingers on your skin. The candle in your hand began to flicker and blew out, leaving your in darkness, only the pale moonlight as your guide. Your eyes grew wide as you were plunged into darkness and before them, the cloaked stranger disappeared into thin air, swallowed by the mist. Rosie's growls stopped and she shook off her guard, back to her usual self. You met her gaze, you heart still pounding furiously before you hastened back to the house, nearly tripping on your way up the stone steps. Rosie trotted after you, nudging you up the stairs. Even though she didn't seem half as bothered as you, she rarely moved this quickly. You pushed open the front door, Rosie slipping inside past your feet. You threw the door closed behind you, your back pressing into the wood as you struggled to catch your breath. For a moment, you stood in darkness and silence before heading up to your room, not caring if your mother would wake at the ruckus you made. You prayed that John Henry would be back by the morning with answers. The candle holder out of his room stood forgotten on the hallway table.

[ohsugar-honey-iced-tea]

A drunken mess pt. 1

Ina has had too much to drink. Welcome to a very drunk Ina! I had fun writing her like this, and I hope you will like it too. It's a little short, but I did my best.

Enjoy!

@kulaykape @citybornchick @thedaft1 @kwekwek @astrangeandunusualgirl @domakir @dopeyouth

-------------------------------------------------------

Ina and Bella were sitting in their livingroom together. Bella couldn't even look at Ina, she was way too mad at her for that. "Sweetheart, come on, please talk to me" but she was greeted with an angry glare. Ina had been keeping Bella awake all night, because it might have been possible that she had a few too much drinks. And you couldn't exactly call it 'tipsy', no, she was DRUNK. Bella had never seen Ina drunk before, and man did she wish she hadn't last night.

"Come on babe... what all happened last night that made you so upset? I mean it couldn't have been that bad, right?"

That got Bella's attention.

"Well, where do you want to start? Crying over seatbelts, worrying about yout feet or keeping me up all night? Let me tell you exactly what happened"

...

It was almost 1am when Ina and Bella came home. They had game night over at Lillians place. Appearantely it's tradition for Ina and Lillian to do a sort of drinking game together. Bella had a long day of classes tomorrow, so she passed. However, it was Ina'a day off tomorrow, so she and Lillian started playing. Lillian was winning the game, and only had to take tree shots. Ina, however, took so many shots that Bella lost count.

When Bella sat Ina down in the car, she was unsurprisingly happy. For some reason, she kept telling Bella about how great she found the bouncy balls in her childhood, and then all of the sudden started crying.

"What's wrong, Ina?"

*sniff* "I-I just realised....."

"What?"

".....MY FAVORITE BOUNCY BALL WAS LOST IN A TERRIBLE ACCIDENT. I ACCIDENTELY DROPPED IT OUT OF THE CAR WINDOW WHILE SHOWING IT THE WORLD AND MY PARENTS DIDN'T EVEN STOP TO GRAB IT"

*starts ugly crying while not even being in the car for 4 minutes*

'Oh, this will be a long, long night' Bella thought, while preparing herself for what would happen when they got home.

...

When they finally arrived home, Bella stepped out of the car, but found Ina struggling with the seatbelt.

"BABE HELP, THERE IS A BLACK SNAKE TRYING TO KEEP ME HERE FOR EVER-"

"Babe, that's just your seatbelt--"

"I'M TOO YOUNG TO GET KILLED BY A SNAKE" *starts crying again* "okay, let's get you out of here." Bella helps Ina get out of the car, and Ina supports herself on her while trying to get to the door. By this time, Ina's vision was blurry.

"BABE HELP, THERE ARE TREE DOORS, WHAT IF ITS A TRAP AND I WALK IN THE WRONG DOOR AND I'LL BE FORCED TO MAKE PUPPITS OUT OF POTATOES FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE?"

"What are you talking about?? Just follow me, and try to be quiet, it's almost 1.30!"

"I AM QUIET' *puts finger on her lips* "SHHHHHHHHHHH" "...babe, next time I could go for fewer saliva" she said as she wiped her face clean.

Dexter woke up from the loud sounds coming from Ina, and hid himself behind the table from her.

Bella managed to open the door, and made Ina sit down on the couch. "Oh my.... this sure is a lovely couch" Ina said, as she started sitting on it in a lot of stupid positions. She managed to get her legs pointing to the ground, arms over her head and head upside down, so she basically sat 180° wrong on the couch.

"Babe, what on earth are you doing?"

"Just thinking..... DO YOU REMEMBER SCAR FROM THE LION KING? HE WAS VERY MISUNDERSTOOD"

"Ina, let's sit up straight first, and then-"

But Bella was interrupted by Ina. She stood up, grabbed a pear from the fruitbowl to use as a microphone, and started singing.

"BE PREPARED FOR THE DEATH OF THE KING! BE PREPARED, BE PREPAAAA- OOF!!!"

She accidentely bumped into the dining table, and falling backwards. She fell on her back, before Bella. She could only see Bella's feet before her eyes.

".....BABE HELP, MY FEET FELL OF!"

"Those are my feet, you idiot!"

"THEN WHY DO YOU HAVE FOUR FEET?"

"Babe, there are only 2-"

"MY GIRLFRIEND IS TURNING INTO A SPIDER! HOW CAN I EVER KISS AND LOVE YOU NOW"

Tears started to form in Ina's eyes again.

".....okay we need to sober you up, now! How about some coffee and crackers?"

"......crackers?" Ina got an annoyed look in her eyes "We're in the middle of a serious problem and your solution is crackers?"

"Not just crackers..." she takes a bag of animal crackers out of the food cabinet. "Animal crackers!!"

Ina shot up from the floor, eyes wide at the bag of animal crackers and started to smile. "ANIMAL CRACKERSSSSSS" she took the bag, but accidentely dropped it. "NOOO!! YOU DROPPED THEM!! NOW THE ANIMALS WILL BE PARALISED FOREVER!" Bella started to see tears in Ina's eyes again, and quickly got the bag off the ground and got her some. "Here, and drink some coffee." "Thanks, pal!" Bella facepalmed herself, wishing she were in bed.

...

"Okay, Ina. It's 3.20. It's not funny anymore, we're going to bed." Dexter gave Bella a thankful look, as he started walking towards his pillow, ready to snuggle up with his squeaky pear. However, Ina had other plans. "Bella, I am your proffesol- proffersena- pruffen--- I TEACH YOU! SO YOU SHALL LISTEN TO ME!" Ina got a serious look on her face. "Bella..... I. Am. Your. Father" and she shook her arms as if she was holding a lightsaber. "Ina no! It's no time to act like Darth Vader!" "Whyy do all the villains wear masks? It's so strange...." oh no. Bella could see where this was going. Ina placed her right hand on the right side of her face, and started to sing. "LOVEEE MEEEEE.... THAT'S ALL I ASK OF... NOOOOOO DO NOT LOOK AT MY FACE!" At this point, Bella wasn't sure if she wanted to scream or laugh.

...

"BABE REMEMBER ALF? HE WAS FROM MELMAC AND ATE CATS! HE WAS SO COOL!"

"Ina, that was popular decades ago! I'm not going to talk to you about Alf when it's 4.30 in the morning!"

"I'M BATMAAAANNN-" Ina said in a deep voice.

"THAT'S IT WE'RE GOING TO BED NOW"

...

After Bella finally got Ina into bed, she was hopeful that she had fallen asleep. But unfortunately, she wasn't that lucky.

"Do you know what's a funny word?" Ina said excitedly.

Bella groaned. "What?"

"GEODE! LIKE FROM GEOGRAPHY!"

"Ina, please, just close your-"

"GEEEEEODE.....GEE..ODE...GE! ode..."

Ina tapped Bella on her shoulder

"Bella, Bella! GEODE! ISN'T THIS JUST WONDERFUL? GEOMETRY WAS SO UNDERRATED, IT MUST HAVE BEEN BULLIED BY MATHS AND BIOLOGY. IT HAD A RELATIONSHIP WITH SCIENCE, BUT SCIENCE FELL IN LOVE WITH PHYSICS AND THEY RAN AWAY TOGETHER"

"INA IT'S ALMOST 5 AM! PLEASE JUST GO TO SLEEP"

She heard Ina sniffle.

".....do you still love me?"

"Of course I do. With every inch of my body. But for now I just want to sleep"

Ina started poking Bella's face.

"Ooooohhhh look at this face. Look at those. I loveeeeee this face"

She started biting her face

"INA STOP DON'T BITE ME"

"BUT YOU'RE DELICIOUS"

"JUST GO TO SLEEP, INA"

...

When it was 5.45, Ina finally went to sleep. Bella got 1 and a half hour of sleep, not being able to sleep any more because of Ina's snoring. Normally she didn't snore, but she did if she was this drunk. So, she went to their couch and joined Dexter in the livingroom. He looked at her with sad eyes when he heard Ina's snores coming out of the bedroom.

"I'm sorry, buddy. Come here"

And with that, Dexter joined her on the couch and they tried to get a little bit of sleep.

...

After hearing from Bella how she was last night, she hid her face in her hands. "Bella, I'm sorry-" "you made Dexter cranky! Just look at the poor thing!" Ina looked over at Dexter, and he was looking very angry at her. "I'm not mad, I just need a moment now" and with that, she dissapeared in the bedroom.

Ina looked at the floor, frowning. The she stood up, got some pain killers, and started walking towards Dexter.

"Come on, Dex... you can't be that mad at me too, right?" But Dexter walked away from her. 'Well, Kingsley, you know what they say. Dissapoint a dog... and you are a pathetic loser' she thought to herself. She needed to make it up to Bella. So she grabbed her wallet and keys, and went out to buy a few things for Bella.

...

A few hours later, Bella came out of the livingroom with Dexter walking besides her, after they both have taken a much needed nap.

"Ina? Where are you?"

Ina appeared, and she had a big teddy bear with a heart that said 'I love you beary much' and a box of chocolates in one hand, and a bag ful of dog treats in the other hand.

"Hello, everyone. I apologise for how I've been acting last night. I've had too much to drink, and it made me show unacceptable behaviour. I'm sorry." She said this, and had the biggest pout on her face.

".....how can I stay annoyed with you when you are this cute? Come here."

Bella openee her arms, and Ina gladly went to her. She picked Dexter up and gave him a kiss on his nose.

"I do hope you can forgive me, buddy"

Dexter looked a long time at Ina, but gave her a lick on her cheek after a while. Ina and Bella started to chuckle.

"I'll take that as a yes, then."

Together, they enjoyed a happy and cuddly day. Ina made Bella promise to stop her from drinking this much next time.

"You are a big girl, I'm sure you can handle yourself."

"Well, appearantely not, otherwise my hangover wouldn't be this bad."

"Another thing that might help is pearjuice, they say the sweet flavors take the pain away" Bella said, and gave her a bottle of pearjuice."

"Well, you know what they say" Ina said. "A pear a day keeps the hangover away"

"How's that working for you now?"

"....no comment"

The end

[thegeminisage]

for the fic ask meme - 3, 9, 17, 23! <3

ANON MY BELOVED <3 thank you this is so many!!! sorry this took so long to answer!!!! i wound up having a lot to say rip 

3: Do you have any upcoming WIPs? How far along are you with them?

i have 3!! there was one thing i was working on prior to nov 5 of last year, which i have only just started considering again. the tag for that is “secret project tag” because well. it is a secret. im not even saying that like “oh im playing i secretly do want to be asked” i dont bc if i told anyone about it i think that i would stop being able to work on it :( like i’m just not sure i’ll finish!!! in the beginning i didn’t even want to say that it was writing, yk? i only even started tagging it because it’s obnoxious to talk about something i can’t talk about & i wanted people to be able to blacklist. i am only about 10k into it, and it will probably wind up being quite long, 150k bare minimum, so it will probably be a very long time before it ever sees the light of day, IF it sees the light of day at all. 

second wip is of course the claire-centric envesseled from @cambionverse. cally and i have been struggling with it on and off since 2013 and it is Finally Time. for anyone not familiar with it, cambionverse is a fixit for the end of s6 (initially written during the airing of s6) that centers on claire novak, cas’s vessel’s daughter from s4, ben braeden, dean’s not-kid from s3/s6, and jesse turner, the little half demon from season 5, as young adults. they’re basically ocs at this point and the idea was to do one story for each of them. we did one for jesse and one for ben and claire’s was supposed to be the end of the trilogy, but we got started on a bunch of side projects and had to rewrite almost everything to prep for it, so it’s taken nearly a decade. i am so glad to finally be getting to it!! right now we’ve got about 36k, the first chapter is completely done, the second chapter is in a couple of pieces we’re trying to stitch back together, and the third chapter has like half a scene in it. it’s slow going rn because we’re sort of putting everything from previous drafts back together in coherent pieces, but i think after we get to truly new stuff we haven’t written before (this is our third draft...) it will go a lot faster. i hope so anyway, because we have 7 chapters an an epilogue planned lol. and there’s no guarantee it won’t get bigger! as these things often do.

third & final wip is ofc triptych part 3, the third in the series after to an angel and broken road, currently being called 12:46pm because i don’t have anything better to call it. (12:46pm is when i had the idea for it, or more accurately when @cleaver-2007 GAVE me the idea like the horrible influence they are.) i wrote some about it here! right now i only have about 2500 words for it because i’m struggling with my structure + trying to devote most of my free time to envesseled. i don’t want to give away the big spoiler for its premise but i am really looking forward to it & also terrified because i have seen other people doing it and i think they probably did it/will do it better than me. the way i pick my projects out is “nobody else has done this in a way that satisfies me” or “nobody else has done this at all” because then i don’t feel like im competing with anybody. like NO ONE ELSE wrote a fic where all of camelot, including uther, got magic. i was the sole corner on that market so there was no pressure yk? but this is a fairly popular concept so im angsting hard about pulling it off!!!!!

9: Are there any fics you’d love to see but don’t want to write yourself? What are they?

weirdly enough not too many! most of the time if i REALLY wanna see something and no one else has done it i will simply do it myself, assuming im in a place where i can take on a big project. such as for example a good nuanced john winchester fic. i’m sure there are some but i’m blanking, nothing is coming to mind...i think the only one i can think of right now is really long season/series/episode rewrites, but even then i am reluctant to get too invested in longer works because What If The Author Has Bad Opinions. i bet i will think of a better answer to this question when i am trying to fall asleep tonight

17: What has been the proudest moment for you so far since you started writing?

ok, so it’s a tie. one is of course the huge response to broken road, particularly that bombshell of a 6th chapter...even though i don’t think broken road is my best work, it is by far my most popular one, and i was and still am absolutely humbled by the huge amount of people who followed along week-to-week, who sent in almost literally more comments than i could reply to before it was time to post the next chapter. i know fic popularity is a matter of writing for the right thing at the right time, but it felt like the work resonated with so many people! i can’t even describe with words how that feels.

the second moment is when i finished my first-ever fanfic, which was a novelization of ocarina of time. i started writing it because i wanted to read a novelization but nobody else got to the end...i’d read dozens of deku tree chapters and no ganon’s tower chapters. it wasn’t a great or even very good fanfic, but it was a FINISHED one, and as far as i know i was the first person on FFN (maybe even the only person on FFN) to actually get to the end. when i got done i was like “that is literally the most fun i’ve ever had doing anything and i wanna do it for the rest of my life” and i started a novelization of majora’s mask the very same day. haven’t quit since!

23: What’s one piece of advice you would give to anyone who wants to start writing or posting their writing online?

i actually have a whole list of advice posts but i’m going to cheat and do two again anyway. the first one is, OUTLINE. i swear by the triangle method which posits you need 3 things to do well: enthusiasm about what you’re doing, time to do it, and to know where you’re going next. that last step IS CRUCIAL. 

my second piece of advice is to have fun!!! i see posts constantly about how wrting is hard and it sucks and people quit writing all the time because they didn’t get enough comments or whatever, but if i had based my willingness to write on the amount of comments i got i would never have finished my first story, let alone go on to write another (almost) two decades. if you can find even one person to be excited with your shit about, that can be enough. write bc you love to do it - if you don’t, why bother at all?

[fic ask game]

[ibijau]

chap 2 of the modern xisangyao, also on AO3

Against his better judgement, Meng Yao finds himself quite charmed by the too handsome researcher who wants to meet his employer

Mister Shanzi will be unhappy when he discovers that Meng Yao has agreed to meet with a researcher without first consulting him, but he is simply too curious. It is so odd for anyone to be so interested in that obscure painter, and so desperate to see more of his work. Of course, Mister Shanzi himself holds a clear interest in Nie Huaisang, one that he has unwillingly transmitted to Meng Yao… But mister Shanzi is an odd man, and ordinary people cannot be compared to him. 

For this reason, Meng Yao's first instinct upon being contacted by Lan Xichen had been suspicion. Mister Shanzi has his enemies, as Meng Yao knows well, and they try to act clever sometimes. 

His second instinct, after a quick internet search, had been amusement. Surely nobody expected him to believe that this man, handsome enough to play the lead in a drama, was a mere university teacher. 

A more thorough search had confirmed it though. Meng Yao knew enough about running a con to spot modified photos and fake credentials, and he had found none of that. Digging further, Lan Xichen appeared in the background of photos and was referenced here and there on relatives' social media, with no incoherence to the presentation he'd given in his email. 

So Meng Yao had found himself intrigued, and offered to meet and chat. 

A decision he half regrets now, because somehow, Lan Xichen is even more handsome in person. He is, in fact, the single most beautiful person that Meng Yao has seen in his life, easily outranking mister Shanzi who had reigned there supreme since the day Meng Yao met him during a con gone wrong. 

"I am so glad you offered to meet me," Lan Xichen says with a warm smile. "I am really sorry that I was so insistent, but it is so rare for several of Nie Huaisang’s works to be in a single place."

“I understand,” Meng Yao replies, trying to match the warmth of that smile when he can’t help being a little dazzled by that handsome stranger. “Though at the moment, my employer is a little wary of showing any of those paintings in his possession until he has inspected them all again. It is very embarrassing that several fakes fooled him, and mister Shanzi wants to restore his reputation. He is still getting used to modern technology, and how much it has changed the art market in recent decades.”

Mostly, mister Shanzi complains a lot on the matter, and keeps saying he’s going to have to change career soon. Apparently, back in the days, it was much easier to sell a decent fake as long as you also sold enough real things. But now with age testing of the paper and analysis of the ink, it’s nearly impossible to do a good enough job.

Of course mister Shanzi could quite easily make as much money only selling legitimate art, he has the connections, the collection, and impeccable taste. So Meng Yao suspects it’s not just about money, and more about the twisted joy of deceiving others. He can't fault him for that.

“Yes, that makes sense,” Lan Xichen sighs. “I was fooled as well, so I understand the feeling. It’s so disappointing, but not unexpected. Nie Huaisang attracts forgers like no other artists.”

Meng Yao nods sympathetically. He’s heard mister Shanzi boast that well over half of Nie Huaisang’s paintings in circulation are copies he made himself, and perfectly undetectable unless one runs those ‘damn new tests’ on them.

“If I may be so bold, why the interest in that particular painter?” Meng Yao asks. “Surely you could have found someone less complicated to study.”

Rather than to answer immediately, Lan Xichen considers the question. He takes a sip of tea with more elegance than this café deserves, and Meng Yao is struck once more with the idea that this man should be acting in drama, not writing essays nobody will ever read. It’s easy to imagine Lan Xichen playing the role of a noble prince, or even a god. 

“He’s just a fascinating character I suppose,” Lan Xichen says at last. “Outside of his art, we know so little about him. We don’t even know his real name.”

“What?”

Lan Xichen smiles, clearly very pleased to have gotten that reaction.

“He wasn’t born Nie Huaisang,” he explains. “That’s only his courtesy name. You see, he belonged to that… well, they called themselves a sect, though at the end of the day they were closer to nobility, with the same inheritance problems and power struggles. Still, Qinghe Nie held a number of beliefs, and one of them was that the birth name of its members had to be kept a complete secret… and Nie Huaisang is among those who succeeded at obeying that rule. So we don’t know his name, we don’t know his date of birth, and we don’t know how he died or when.”

“Is there anything that is known about him?” Meng Yao teases, more endeared and intrigued than he would care to admit.

Lan Xichen must notice, because he smiles again, as if delighted to have found someone willing to listen to his impromptu lecture.

“We know he was raised by his brother because their father died when they were young,” Lan Xichen says. “Well, half-brother. Nie Huaisang was the child of a concubine, or even of a servant. His father recognised him, but his legitimacy was called in question a few times. We know he survived a local insurrection nicknamed the Sunshot Campaign, though it’s unclear if he was old enough to have taken part in any fighting. His brother did though, with great success, but died without heirs a few years later and Nie Huaisang found himself in charge of a fief.”

He pauses there, his expression turning sadder, as if he were talking of a personal friend rather than a long dead man. Meng Yao finds it ridiculous and a little endearing.

“A few anecdotes from the lives of contemporaries tell us that he must have had a rough time at first,” Lan Xichen continues, “and he was suspected for a while of being implicated in the murder of the head of the Jin clan, but nothing ever came out of that. He’s just thirty at that point, still fairly young, and he lives on for another fifty, maybe sixty years… and we don’t know anything about what he does during that time. Nobody really talks about Qinghe Nie again until his successor rises to power and brings the clan back into the political sphere. Nie Huaisang’s life is a mystery. What little we think we know comes from the few poems he left, and whatever clues we can gather from his numerous paintings. Isn’t that fascinating?”

What’s fascinating, Meng Yao thinks, is the way Lan Xichen’s eyes light up when talking about something he’s passionate about. If it’s an act, then it’s an excellent one… but Meng Yao finds himself hoping that it’s sincere, that Lan Xichen really is just an odd man who is apparently half in love with a painter who died a millennium and a half ago.

There is no way that mister Shanzi would ever let anyone see his private collection. Even Meng Yao is barely allowed to go to his employer’s house, to avoid attracting attention to the place. Lan Xichen’s request is never going to be granted.

But it has been a long while since Meng Yao has been so intrigued by someone, not since first meeting mister Shanzi in fact. And mister Shanzi, in spite of the mutual attraction that Meng Yao knows to be there, has made it quite clear that he isn’t interested in anything but a professional relationship. Meng Yao has satisfied himself with that so far, because his life really is pretty good as it currently is, but Lan Xichen changes that. Surely there’s no harm in pretending that there’s a chance he might get to see the painting, at least until Meng Yao can decide if that too handsome man is trustworthy or not, dateworthy or not…

“It does sound interesting,” Meng Yao admits. “I’m sure mister Shanzi would…”

His phone starts vibrating, interrupting him. Meng Yao can’t help a slight frown, which turns to a deeper one when he sees the message he’s just received.

“Well, I have to go,” he sighs. “I’m really sorry. But… mister Lan, if I may be so bold, would you agree to exchanging numbers? That way we can continue talking about this more easily.”

“Yes, of course,” Lan Xichen replies. There is a trace of pink on his cheeks as he takes out his own phone, which Meng Yao finds both very fetching and rather encouraging.

He’ll have to be careful, this could be a trap, Lan Xichen might be an excellent actor, part of a team skilled enough to have fooled Meng Yao, but… but he might not be, too, and it would be a shame to miss this chance.

After having exchanged numbers and promised to be in touch soon, Meng Yao quickly heads home. He lives on the edges of the city, in a building that already looked ancient when he was a kid. Today’s a good day, because the lift is, in fact, actually working for once.

Upon getting to his floor, Meng Yao goes to knock on the door next to his. It opens nearly immediately.

“Meng Yao, you’re saving my life,” the young woman who lives there greets him. “I’m really sorry, I’ve tried everyone else, but I’ve been called in for an extra shift and I need the money so bad, I’ve had to buy her new shoes this month, and…”

“It’s fine, I don’t mind at all.”

His neighbour thanks him again, and rushes inside. She’s back quickly, her daughter in her arms. The child nearly throws herself at Meng Yao, and her mother runs off to work, leaving them alone.

“Well, Beastie, it’s just you and me,” Meng Yao says, walking to his door. “What are we going to do tonight?”

“Watch fighting movies! Eat candies!”

“And what will we tell mama we did?”

“Watch documentaries and eat greens and I went to bed and I was good!” The little girl roars.

Meng Yao laughs, and puts her down while he unlocks his door. Beastie runs inside to check the tv, while Meng Yao makes sure they actually have something to eat. He tries to keep his fridge full and his cabinet fuller, especially since Beastie has become a regular at his place. Her mother is a hard working girl who, like Meng Yao’s mother, got pregnant too young from a man who didn’t stick around. He used to babysit Beastie for extra cash before meeting mister Shanzi, and for some reason he never really stopped, even if he refuses to take money for it now. He just likes Beastie and her mom, and he remembers how much his own mother used to rely on neighbours too, whenever things became rough.

As Beastie and him settle down for the night, ready to watch one of those cheesy, over the top old kung-fu movies that they both love, Meng Yao gets a text from Lan Xichen, thanking him again for meeting him. After only the briefest of hesitations, Meng Yao quickly answers that he’s sorry he had to leave so fast, because he loved chatting with Lan Xichen. This prompts another text from the handsome teacher, to which Meng Yao replies as well.

His phone doesn’t stop buzzing all nigh, and Meng Yao doesn't stop smiling. 

-

In the days and weeks that follow, Meng Yao and Lan Xichen manage to meet in person a few more times, and text nearly constantly. At their second meeting they’re still pretending that this is only about Lan Xichen’s research, but by the third one they start openly chatting about other things.

Lan Xichen is very open about his life, and everything he says fits with what Meng Yao had found during his initial investigation. He has a little brother nearly fifteen years younger than him who lives with him, he enjoys teaching and researching equally, he has a pet rabbit called Liebing he dotes on, he can’t handle spice at all, he has, in fact, been asked more than once if he was interested in a modelling or acting career but always refused because academia is his calling.

Meng Yao is more careful with the information he shares. He admits to having worked for mister Shanzi for nearly five years, but doesn’t elaborate on how they meet because that's not a story for honest people. He confesses he didn’t have any particular interest in art until taking the job, though he has tried to educate himself on the subject since then (Lan Xichen offers to go to a museum together someday, and to his own surprise, Meng Yao agrees). He doesn’t have pets, but he does have Beastie and he’s pretty sure that counts.

The way Lan Xichen’s eyes go soft over that… it does things to Meng Yao’s poor heart.

As does almost everything Lan Xichen does or says, in fact.

Meng Yao is half appalled at himself for how fast he’s falling for Lan Xichen. He tries to resist it, tries to be reasonable, but Lan Xichen just has to smile the right way, and Meng Yao’s heart flutters in his chest. He feels like a teenager with a crush.

He starts thinking like one, too.

Ever since meeting mister Shanzi, Meng Yao has been loyal to his employer. There is something about the man that demands it, and though he has never made threats of any sorts, Meng Yao can feel that mister Shanzi is not a man who takes kindly to betrayal.

And yet, it would be so easy to arrange for Lan Xichen to come to mister Shanzi’s home without his knowledge. Meng Yao is in charge of his employer’s schedule, so he knows where he is at any given time. He also has the keys to that isolated house in the middle of nowhere. It would be so easy, and Meng Yao has never been too good at resisting temptation.

At this point, he knows that if he tells Lan Xichen he won't see the paintings, the other man will be disappointed but will ask if they can keep seeing each other anyway. This isn't about finding a way to keep his attention: Meng Yao knows he has it already. 

It's about Meng Yao guessing how happy Lan Xichen will be to see those paintings, and deciding surely that's worth the risk. 

That’s how Meng Yao and Lan Xichen find themselves in a car one day, heading out of the city together. Meng Yao feels his skin buzzing with nerves, though every time he takes his eyes from the road to glance at Lan Xichen and finds him glowing and as excited as a child, he knows it was the right choice. It takes them a few hours to get to the house, which they spend chatting about a number of things. About midway through the trip, when they take a break, Meng Yao announces that due to a last minute problem, mister Shanzi won’t be able to meet them at the house, but welcomes them to check the paintings without him. Lan Xichen is of course disappointed and offers to try again another time, but Meng Yao convinces him it’s more convenient to go that day.

The house, hidden in a bamboo forest, takes Lan Xichen’s breath away when he discovers it, just as it did for Meng Yao the first time. It’s not particularly big or extravagant, but there’s something about it that makes Meng Yao’s heart ache every time he sees it, as if he’s known it before. It’s ridiculous, of course. He’d never really left the city before starting to work for mister Shanzi.

“It looks like home,” Lan Xichen whispers as he exits the car.

“Does your family have a place like that?”

Lan Xichen frowns, and shakes his head. “No, not at all. But it still feels like home. I can’t explain why… Ah, don’t mind me. Let’s just go inside.”

Meng Yao hides a smile and goes to open the door. In truth, he’d like to get this over with as quickly as possible. Mister Shanzi has no reason to be back from his trip until tomorrow, but Meng Yao won’t feel safe until they’ve left. It really is stupid to have come here at all, and even Lan Xichen’s happiness is starting to not feel worth the risk.

The house is quiet when they go in, and a little cold, making them shiver. It’s always fresh in there, which Meng Yao assumes is why mister Shanzi has taken to calling his home the Hanshi. 

“It’s not a very welcoming name for a home,” Lan Xichen says as he looks around, sounding a little distracted.

“It’s not much of a home anyway. He doesn’t live here most of the time,” Meng Yao explains as they head for the kitchen. “It has his private collection, a few personal belongings, and that’s it. He prefers to stay with friends or at hotels if he can. Check the fridge and you’ll see how bad it is.”

While Meng Yao pours himself a glass of water, Lan Xichen does check the fridge, and finds it predictably empty except for some forgotten leftovers. Sometimes, Meng Yao suspects that mister Shanzi doesn’t eat at all unless he has company.

After taking a moment to rest from the long trip, Meng Yao takes Lan Xichen toward the workshop in the basement, where he knows his employer usually keeps the best parts of his collection, fake and authentic paintings carefully divided according to a system he taught to Meng Yao.

It really feels more and more like a betrayal to be doing this, but Lan Xichen is glowing, and mister Shanzi will never know.

Meng Yao starts opening the door.

His blood turns to ice when he realises that there’s light inside the room.

He thinks, for a second, to stop and run away while he can, but it’s too late already. Lan Xichen would ask questions, and he wouldn’t like the answers. It could save him from also dealing with mister Shanzi’s fury at least, but even that won’t be afforded to him. When Meng Yao peaks inside, mister Shanzi’s swivel chair is turning toward the door, with mister Shanzi sitting crossed leg in it and looking curiously at the intruders.

It is painfully obvious that mister Shanzi isn’t expecting visitors. Instead of the polished outfits he favours in public, he’s wearing a pair of novelty boxers with emoji on them, and a hoodie two sizes too big with ink stains on the sleeves. His long hair isn’t in a neat braid, but in a messy bun held in place by some cheap chopsticks. In short, mister Shanzi doesn’t look like the refined young man he endeavours to be when he has to show his face somewhere, and more like a college student who has forgotten the taste of any food except instant noodle and energy drinks.

That impression is only made worse by the headphones he’s now lowering, and the game console on his lap. They must have caught him taking a break.

“Meng Yao, why are you…” mister Shanzi starts asking, unfolding his legs so he can stand up, only to interrupt himself when his gaze falls on Lan Xichen.

His hands start shaking, badly enough that his console falls from his grip and onto the floor, its screen cracking upon impact.

“You!” mister Shanzi gasps, eyes wide with terror.

[kpop-cakepops]

Write about reading a book on a sunny day with a Seventeen member! It's really unspecific sorry, but there's a new quillstarters challenge, and I thought that it would be great for that!! good luck uwu

Thank you for the request! So I've chosen Wonwoo for this one because you truly can't spell "book" without Wonwoo lol. Hope you like it!

GENRE: fluff

Warnings: none.

Word count: 1,654

Summary: Realizing you’re in love with your best friend can simply take a couple of flashbacks, a bit of nice weather, and a book.  

quillstarters challenge no.6 ( @quillstarters )

Gleaming.

He was gleaming as he sat under the sole tree that decorated the backyard of your new house. He was your best friend of years, and you weren't sure if it was thanks to the way the sun's glare bounced off his skin, or if it was the way his round glasses slowly slipped down the bridge of his nose only to be pushed back into position, whatever it may be, the boy that you teased for being dull and sometimes boring, was suddenly gleaming.

He was very unaware of your presence as he flipped the page of whatever western philosophy book he'd picked up now. Funny enough you'd met under a clouded sky and rain, and yet even then, there had been a philosophy book wedged under his arm.

                           ~ ~ ~

"Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies" the cold rain was no longer pelting on your crouched body causing you to look up at whoever had sheltered you through your bloodshot eyes.

"What?" You managed to ask.

"It's Aristotle" he shrugged before crouching down beside you. His umbrella covering the both of you as you stared at the wet street before you. The same street your boyfriend... or should I say, ex boyfriend, had just walked away from.

"Who the hell is that?"

A small smile appeared on his lips as he turned to face you. It suddenly dawned on you that you weren't in the best position to act sassy towards a stranger that had been kind enough to shelter you after being embarrassingly dumped. "Not important." The stranger retaliated before looking back towards the street. "What I'm trying to say is that he might just not be the other half of your soul"

With those last words he handed you his umbrella, stood, and rushed for the coffee shop that you'd just been dumped in.

Finding the kind stranger after that required a lot of your efforts. You suddenly wanted to give him his umbrella back and tell him that you did know who Aristotle was, and most of all, you wanted to thank him for having been nice enough to save you from yourself that day.

It was after a month of showing up to that coffee shop and repeatedly missing him that you finally managed to meet him again. His gaze had lifted almost automatically as you entered the place, both your gazes meeting and a soft sigh of relief leaving your lips. He gave you a small half smile before returning to his book, only then did you realize you were still standing at the door of the shop and it would be very weird if you didn't order something. So that's exactly what you did. Once you placed your order, the girl at the counter nodded over to the kind stranger and grinned proudly. "I told him you'd been looking for him, he's been waiting since 11"

Your cheeks flamed as you took your drink and sped towards the table furthest away from him. Why would she tell him you were looking for him?! He probably thought you were a stalker and a weirdo and probably only waited for you so he could tell you to stop looking for-

"That looks like sugar with coffee more than it does like coffee with sugar"

You froze in your spot and realized that you'd been emptying packet after packet after packet of sugar into your coffee and had gotten caught in the act by the same stranger you'd been looking for for a month now. "Uh... I like my coffee sweet" you lied.

He scoffed slightly and sat down across from you. "I'm guessing that's my umbrella?" He asked.

You nodded quickly and pushed it towards him. "Thank you for your kindness."

"No proble-"

"And I do know who Aristotle is." You blurted right after, earning yourself a deep laugh from the guy sat across from you.

                           ~ ~ ~

The memory brought a smile to your face and you found yourself walking over to the book worm that you called your best friend. “Hey” you greeted as you took a seat beside him. He turned his attention over to you and smiled warmly. “Do you remember how we met?” you asked as a soft breeze blew at the pages of the book in his hands. 

His brows furrowed as he thought back, face lighting up only seconds later. “Why so suddenly?” He questioned. 

You shrugged and rested your head on his shoulder. The sun’s glare catching your attention again. You wondered if you gleamed the same way he did. Both of you allowed yourselves a moment of silence before he broke it.

“I think I have a better memory of the night I met the real you” voice low and teasing as he stretched his arm before him. Your mouth shaped itself into a reminiscent ‘o’ at the sight of the “apology” bracelet you had gifted him after that night. 

                             ~ ~ ~

”I hate her.” you murmured into the sleeves of your sweater. “I don’t get why she would come back after so many years.” 

Wonwoo had been silent as you poured your heart out to him bitterly. After spending nearly all of your life alone, struggling with your depressed father, your mother had reappeared and suddenly wanted to “reconnect”? And your father was encouraging it? You didn’t understand. Was the burning feeling of betrayal not something you and he shared for the decades spent without the woman?

Your throat was twisted in painful knots as you tried your best not to cry in front of the guy that you’d looked up to for the past year. Yet it was hard. 

Wonwoo, ever the level headed bastard, sighed before speaking up calmly, “ To be wronged is nothing unless you continue to remember it...” 

You looked over at him and rolled your eyes at him causing for the tears you’d wanted to hold back to roll down your cheeks. “Are you being serious right now?” you smacked at his arm.

“...is what Confucius would have said!” he exclaimed rubbing at his arm. 

“I don’t care what some dead man has to say about my situation Wonwoo... this is real. I am in actual pain. I don’t want to see her because every time I do, I see my face in hers. She’s everything I hate, yet I’m such a part of her and she’s such a part of me.... it makes me hate myself. It makes me wonder if I’m going to be the same as her in a few years” You hug your knees to your chest finally allowing yourself to cry wholeheartedly. 

Wonwoo moved his gaze away from you and stared up at the starry night that sheltered you both this time. His hands nervously picked at the corners of the thick book in his hands. He had never seen you cry, not once for the year of friendship you’d both experienced. However, the moment tears rolled down your cheeks he decided it was something he hated, but something only he wanted to see. “Comfort comes in all shapes and sizes and I’m glad you’ve chosen this mere case of a human to trust in.” He said continuing to stare up at the sky after letting you sob for a few minutes.

“Was this Plato?” you sarcastically asked between sniffles.

“No... that was Jeon Wonwoo.” He stated looking back at you. “If you ever need to cry about your mom, about your dad, about your ex, about the food you had for lunch, I hope you continue to come to me.” 

Your mouth fell agape as you took in the silver glow of his face under the moonlight. That was the first time your heart skipped a beat for your best friend. The first of hundreds.

                            ~ ~ ~

“You’re being weirdly quiet. Penny for your thoughts” murmured Wonwoo bringing you back to the present. 

Ah, right. It was no longer dull and raining... It also wasn’t a cold silver night.... the present was sunny. The present was warm and breezy and Wonwoo was gleaming, his dark eyes back on his book, but his ears were ready to listen to whatever it was that was weighing down on your heart. 

You sat up straight and looked over at him. Your sudden movement catching his attention, making his eyes meet yours in less than a split second. The same split second it took for you to make up your mind. “I found it” You confess.

He stared at you quizzically, a brow raised. “You’ve found what?” he asks. 

Your lips press themselves against his soft ones in the briefest of kisses. For the first time since you met him, Wonwoo looks taken a back. A soft pink taking over the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “I’ve found the other half of my soul” you finish your confession. His eyes immediately light up remembering what he had told you the day you’d met. 

"Love is composed of a single soul inhabiting two bodies" he repeated the words causing a chill to run through you. A smile painted itself on his lips before he took hold of your face and returned the kiss you had so blatantly stolen from him. 

“It’s Aristotle” you added causing him to laugh softly. 

“The one you know really well?” he teased.

 “That one” you agreed.

Before you knew it, you were back to doing nothing. Wonwoo’s attention was set on his book once again, your hands interlaced, and all you could think of was how beautiful everything was. You met him in the rain, fell in love on a random night, and chose him as your other half on a sunny day, a love whose sole representation was a book. Your heart couldn’t help but flutter at the thought of it.

(Talk about getting carried away!!!!! lol, I ended up writing it all)