#this ended up much longer than i anticipated

[shadowsingercassia]

Hiya, bb! 🫶

Vi here! Little fic request (no pressure ❤️)

So basically, it’s a Azriel x Y/N (because we all love Azzy, 🥰) Reader is Nesta’s friend and she asks if she can join the Valkyrie training and Nesta is like “ofc bb” but since they are so far in training, Nesta sets Reader up with Azriel for private training, and Az is like “ok”

But Nesta doesn’t inform our favourite bat-boy that Reader is actually really good at training and ends up kicking Azzy’s butt in their first lesson, and then Az becomes obsessed with her 😍

I’m not making much sense but I’d love to see if you could write it! If anyone can bring this story to life, it’s you 🥰

Love ya Xx ✨🤍

I absolutely love this request (always love my badass readers)!! 🤭❤️

Love you too, Vi!! Thank you for requesting this 💕

Also I'm really sorry for sometimes disappearing for a week or two 😭

So anywayssss

Training Gone... Right? | Azriel x reader

Summary: read message

Warnings: mentions of blood reader being a LITTLE violent while training with Azriel (its not too graphic dont worry!) 😌, cute little obsessed Azriel 😊💕 (also there is a curse word but ignore it) let me know if I missed anything!!

Words: 1.4k!

Little note: 3 povs, (Nesta, Azriel and reader) but mostly it's Az!

☆

Nesta:

Nesta looked up from her book as she saw you entering the library. A determined expression had found its way onto your face. She reached over for her bookmark, closing the book and placing it on the table beside her.

As you approached her, your steps firm and confident, she raised an eyebrow. You stopped in front of her, and your gaze met hers. She couldn't have helped it when her grey eyes softened.

"I want to learn how to fight," you state, your hands clasped behind your back. Nesta's face brike off into a smirk. Clearly, she had been waiting for you to ask her.

Knowing you, and your past, it was logical that you would want to learn how to fight, and honestly, she was eager to train you.

After that, you joined the Valkyries, training with them daily. Nesta, Gwyn, and Emerie all taught you how to fight. The different techniques and fighting styles. Nesta observed you throwing a punch at Emerie, catching her off-guard. She knew you would be almost - if not - better than the rest of the Valkyries in no time. When you were determined, nothing would get in your way.

And Nesta had gotten another thought, late at night, as she read the new novel she borrowed from the library. She would set you up to train with Azriel.

Of course, you had seen Azriel once or twice while visiting Nesta in the House of Wind, but he doesn't know you were training with the Valkyries. Nesta had made sure of that.

The next day in training, she approached you as you ran through the stretches. Sunlight hit your skin, making it look golden. Taking her place close to you, she began stretching as well. "Do you remember Azriel?" She asked, turning her head slightly to look into your face.

She saw you pause for a moment before you answered her. "The shadowsinger, right?" You asked her back, furrowing your eyebrows. Nodding, she answered, "yes, the shadowsinger."

"Right, what about him?" You asked her, confused about why she would bring him up like that. Nesta rarely spoke of the shadowsinger with you. "I was wondering if you would be alright with inviting him to train with us tomorrow," she said nonchalantly, shrugging her shoulders.

"I wouldn't mind it, no," you said, still partially confused, but the anticipation of tomorrow gnawed at you. The door opened, Gwyn striding in, giving both you and Nesta a wave. Smiling, you wave back at her.

Reader (Y/n):

Training was surprisingly light today, and while it usually lasted longer, Nesta had retired early, then Gwyn, and lastly Emerie, leaving you alone. Not that you minded it, Nesta told you she was going to spend the afternoon with her mate, Gwyn saying Clotho needed her help in the library, and then Emerie deciding to spend the rest of the day doing her own things.

However, you wanted to train a bit more, as you always did. Perhaps that was why you had gotten so good, because you stayed about another few hours and practice what you learned that day.

As the sun slowly set behind the Illyrian mountains, the last rays disappearing beneath the horizon, you took a break. Sitting down, you roll back your shoulders, watching the sky shift from the golden hues to a dark blue. A sense of calm washed over you when the stars started appearing like bright flecks against the darkness.

You lost track of time, too deep into your thoughts to come out. Though eventually, you winnowed to your bedroom, taking a quick bath, and laying off to rest.

Azriel:

Strapping his siphons in place, he was about to go train you. Nesta had asked if he could train Y/n, and Azriel couldn't refuse.

As he winnowed to the roof of the House of Wind, he found you alone, getting ready for training. The leather trousers you wore were rolled up to your knees, letting the chill morning breeze kiss the exposed skin.

Azriel had been told by Nesta that you were a new Valkyrie. She just hadn't told him that you had started training with them more than a year ago. Nesta wasn't lying though, you were the newest member of the Valkyries (and the best one in sparring).

His gaze locked with yours, and you gave him a brief smile, which he returned, much to his surprise.

"Quick spar before the others get here?" You suggest, and Azriel nods. Wait, the others? Azriel had been told this was a private training... that's when he noticed one of his shadows, wrapped around your wrist. As his gaze locked there, your own eyes followed, looking at the shadow. You hadn't realized, he noticed as he watched your expression.

Dismissing it, he took his fighting stance, and you quickly did the same. Azriel took in your stance, eyebrows raising as he looked at your near-perfect stance. Maybe you knew a few things about sparring.

He quickly knew that 'a few things' was a lot. You threw punches, most of them hitting their marks on various parts of his body. Azriel could feel the sore spots, knowing they would bruise sooner or later. A groan slipped past his lips as your knee drove itself to his stomach. Stumbling back, he clutched his abdomen, sharp pain shooting through his body.

You didn't falter and that one moment was all it took before you landed a hook to his jaw. His face snapped sideways and he really tried to get himself together. Not even his shadows could predict you.

Suddenly, he was swept off his feet, his back hitting the training mat. The breath was knocked off his lungs and he gasped, struggling to draw air into his lungs. Every coherent thought left his mind but he managed to roll over and scramble to his feet before he could receive another blow.

You dodged most of his jabs, although a few found their targeted spots. Exhausted, that was what Azrisl was. Seemingly, you were exhausted as well, although less than him.

It didn't make sense. Azriel had been training for more than five hundred years and yet you, that have been training for cauldron knows how long, are beating him. He would be having a talk with Nesta after today.

His footwork started to falter slightly, and of course you would notice that too. Taking full advantage of his state, you manage to knock him off his feet again.

"I yield! Cauldron, I yield." He panted, his eyes closing momentarily. Once he opened his eyes again, he was met with the sight of you, hand extended to him.

Azriel froze. Before, he hadn't fully taken you in, but now, you were right in from of him, and Cauldron, you looked ethereal. He had competely forgotten his bleeding nose and the bruises that had started to bloom on his skin as he stared at you.

A thin layer of sweat coated your body, your training leathers clinging to you like a second skin. Strands had fallen free from the simple hairstyle you wore, sticking to your forehead, and falling into your eyes and you pushed them back. His gaze flickered to your parted lips, almost unconsciously, as you drew in heavy breaths. Quickly, he averted his gaze, not wanting to be caught at you, and especially not wanting to be caught staring at your lips.

Realizing he had been dozing off for too long, he grasped your hand in his. Planting his feet onto the ground, you helped pull him up. Finally standing back on his feet, his thoughts replayed Nesta's words. She's the newest Valkyrie. Mhm, he's noticed that, he thought, slightly annoyed at Nesta. Who could have thought the newest Valkyrie would be that good?

Even Nesta couldn't beat him, neither Gwyn or Emerie, and yet this woman had handed his ass to him today.

And he found himself stunned.

And perhaps a little obsessed... but he wouldn't admit that to himself.

Nobody came and as you and Azriel waited, he finally spoke. "Do you think the others will come?"

"No," you reply. After a beat of silence, you speak again. "I'll go find Nesta," you say as you walk towards the door.

"You're a worthy opponent, shadowsinger." The door closed behind you and Azriel was at a loss of words, a flush tinging his cheeks. Get it together, Az, he thought, but the image of you refused to leave his mind.

Obsessed indeed.

-------------------------☆-------------------------

a/n: I had so much fun writing this, I was giggling the whole time! Again thank you so much @anarchiii for this request! I hope you like it, because I adjusted it slightly 💓

general taglist: @blessthepizzaman @amara-moonlight @homeslices @flourishandblotts-inc @anarchiii

comment '💕' to be added to my general taglist!

Love, Cassia ❤️

[cowboysmp3]

genuinely one of my favourite things about edgeworth is how morally ambigious he is in AA1. I love the ambiguity on wether or not he used falsified/illegal evidence during his earlier years (which gets a little ruined in the Lana Skye case but alas), I love that it is SHOWN how he pressures witnesses into saying what he wants, leaving out vital information, updating court information in his favour etc etc like its SO interesting!! And its all driven by a personal desire to win!! yes he hates criminals yes he wants to use the law in a rightful way but on many levels he is blinded by that desire and doesnt really take any time to doubt his own judgement or the system he is working for!! he just believes he is right!!! its FASCINATING to see and on a lot of levels you can be sympathetic to how he ended up that way, but when typically the people he is sentencing end up on death row, it makes his potential mistakes much much much heavier.

there is 5 years of people he potentially wrongfully sentences to death because of his flawed belief that he simply Cannot Be Wrong. and thats CRAZY!! it makes his redemption and desire to change even more compelling!! he is allowed wallow (run away for a year) but even more so he is allowed improve and move on, he is not condemmned forever, and instead makes intentional moves to improve himself and the system he works under! i love u miles edgeworth

[rustingcat]

Red Lantern Kara and the chaos she lays in her path. A commission I made for the very lovely @umbrellaleg. (And a bonus comic cover)

[doctorwhoarchive]

as someone who absolutely adored Sam/Melissa in Scream 5 while most everyone else was hating on her and her acting, I’ve been thinking about this for a while and can honestly write a whole dissertation on this SO

Melissa was never a bad actress in 5. I’d argue it all comes down to how Sam was written and that she was intentionally a little more stoic. And then, as soon as Melissa had more input on the character and fought to give Sam more complexity in 6, suddenly everyone loved her and was praising her for “getting acing lessons”. Someone doesn’t just improve their acting that much in the few months timespan between when 5 came out and 6 was filmed, she was always that good!

The real reason I’m writing this though is because there’s a certain subtle aspect of Melissa’s acting that I’ve never seen anyone talk about before, but it might just be my favorite thing about her portrayal of Sam. MELISSA’S BODY LANGUAGE ACTING IS INCREDIBLE AND IT’S TIME WE SPEAK ABOUT IT!!

Maybe it’s just the mental illness in me that sees the same things I do in her, but a lot of little things she does/the way she carries herself stick out to me and I love it so much. The way she crosses her arms like she’s closed off whenever something particularly bad or uncomfortable is happening (she does this in shrine scene when Tara catches her talking to Billy, at the police station after Gale is attacked, and in 5 when she begins to tell Tara about finding the diary), the way her leg bounces when she’s nervous/anxious (like when she’s talking to Danny after the ladder scene), the way she fiddles with her hands (like in the scene right after she’s attacked in the hospital in 5), it all really catches my attention and it’s so subtle but perfect.

Melissa’s crushing it as Sam, and was way before everyone finally started appreciating her performance in 6. When I see her do those things I’m like!! I do those exact things too! It may not be a big deal to anybody else and they may not even notice it, but I notice it and absolutely love it and feel seen by it. It just feels like Melissa really put the time, effort, and thought into Sam and her mannerisms to make her a more well-rounded character, and I just think we all need to talk about it more.

[yanderepuck]

Can we please get a similar one of the arthur x self harm reader with maybe Shakespeare or comte (you choose)

I HAVE NO CLUE WHY THIS TOOK ME SO LONG. I think it sorta got lost in my inbox.

If you want to read the Arthur one is right here

ANYWAY!!! As I say with all of these depressing fics.. I HIGHLY APPRECIATE INTERACTION BUT UNDERSTAND IF YOU CANNOT. THESE FICS CAN BE TRIGGERING BC THEY DEAL WITH SELF HARM AND SUICIDAL ACTIONS

YOU'VE BEEN WARNED BUT IF YOU INTERACT I HIGHLY APPRECIATE IT

Also. This is going to be for Will. I will possibly do Comte a later time. I'm just not too in great at writing him

You lay on the bed looking up at the ceiling. Tears streaming down your face. You have locked yourself in the spare bedroom and now you are pondering. Overthinking.

This is never good. You say you have nothing to keep you busy but this is because you have no motivation to do anything to keep you busy. So you lay there and think. And think. And think.

You're spiraling. You and Will are far too similar. Putting on different masks, hiding who you really are. Hiding how you really feel. You're both good at it. A little too good.

The moment you turn the lock on that door your demeanor changes. One mask to another. Unlocked? You're happy and smiling and saying what you need to say so that no one suspects nothing.

But locked? The facade leaves. Your face drops and so do the tears. Your will to do anything evaporates.

You wish you could lower the mask when the door was unlocked, show Will that you hurt. Show him that you need help. But then you wouldn't be strong. What would he think of you?

He's the one that leaves and works at the theater all day. You have no real issues. What do you have to complain about? So you put the mask back on.

But now you lay here. You found more than just wine in the villa and decided to drink it. Drink it all. You thought if you drank enough that you could just go numb and fall asleep. Forget this even happened and wake up like normal when Will got home.

To feel something other than a heavy weight on your shoulders. Something that wasn't numb. Or feeling like a disgrace. He deserves better than you. Why would he keep you around? It can't possibly be your looks or your charm. He must feel bad for you.

He could drain you of all your body and you would only thank him. But you did that for him already. The alcohol was for more than just getting a little drunk. You simply hoped you would pass out. But since you didn't you grabbed a knife.

The empty bottle is on the floor. The knife is in your hand. But your hand? Lifeless on the bed next to you. The bed is soaking up your blood and you just feel dizzier and dizzier. Was it the alcohol? The loss of blood? You have no clue how deep you went, but the alcohol thinned your blood so there must be a decent amount.

Your eyes flutter. Feeling heavier and heavier. Until they close.

Oddly enough Will came home early that day. He wanted to come home and have lunch with you. He's been so busy and he feels bad that he hasn't made much time for you.

"Darling, I am home," he sounds so happy to be back early. But he gets no response. "Darling?" He starts walking through the villa looking for you.

"Has she went out?" He checks the main room, the kitchen, the bedroom. Nothing. But then notices the spare room door was closed.

They never kept it closed. He goes over and tries to open it, but it's locked.

"Odd," he tries to open it again. He was confused and went to walk away but got a huge whiff of blood. Too much blood.

"Darling?" panic settled in his voice. Did something fall and injure you? Is it blocking the door? He tries shoving the door open. Nothing. He steps back and licks the door. Once. Twice. The door flings open. Nothing was in front of it so what was-

He saw you on the bed and froze. The smell of blood was so strong that he went to cover his nose, but the moment his arm moved he snapped out of it and ran to your side.

"Wake up. Wake up!" he tried to shake you. He saw the knife and tossed it on top of a piece of furniture in there.

"No no no no no," tears start forming. He takes the scarf around his neck off and immediately starts trying it around your arm, as tightly as he can. Then the sash around his waist comes off. That goes around your other arm.

"Wake up!" He puts a hand on your cheek. You're still warm. That's a good sign. "Cometh on darling just move. Just a dram."

His hand moved to your neck to look for a pulse. Who is he kidding he doesn't know how to check for a pulse. So his head rests on your chest and he tries to be quiet, listening for a heartbeat. It's there. Barely, but it's there.

"D-Doth not leave me," the tears start flowing, and once they do they don't stop.

You feel yourself being shaken and groan softly. The first noise you've made in hours. You can't force your eyes open but you can tell someone is there.

What happened? Where are you? You can't move any part of your body, and if you can then you can't feel it.

Will gets so relieved when he hears that groan and hugs you tightly. Your body starts to wake up and as you start to feel the pain you remember what you did.

Oh no. No no no no. You didn't die. And he found you. You weren't supposed to be alive. The only worse than all of that pain might be having to deal with surviving.

"W-Will..." Your voice is weak and raspy.

"Shh. Doth not speak," he sits up and pushes your hair behind your ear. Your eyes opened for a moment and then shut again. Your breathing is heavy.

"Everything is fine anon. I am here." He can barely talk above a whisper. His voice cracks with every word. "Doth not move."

He keeps playing with your hair. Whether it be for his comfort or yours he isn't sure.

The blood is soaking through the scarf already. He wants to move you out of the blood but he is scared. He's scared to leave you for a moment to go get anything to clean your wounds.

"I am here.." he kisses you softly.

You pass out again briefly. You don't know how much time has passed when you wake up, but the room is lit up by a lamp.

Will is laying beside you, an arm around you, covered in your blood. You force your eyes open and look around. You look down at your arms and see that they are bandaged.

Did you really mean to take your own life? You just wanted a few cuts here and there to feel something. You've done it before. What went wrong this time?

You try to sit up and Will immediately shoots up. His face is all red from crying, pieces of his hair clinging to his wet face.

"Doth not move, darling," his hand cups your cheek, his thumb gliding across your cold skin.

You couldn't find the strength to sit up anyway. You can barely move your head to the side to look at him.

Fresh tears form at his eyes from seeing you in so much pain. "W-why?" His voice cracked. "Why? Did I-"

"Will.."

You weren't going to have him blame himself. It was nothing he did. It's all because of you. You're the problem. You were just trying to find a solution.

You move your arm up slowly and rest your hand on top of his that is on your cheek.

"Why did you not tell me? I hath-"

"No," you try to find the energy to talk. He's just going to talk in circles if you let him. "You did nothing wrong."

"Then why?" He wipes his face with the back of his hand the best he can, sniffling.

"Living...hurts," you drag his hand off of your cheek. You don't deserve his touch. Or his tears. You don't even deserve the bandages on your arm.

"That is whetefore I am here, darling. To help thee. We are to do this together are we not?"

Even after this he still wants to help you, but why? You're obviously a problem. You're too difficult to handle.

"Alloweth me to get thee another blanket," he gets off the bed, going through the storage boxes in the room to get a blanket.

You notice his clothes are covered in your blood. Choking back your tears, you close your eyes. Then you feel a blanket covering you. You talk just above a mumble. "I don't deserve any of this. You should have let me-"

"I love you," he wasn't going to let you finish that sentence. "I would not wish any companion in the world but thee. I never known love til thee," he kisses your lips. Your eyes open to look up at him, wondering why he's doing this.

"I would save thee again and again."

His smile is soft and warming.

"I-I'm sorry," the tears start pouring from your eyes. Now that they've started they won't stop. "I'm so-sorry."

He wipes your tears with the cuff of his shirt but they don't stop. "It is okay, darling. You are safe anon."

He kneels down next to the edge of the bed. You hold his arm, not yet strong enough to hold all of him.

"I pray thee. Doth not hide thy emotions," he rests his head beside yours, listening to your cries, and heavy breath.

After a few minutes he stands up, wiping tears from his own face. "Alloweth me to get thee something to eat."

You simply nod your head and let him leave the room.

~~

Tag list~

@kissmetwicekissmedeadly @fang-and-feather @xalxtusxiao @namine-somebodies-nobody @ana-thedaydreamer @evil-quartett @ameyoruakiikemenseries @yrenesposts @p1nkpandomium @tele86 @damekathearasi @lokis-laugh @candied-boys @breadmercury @aquagirl1978 @xenokiryu @nightghoul381 @vampiricpancake @lulu-the-smol-floof @faust-bite @azulashengrottospiano

[ceo-of-sloppy-men]

requesting Samson headcanons for my grim needs pls!!!

A little vague, but alrighty! More freedom for me.

He has an incredibly low pain tolerance. Like you could punch him lightly as a joke and he'd whine like you'd thrown him into a wall.

Due to excessive Lyrium usage, this is coupled with easily bruised skin. Sometimes they're light bruises, but even if he's jostled by a crowd too roughly he'll be sore and purple the next day.

On Lyrium, his pain tolerance is higher - it's one of the many reasons he takes the drug even if it is killing him. Red Lyrium pretty much negates his pain all together. So coming off the stuff... well, it's a significantly less pleasant experience than most.

Given the chance, he's actually a really good cook. He's got a weirdly specific knowledge of herbs and spices, and used to lend a hand in the Gallow's kitchens. Most of what he knows is from books and experimentation (such as cooking in the corner of his Templar dorm-room with a shirt stuffed under the door so no one would find out).

He's a reader; watching the mages is a boring task, and when Meredith wasn't looking/wasn't as insane, he could get away with reading with the Mages as a trust-building exercise. Templars believed it made them more trusting (though Samson doubts it worked).

He does feel guilty (slightly) about what he did on the streets to survive. A lot of it is repressed. But, he'd never admit it unless severely out of his own mind (like in the throws of withdrawal). Each mage he handed over to the Imperium haunts his nightmares with hollow eyes and sunken cheeks.

He does deeply care about his Templars - this is less a headcanon and more actual fact (See Paper & Steel an official DA story for details). He would do anything for those he cares about. Even if it meant sacrificing himself.

Samson is fully convinced that he can never "get off" Lyrium. He has it in his mind that if he tries, he'll die - and he is justified to believe this, as he did nearly die several times on the street trying to get off blue Lyrium. This, however, was more to do with dehydration and extreme starvation. Under perfect conditions, he has a fighting chance - though it won't be easy on him. With his low pain tolerance he has an extremely high chance of relapse.

During his templar days he was actually fit - almost beefy. Not to an extreme, but he had weight he could heft around.

He lost most of his weight during his time on the streets - until he was reedy and thin, ribs poking against his skin.

He never really regained the weight - even during his time as the Red Templar Commander, he gave his food to the Templars around him and took care of them before himself.

Unless properly taken care of, he's not likely to regain the weight.

[the-insouciant-scientist]

Character Sheet - Harper

-------

Name + Title: Harper Faraday, the Insouciant Scientist

Pronouns: They/Them

Referred to as: Professor

Profession: Silverer (Ontological Cartographer), Scientist (focus on chemistry, but does a bit of everything)

Closest to: Rubberies

Ambition: Bag a Legend (completed, A Vast Network ending)

Associated stats: Watchful, Persuasive, Artisan of the Red Science

Associated quirks: Steadfast, Austere, Melancholy

Sign of the Chiropteromantic Zodiac: The Lovers

Destiny: The Memory

-------

They say...

"Is that a weasel in their labcoat, or are they just... Oh! It is a weasel! Actually a few weasels. Wait, why are they all looking at me like--"

-------

Backstory:

(warning for vague mentions of both child abuse and neglect, and forced partnership/marriage, also sorry this is a wordy one but I promise it's for a reason lmao)

Isabelle Evans (she/they) was born in 1874 to a lower upper-class family in Norwich, England. She was beloved for what she represented, but not for who she was.

Bear with me, here. I promise this will make sense.

Isabelle's childhood was a lonely one, spent mostly learning how to grow up into a proper lady and trying to avoid her parents' ire. Her education did include reading and writing, to her endless delight, but the majority of it was the usual: embroidery, sewing, violin lessons, how to cook. Not skills she was upset to have, mind you, but what they represented was... less than ideal. The idea of becoming someone's wife one day was horrific to her at absolute best.

Her parents seemingly couldn't strike a balance between harshness and grace in their parenting, and it left her often feeling like she was walking across a glass pane so thin that she could fall through at any moment. She made up imaginary friends for herself to cope with it all, kids her age who liked to talk with her, who were good at the things she struggled with (so they could help when she failed), who understood that her parents weren't just the proud and friendly society folk they presented as to others. Imaginary friends who could hug her tight as she nursed skinned knees and bruises, who could hold her hand when she was scared.

She was eight when she was talking to her parents, trying to understand why they were upset with her, when she realized she didn't feel like she was the one talking. Like words were just flowing forth unbidden. If someone had asked her what her name was, right in that moment, she would have said Eleanor, but would not have been able to say why. The conversation ended with her mother hugging her, a rarity between them, and it had... resolved peacefully? She could hardly believe it.

Thereafter, Isabelle noticed things like that a bit more often. In tense moments, feeling like she was her imaginary friends, or maybe they were her. Perhaps that should have frightened her, but mostly she just felt loved, that she had people on her side for once. The odd forgotten day or misplaced needle case was such a small price to pay for their companionship. And from the outside, it only seemed like she had become more confident, more polite, more ladylike. A bit more forgetful, perhaps, but nothing out of the ordinary.

Isabelle found a small passion in botany and flower cultivation in her teens, and made a few friends as well. Her parents loosened their grip on her a bit as they saw how well she was taking to the life they made for her, and she absolutely took advantage of that. It wasn't an unusual sight to see her racing down the street with a friend's hand in hers, off on some adventure or another. Her imaginary friends quieted, less needed, but were never far when she called.

Things became more tense again as she grew into a young adult, though. Isabelle's parents were keen to marry her off while she was still young and pretty, hopefully to someone with money and power. Isabelle (who by today's standards would be considered a sex and romance averse aroace) was... not keen on that. She scared quite a few suitors off over the years by any means necessary, hatpin stabbings included.

At the age of 24 she was set up with one of her friends from her teenage years, her parents reasoning that she'd have a harder time frightening him off. And so Theodore ________ set to wooing her. She tried to shake him off like she had the others, but to no avail. He was absolutely set on making Isabelle his bride. Even went so far as to ask her parents for her hand in marriage, which they accepted immediately.

And so, with the death sentence of her own wedding hanging over her head, she drove herself half-mad looking for some escape. It was only when she heard gossip outside her window about some strange and wondrous cavern below the earth, where London had fallen to before she was even born, that the gears really began to turn. They only picked up speed when she heard of a card game that, when won, would grant a wish.

She could wish to disappear. Or be free, forever. Or whatever she wanted.

And so the Sentimental Spinster hatched a plan to find a way down there. Some petty crime that would land her in New Newgate, and then she could descend from there. But something went very, very wrong along the way. Maybe if you asked her, she could tell you what, but...

A person woke up in a cell in the very beginning of the first 1899, with no memory of how they got there, and in a body they didn't recognize. They quickly gained the name Harper from their inability to stop rambling. The surname Faraday came later, a name from a newspaper to fill the blank space at the end of theirs.

They made their escape as so many others do, and so Harper Faraday came to the Neath, full of curiosity and an insatiable desire to learn anything and everything they could.

The card game lay entirely forgotten in some shadowed corner of their mind, no longer a driving force or ambition.

There were simply so many other things to do.

-------

In-game storyline (not entirely in order) -

Harper took to detective work almost immediately upon arriving in the Neath, which eventually lead them down the path to the Correspondence, and the University. Their dedication to the truth got them kicked out (in what was honestly one of the worst days of their life that they were aware of) but they made it back eventually, even more determined to bring truth and knowledge to light. And set things on fire with the Correspondence, literally and figuratively.

Originally went after the Vake not as a hunter would, but as a cryptozoologist would. The idea of a batlike monster stalking the night, the likes of which no one had ever seen before? That sounded like an incredible research opportunity to them. By the time their internal compass went from "neutralize and study" to "end its reign of terror and kill it", it was... no longer quite them doing so. The Stubborn Vake-Hunter (it/he) was a self that formed out of necessity. Its sense of duty and single-mindedness was the main reason they saw it through in its entirety, untempted by the knowledge the Vake could give them.

They met Elias Leroux (@the-dye-stained-socialite) in 1899 (the first one) a little over half a year into their time in the Neath, in a bit of an incident at the University. Harper had been running full tilt back to their lab with a flask of colorful but deeply caustic chemicals, and tripped and spilled it over Elias's skirts as they had been wheeling in the opposite direction. They whisked Elias back to their lab to neutralize the spill before it could burn them, but Elias insisted that they try to set the color as a dye because they were so enamored with it. The two of them ended up spending the rest of that day doing nothing but experimenting with dyes and chemicals, and marked the start of a fast friendship. Over the years friendship turned to something more, though, and they were married at the Bazaar on May 3rd, 1899 (1901).

-------

Trivia -

They currently have about 440 weasels, including a salt weasel, a weasel of woe, many weasels of social discomfiture, some araby fighting weasels, and enough lucky weasels to overrun a city. Their favorite is a little cream colored lucky weasel with brown splotches on it, named Florence. It likes to curl up in tight spaces, like in their waistcoat, or in weasel-sized Florence flasks. Hence the name. Harper usually has 3-7 weasels on them at any given time.

Very allergic to grass and did not know this until their first Fruits of the Zee. It's not as if there's much grass in the Neath, it wasn't super relevant before then!

The Chorister's Bomb affected them Really Weirdly as a dissociative system. They and their alters are a bit more distinct from each other since then, although their dissociation is still such that they don't actually know that they're a system. They definitely don't have the words for it. Also I never intended them initially to be a parallel to Veils's different identities and selves, but it really did line up pretty much perfectly.

On the topic of their alters, they have an alter who's a Fingerking. No one knows if it's an introject or just a really confused actual Fingerking who tried to possess them and mostly failed. It's a mystery!

They make tea blends as a hobby, based heavily in flavor chemistry and Neathy history. Their current project is a series of blends based on the previous Fallen Cities.

Harper has a tendency to refer to everything scientifically, frequently using the words 'experiment', 'procedure', and 'formula' in place of more common words.

They're very friendly with The Manager of the Royal Beth, albeit also absolutely terrified of him. For good reason, I mean. They trust him implicitly to be a safe haven if they have to escape from Veils or anything else, but they are Fully aware that his help will come with a cost.

People tend to completely overlook them when they're next to Elias, which is absolutely fine by them given their wallflower tendencies. It's hilarious though when someone accuses them of faking knowing Elias for clout at Their Wedding... which is also their wedding... that they are marrying them at. Which is a thing that happened to them. Most Bohemians and Society folk view them as Elias's freaky little pet scientist, assuming they know of them at all.

Of the bats, they're probably closest to Wines nowadays (post Vake killing) by default. They help clean up at its revels sometimes out of guilt for what they've done. It doesn't care all that much, probably, but sure as hell isn't going to tell them to stop working for free.

They don't like alcohol. Black Wings Absinthe is the only thing they'll partake in, and that's only out of necessity. Was once possessed by Jack-of-Smiles. This surely has not traumatized them :-) (<- lying)

[inkybinkyboink]

thinking abt howards insomnia. we never hear about his mom so what if she wasnt there when he was a kid so what if that’s what started it all. and then it got better and then his dad pushed him to become a lawyer and then it got worse again, and so his dad got chuck to mentor howard and his insomnia got a little better, things made more sense now. but everything feels wrong? at the same time? and he just kind of keeps pushing through it until one day his body just shuts it away and suddenly he’s howard hamlin, partner at HHM, and he’s got a wife and everything is Fine and he hasn’t slept for more than 5 hours a night since he was 22 but its Fine because he’s howard hamlin, owner of HHM and chuck is always staring over his shoulder- he’s his mentor after all- but it’s Fine. and then chuck gets sick and its just howard in the office and...for the first time- very briefly- things are quiet and..peaceful. and he gets a full night’s rest for the first time in decades and he feels free. and then..chuck dies. and suddenly everything starts to crumble and howard doesnt know what he’s doing anymore and he jjust lies awake at night alone in bed without his wife in a gigantic house that’s way too big and he thinks about everything on earth that he’s done wrong and oh look at that it’s dawn and he’s only slept an hour and thirty-six minutes. he gets to the office, and he’s shaking. his therapist tells him it’s just nerves- not to think so much about sleeping. a watched kettle never boils. it works for a while, until it doesnt. it works until people at the office start whispering about how he’s addicted to drugs, that he’s compensating for his wife’s absence by filling the empty time with whores and prostitutes. he cant find the original photos on his desk and he stands there shaking and sobbing because why cant he sleep? there’s a gun to his head and howard finally gets to sleep undisturbed. the salty sea water feels nice on his soul, and he feels free being rid of landlocked new mexico.

[justimajin]

Oneshot?!! Please upload just atleast a drabble..

Oof, I had meant for it to just be a oneshot anon, so there were no plans for a drabble. However, the messages in my inbox have been telling me otherwise.

For the sake of everyone's closure, here are some notes on what I would imagined would happen after the ending:

-After discovering what happened to Aera and Sunoo, Jungkook would feel extremely guilty. He would blame himself for the situation and be conflicted with her newly found feelings for him.

↳ Despite being with Y/N, Aera is still his childhood friend. They've shared years together, and he's been in love with her for a year.

-Jungkook would end up feeling responsible in a way, and Y/N would be very understanding. They both care for Aera, and would try to help the two of them through the hanahaki (which they luckily have time for, compared to Jungkook's restricted timeline in the oneshot). Especially after both of them had their prior painful experiences with it.

-Y/N and Aera would have a rift. She was oblivious to what exactly what going on between Jungkook and Y/N, and upon discovering her feelings, would feel hurt that Jungkook had someone else.

↳ Y/N would try to handle this rift carefully, but ultimately Aera would have a difficult time letting go of her hurt.

-Jungkook would get used by Aera. In the sense that she'll be demanding for his attention more, and he would oblige, out of friendship and guilt. Y/N would be understanding at first, but it would soon drive her into an awkward position. Eventually, her feelings would surface again and she would talk to Jungkook, bringing to light that he can't keep laying his heart down for someone who won't treat him with consideration.

-Jungkook will realize that he has a much healthier relationship with Y/N. And that despite Aera throwing up flowers, their overall relationship was still never meant to be and had always been detrimental to him.

-Jungkook and Y/N will talk and reconcile. He'll apologize for blindly following along to Aera's wishes and confess that he truly loves Y/N. He'll still want to help Aera, but by stepping out of the equation entirely and helping her realize how much Sunoo loves her.

-Aera will get over her feelings about Jungkook with time, resolving her hanahaki and ultimately, Sunoo's. Jungkook and Aera's relationship will have cracks, never being the same again. Y/N will choose to distance herself from Aera.

[peridots-pixiwolf]

hey guess who is actually and without exaggeration crying over ultrakill

[thethingything]

I'm fatigued, my back hurts, I accidentally spent like 3 hours sat downstairs in a chair that made our back feel worse because our executive dysfunction prevented me getting up and going back upstairs even though I only went down there to get one thing, and now I really need to lay down but if I accidentally fall asleep again I feel like I'll wake up, realise I fell asleep and also that I feel like I wasted a big chunk of the day, and I'll end up feeling even worse again

[crastle]

for your consideration, some really good quackity animatics

[allinsideyourhead]

Paul Simon- Seven Psalms: first thoughts

I could listen to a lyrically uninspiring but musically tantalising song all day long, but not the opposite. If there’s no magical substance in the music, then regardless of the lyrics, it’s unlikely to capture me. Paul Simon’s music has the exceedingly rare quality of being both musically and lyrically outstanding. With a beautiful and powerful subtlety like no one else, he so effectively explores the human condition and what it means to be alive. Seven Psalms is truly no exception; with that oh-so captivating combination of poetic storytelling and subtle injection of wit, cynicism and humour which Paul has deftly weaved into his music for the past 6 decades still shining through at exactly the right moments, amidst the fittingly foreboding surges of percussion, which are highly effective in every instance they appear.

The overall production is just perfectly suited to the contemplative, deeply personal, honest, and often raw nature of the lyrics. His voice and guitar playing feel particularly intimate— almost like the kind of thing that would come to you in a dream in which it was just Paul and yourself in the room. I’m a Humanist, but the religious imagery in no way hinders my ability to appreciate and absorb the lyrics. On the contrary— you’re in no way being told what to think, it’s all completely open to interpretation, and in fact, I believe that to be one of its key messages. After a couple of listens, it already became apparent to me that this is an album of many layers and potential interpretations , which will reveal themselves gradually as one becomes increasingly familiar with it.

Of course it’s early days, but it doesn’t strike me as an album I’ll go to for casual or background listening, and that’s very much to its credit. My first listen was at 1am, in bed, in the dark, and it feels like that was exactly what was needed— especially as the concept itself was inspired by a dream. I can’t recall a first-listening experience as deeply moving and soul-stirring as this one. As I lay there in the pitch black, it almost felt as if I was being invited to contemplate my own existence, with a completely unique and deeply emotional listening experience as a backdrop for doing so. I certainly found myself doing so— in between contemplating the existence of the 81-year old genius who has brought immeasurable amounts of joy into our lives with his music, at which point it all got rather emotional.

The way in which you choose to interpret and read into this piece is completely up to you— the concept of mortality, the beauty of the dreamlike imagery against the subtle wit and commentary, and everything in between— it’s all in there, in my professional opinion.

[hannieehaee]

18+ / mdi

content: bff'sbrother!jungkook, softdom!jungkook, enemies2lovers-ish, he's a lil annoying in this, angst, mentions of rejection, one-sided crush, afab reader, smut, fingering, dry humping, penetrative sex, overstimulation (kinda), etc.

wc: 4076

a/n: another jk fic bc im taking time off work and have nothing to do</3 this went longer than anticipated lol sorry

masterlist

"what are you doing here?", grumbled the man as soon as he opened the door and spotted you on the other side of it.

"can you get out of the way? i'm obviously here for minji."

"she doesn't get here til tomorrow," he responded, though still moving out of the way to let you in.

you were about to snark at him again when he stopped in his tracks, eyes widening when they made contact with the suitcases you were struggling to drag behind you, "why are you carrying suitcases? fuck, don't tell me you're staying here," he grabbed onto one, stopping your movements.

"yes, jungkook. minji told me i could crash here for spring break. what's it to you? your house is big enough. just ignore my presence," you attempted to move your suitcases again, knowing you'd receive no help from the boy even if you asked.

"so you're here to ruin my break?" the complaints were never ending despite having entered the home only mere moments ago.

"stop being a child and get out of my way," you grumbled when the idiot refused to remove his hand from the handle of your suitcase.

he let out a heavy sigh, scrunching his eyes closed in annoyance before speaking again, "okay, move. i'll bring your shit upstairs."

"no, i can-"

"you can't carry all this upstairs. my mom's gonna be mad if i don't offer to help you. just let go," he muttered, pushing your hands away and somehow lifting both suitcases at once as he walked towards the stairs.

without any energy to argue with him, you just followed him upstairs, annoyed he insisted to pretend to do you a favor.

"are your parents home?", you asked, confused as to why he had been the one to open the door.

"no, they went out of town this weekend. they should be here tonight."

"why are you here?"

you knew this was his home, but it was a valid question. this had been the third time you'd spent some sort of school break at minji's house, yet jungkook had never been there during the duration of it, usually only popping up for a day or two by the end of each break.

"you mean in my house?", he chuckled sarcastically.

"you're never here- you know what i meant."

"didn't have any plans this time. why? am i ruining your break?"

the two of you finally made it to the extra guest room in minji's house, with jungkook settling your stuff on the bed and uncharacteristically taking a seat on it, as if planning to hang around. you ignored the thought and went to open your suitcase, planning to unpack a few of the things since you'd be staying for over a week.

"yeah," you deadpanned.

he scoffed, "not like i wanna spend my break with you either, princess."

groaning, you threw a folded shirt at him, "ew, i told you not to call me that."

seemingly pleased at having annoyed you, he chuckled and picked up the shirt you threw, folding it and placing it on the bed. he continued to occasionally grab one thing or another as you unpacked. you always knew jungkook to be quite fidgety, so you didn't question him grabbing your stuff to entertain himself as you unpacked.

jungkook wordlessly stayed on your bed as you went around the room organizing your stuff, attempting to ignore his presence but not entirely able to. you were willing to retain peace without complaining, but then he started making noise.

you usually didn't care for his presence too much, even as badly as the two of you got along, but the constant humming quickly got on your nerves. he hummed and hummed and did not stop even as ten minutes passed by, still taking stuff from your suitcase to fidget with. currently he was entertaining himself with a random shoe.

"jungkook! why are you still here?", you suddenly snapped, confused as to why he'd been sitting on your bed with a blank look on his face despite usually being liberal in expressing his dislike for you.

he looked at you for a few moments, no emotion on his face before speaking up.

"why don't we get along?"

"what?"

"you heard me. why don't we get along? you've been friends with my sister since childhood, but you've always hated me. why?"

"you started it," you murmured, taking the shoe he currently had in his hold and turning around to place it somewhere else.

he got up, walking over to you and turning you around by your shoulders and taking the shoe from you again, "i started it? what are you talking about? you've been rude to me since the seventh grade. i've just been returning the favor."

sighing in frustration, you grabbed shook his hands off your shoulders and stubbornly grabbed the shoe again, "why do you think that is, jungkook?"

a confused look overtook his face at your insinuation of your relationship being his fault, clearly not remembering what you were referring to.

"wha-what are you talking about?"

"god, you're such a dumbass sometimes. i mean, i assumed you didn't remember, but to have confirmation of it just kinda sucks," you chuckled bitterly.

he grabbed onto your shoulders again when you tried to walk past him, "tell me what you're talking about," he insisted.

for the most part, you didn't want to. you still felt embarrassed thinking about it, even if it had been over a decade since it had happened. to know he really didn't remember the source of your dislike for him also didn't really help matters. it just frustrated you at his presence even more.

through the years you had learned not to take the mutual banter too seriously. it was mostly lighthearted, to be honest. but any time you thought back to how it had started, you became beyond angry at the boy who was seemingly nice too all those he knew but you. sure, you had technically been the one to source this animosity, but he bad been the instigator of it after all.

you had been nine years old at the time, having recently moved into town and befriended minji. she had been your salvation, becoming instantly interested in being your friend despite you being brand new. you became quick friends, hanging out inside and outside school almost every day.

minji had the good fortune of being extremely close to her family, which allowed you to bond with them quite a lot. that was when you met her older brother, one of her favorite people in the world.

jungkook had been pure perfection in your young eyes, seeing him as unattainable at the young age of nine. he was two years your senior, which made you come to the quick realization that your crush would remain one-sided forever. except this didn't stop your naive heart to read into his nice demeanor and wishfully believe that maybe he'd like you back.

you crushed on him silently for three years, even coming to befriend him in the process. you wouldn't see him too often, but it was always nice when you did, always getting along quite well. this continued up until you hit twelve years of age, your tweenhood years. unfortunately, jungkook was now into his teens, meaning that he followed the footprints of every other man and had a short-lived phase where he was a bit insensitive to girls his age.

being completely delusional and being on your way to graduate middle school, you took a leap, deciding to invite jungkook as your date to your middle school prom. you had thought you read all the signs right, thinking that even if he rejected you, he'd still be nice enough to go with you as a friend. your hopes were completely crushed when he turned you down with zero hesitance, even patronizing you in the process.

the worst part of it all came later, when you were first entering high school. somehow a few of his friends had gotten word of the situation, dubbing you as desperate and obsessed with him. although the rumors died pretty quickly, and you were able to feign indifference to jungkook and everyone else, the seed of hate began to grow in you. little by little, you stopped speaking to jungkook altogether, eventually coming to proudly dislike him. despite minji's constant questioning about your change in demeanor towards her brother, you never told, not wanting any drift to be caused between you and minji, nor her and her brother.

the gradual change in your feelings for jungkook had been so natural that it made sense for him to not remember the source of the current state of your relationship. he had caught on naturally, simply bantering back with you whenever you gave him attitude. it was likely that he believed it all to be lighthearted at first, eventually becoming accustomed enough to it to not question it.

and now you were here, having to explain a stupid childhood heartbreak to the perpetrator of it all as he stared down at you in absolute wonder.

"eighth grade, jungkook. remember?"

he shook his head in confusion, his eyes still wide as his brain wracked itself to remember.

"the dance?"

"the dance? what dan- oh! the- the dance? that's it?"

'that's it'?

he mustve caught the look of annoyance in your face, as he quickly went to retract himself.

"fuck, wait. i didn't mean it like that, just- is that why you hate me? because i said no to you?"

you took a step away from him again, still frustrated, but his arms remained on your shoulders so you would keep looking right at him. it was awkward and extremely uncomfortable considering the context, but you didn't move away.

"it wasn't just that, jungkook," you started, "was it that horrible of a thought to go to the dance with me? i was twelve, you couldve been nicer about it. and to tell your friends about it? i was mocked for weeks after that. and now you wanna act like this is my fault? like ive just been mean to you for no reason?", you scoffed, looking at your feet in favor of not having to look at him.

"wait, who ... who made fun of you? i- i never told anyone what happened. why would i do that?"

"jungkook, stop. taehyung? jimin? they wouldn't stop bringing it up for weeks. it died down after a while, but i was already humiliated."

he shook his head and denial, seemingly at himself. finally letting go of you, he sat back on the bed, look of confusion still on his face before a lightbulb metaphorically manifested itself above his head.

"oh fuck," he muttered, "i- i remember now, but it didn't go down the way you think, okay? let me explain."

you crossed your arms and nodded, signaling for him to continue.

he uncrossed his arms, running them through his hair in a frustrated fashion before he began to explain, oddly passionate as he did so, "i told them right after it happened. i felt so bad for saying no to you, they noticed how down i was about it and asked. i swear i didnt say anything bad. fuck, i never knew they teased you about it, im so sorry," he rambled, "and i didnt- i didnt mean to make you feel bad when i said no. you're my sister's best friend and- and you were so young. i know it doesnt matter anymore, but saying yes felt wrong. it felt like id be taking advantage of you somehow."

"jungkook-"

"if it makes you feel better," he hesitated before continuing, "i, uh, i kinda had a crush on you when we were 17. i- i was going to ask you to my prom, but you picked a fight with me that day and told me to get the fuck out. thats, that's kinda when i started to hate you back," he smiled awkwardly towards the end.

that took you for a bit of a loop. you weren't a heartless asshole. it wasnt like you meant to hurt him through your dislike of him, but rather protect yourself from further rejection. it made you feel bad to know that you'd somewhat done a similar thing to him at some point, even verbally berating him time after time when his intentions hadn't been malicious.

"are you serious?"

"do you really hate me? for what i did, i mean," he interrupted.

did you? for the most part, you had just grown far too used to your animosity with jungkook. due to your own mean behavior towards him, he became equally as rude, creating a vicious cycle of disrespect between the two of you. but did you hate him?

the answer was probably not.

if you did, your heart wouldn't have jumped at the mention of him having had a crush on you back when you were seventeen.

"no, i don't hate you. do you?"

he turned to you, shaking his head, "of course not," he confirmed, "do you wanna start over?", he asked, getting up from the bed and walking over to you.

you couldn't help but chuckle at his sudden proposal. you also couldnt help in nodding in agreement, confirming that yes, you'd be willing to put aside a petty middle school misunderstanding in favor of starting over.

then he opened his arms, gesturing for a hug before asking for permission for one, "hug?"

wordlessly, you accepted the offer of a friendly hug, reasoning that it was only natural considering how touchy he was with everyone other than yourself.

when you went to pull away, his arms tightened around you, head burying itself further into your hair, "just a little longer," he murmured.

with no reason to deny him, you wrapped your arms around him once more, only letting go when he started to slowly pull away.

that's when you made the mistake of looking up at him as he attempted to make himself let go of you.

seemingly, he had made the same mistake, now locking eyes with you at a proximity far too close for two people who hated each other just mere minutes ago. stupidly enough, your eyes predictably went down to his lips, not realizing his own had done the same. the only difference was that he was far more daring than you, allowing his lips to lower down onto yours and envelop them in a soft kiss.

greedy hands dug into your hips before making their way to your waist, holding you as close to him as he could. your own hands wrapped around his shoulders, moving to play with his hair as soon as the kiss turned more heated.

moaning against him, he pulled away for a second, still keeping his lips entirely too close to your own as he breathed through his nose to calm himself down. the following kiss was even more harrowing, causing you to take a step back due to the sheer force of it. he walked you back, pressing you up against the nearest wall as he took advantage of being able to crowd you, allowing his hands to get a feel of your body as you kissed.

despite how pathetically you followed his lips, he still pulled away, throwing his shirt off before going back to kissing you, letting his hands wander underneath your own shirt as he did so. his hands dug deep under your shirt, feeling up your bare breasts and groaning at the lack of bra.

gradually, his lips made their way to your ear and then down your neck, murmuring against your skin.

"fuck, so fucking pretty ... and so needy for me, huh? sound so good moaning for me like that," he breathed against you.

you burned up, embarrassed by how easily he had an effect on you, but you still let him do whatever he wanted, knowing that nothing you did would prevent your body from wanting his touch.

throwing off your shirt, his lips trailed down even further south, latching onto your nipples and groaning into your skin at the way you arched your body, pressing up even closer to him.

but suddenly there was a shift.

jungkook halted his movements, making his way back up to your lips and locking them with his own in a heavy and greedy kiss, resulting in a lack of breath from both of you. against your lips, he whispered something that made your knees buckle.

"i'm gonna pay you back for all those times you were mean to me, baby," his lips moved to your ear, chuckling at your anticipatory shudder, "gonna do whatever i want with this pretty body, yeah?"

nodding pathetically, you gave way for him to do anything he wanted. already drenched, there was no way you could possibly formulate any words that didn't come out as an embarrassing whine. he seemed to enjoy this too, holding a pleased smirk in his face as he easily dragged you over to the bed, pushing off your suitcase and dropping you on it with a bounce.

before you could even think, jungkook had already thrown off his shoes and undone his pants, his hands coming to do the same to you. your shaky hands attempted to help him, but he simply tsk'd at you, letting you know that he'd take care of everything tonight. everything, he emphasized.

"oh, fuck," he groaned once you were fully nude, "this is all mine now, yeah? fuck, been waiting for years for you to stop being a brat and let me have this pretty body all to myself," he kissed your lips between each sentence, "might lose control at how gorgeous and mine it is ..." he murmured as his hands took their rightful place exploring your body.

"kook-" you whined, already wanting him to do something – anything.

"shh, baby," he coo'd, "i'm gonna do whatever i want. and you're gonna take it like a good girl, okay? gonna behave for me for once."

fully crawling on top of you, jungkook went back to making out with you, wrapping your legs around his waist as he began humping against your already soaked cunt.

groaning, he pulled away for a second in favor of nibbling softly at your lip, "oh, this pretty pussy's so fucking soaked already ... thought you hated me, baby, what happened?" he chuckled darkly, giving you no room to answer before shoving his tongue in your mouth.

just as his tongue attempted to suck all air out of you, his hand suddenly snuck between your bodies, finding your cunt with ease and beginning to drag his fingers up and down your folds, not giving you want you needed.

"pretty fucking pussy," he murmured, "gonna play with your clit now, baby. it's gonna cry for me by the time im done."

his fingers found your clit almost immediately, taking turns in rubbing teasing circles over it and hammering in and out of your cunt. he swallowed every single moan, groaning against your lips any time your cries went so high they went straight to his cock.

"that good, pretty? so good that you have to cry for more? oh, baby. you're so lucky this pussy's so fucking cute. lucky i cant control myself around you ..."

"f-faster, please ..."

"faster? oh, like this?", his fingers slowed down drastically, barely stimulating you at all as you cried and clawed at his back, whining for more than he seemed willing to give you.

"n-no! please, just- just wanna cum, kookie. please?"

his fingers curled entirely too well at your cry of his nickname, even making him groan when he felt your own reaction to his fingers. it was clear he liked you crying out for him, so the more you did it, the more of his fingers he gave you, leading you to the verge of an orgasm.

afraid he'd try and deny you just for sadistic means, you cried for him prematurely, begging him to let you cum.

"kookie, p-please, please let me cum, i-i'll do anything. i'll give you anything, just, fuck, please!"

there was not a single care in you about how pathetic and out of character you sounded, not when jungkook's wasnt faring any better at the effect your desperation had on him.

"cum. cum for me, baby. wanna feel that cunt cream around my fingers so i can fill it back up with my own, okay? be good for me and- fuck, and cum ..." as much as he wanted to be in charge and show a dominant side to him, your cunt just kept dragging his fingers back in, making him feel a carnal need to steal your orgasm all for himself and many others after this one.

your hand wrapped around his free wrist, needing it as support as an otherworldly orgasm took over you. back arching and eyes rolling back, you became a sight that jungkook had only ever seen in his most depraved of dreams about you. he was surprised at his cock not bursting upon such an arousing view, making him realize that he needed to fuck you as soon as posible before losing his mind.

despite talking you through your orgasm, jungkook still gave you no time to recover before shoving his tongue in your mouth and grabbing his dick to drag up and down your sensitive folds.

crying against him, you attempted to push him away at first, feeling too sensitive for immediate stimulation, but your body gave up quickly after, melting into the overload of pleasure. tears crowded in your eyes, but your legs wrapped around his waist to pull him closer, needing more of that pressure against your cunt.

taking the hint and far too horny to drag this out any longer, he pushed inside you, groaning against you at the feeling of finally being wrapped around your warmth.

"it's so fucking wet ... oh, fuck. you wanted this so bad, didnt you, baby? fucking soaked and just pulling me in ... it's so- so tight n warm n perfect for me," he babbled, lost in pleasure.

jungkook's hips were restless against yours, an insatiable desire to chase for his pleasure taking over him as the sound of skin slapping made him dizzy. the occasional babble accompanied by a pitiful hiccup that came out of you did not help his situation, making him fear that he might cum before you.

"let- let me just get my finger there- yeah, fuck. just gonna rub that tiny little clit, okay? shit, you just tightened around my cock so fucking good ..." he groaned, thumb circling your clit to accelerate your orgasm.

"g-gonna, fuck, gonna cum ... p-please ... with me? cum with me?" you begged, barely able to get a single coherent word out while jungkook showed no mercy against you.

nodding, he kissed you, promising he'd cum – begging you to cum. counting you down, he whispered against your ear while his hips stuttered messily against your own, now completely overtaken by both yours and his orgasm.

the sounds shared between the two of you were nothing short of shameful, consisting of whines and cries filled with desperation. it was a depraved scene only meant for the two of you to enjoy.

pulling out of you proved to be a challenge, as jungkook would happily remained inside you until his last breath, but the thought of holding you innocently in his arms as you caught your breath was something he did not want to miss out on.

and so he held you against him, crowding your face against his chest so you could lay your head right by his heart.

"that was-"

"yeah," he breathed with a chuckle before turning to you with a boyish smile on his face, "i have a confession to make."

you turned around too, unable to not match his smile, "what is it?"

"i lied earlier. i, uh, i did like you when you were seventeen, but ... i kinda still like you."

it was impossible not to feel your face warm up at this, scrunching up your nose at how cutely he had confessed, "what if i said it was mutual?"

his smile somehow got bigger at that, "then i'd say i'm gonna have to steal you away from my sister," he pulled you into his chest again, enjoying the vibrations of your laugh.

a/n: this was rushed and not proofread sorry</3

[starcrossedmusings]

Pretty Hands

Pairing: best friend!Yunho x f!reader WC: 3.2k Warnings: eventual smut, reader has a thing for Yunho's hands (who doesn't??), swearing, fingering, choking, a little bit of degradation (he compares her to a whore literally once), PRAISE so much praise, Yunho talks reader through it (you're welcome), pov is kinda all over the place just let it be, Yunho is absolutely WHIPPED for reader teehee, probably some other things that I missed (let me know)

Summary: You and Yunho have been friends for years, and you tell each other everything. He suddenly takes a much more vested interest in your love life when you can't stop mentioning your newest interest.

A/N: This is entirely self indulgent and also I just wanted to get something full posted. The Phantom fic is turning out to be much longer than I originally anticipated (and so did this one once I started writing it). Let me know what you think♡

Stepping into Yunho's apartment had always felt like coming home, and today was no exception. You take your shoes off in the tiled entryway and pad your way through the main living area, calling out to him as you walk.

"Yun? I'm here!"

His muffled response flows down from the end of the hall, "Bedroom!"

You make your way through the back hallway and enter his room, finding him exactly where you thought he would be, focused in on his computer. There's a selection of empty drink cans and snack wrappers scattered around his desk, which tells you that whatever he's currently building on Minecraft has probably occupied the majority of his day so far. He pauses the game and turns his chair to face you.

"Whats up?"

"Got bored at home and my roommate isn't even trying to muffle her pornstar moans for her new boy toy."

Yunho barks out a laugh, "Does she seriously sound--"

"Just like it Yun I can't make this shit up. I'm starting to think maybe they're recording themselves in there."

Yunho wiggles his eyebrows as he stretches his arms up and over his head, leaning back in his chair. "Well, if I ever see your living room on Pornhub I'll be sure to let you know"

You crinkle your nose. "Ew. I do NOT need to know that."

"Whatever, don't act like you haven't been talking to me for weeks about how horny you are. If I have to hear about your vibrator dying one more time I'm gonna buy you a new one myself."

"You try getting unintentionally edged three nights in a row with a full charge, it's some bullshit Yun. Besides, I'm allowed to complain about my dry spell."

Yunho scoffs, tone playful and lighthearted. "Dry spell? It's been what? Two months?"

"It's been three thank you very much." You move to sit on his bed.

"Well some of us haven't had sex in much longer."

"Oh, please, that girl that San was messing around with was all over you at his birthday party last month, don't tell me you didn't take that opportunity."

Yunho raises his eyebrows in shock, leaning forward in his chair. "Wait, really?"

"Oh my GOD Yun you are so oblivious. Yes really. She was all giggly and twirling her hair and shit. That's like...girl flirting basics."

"I am not oblivious, I am actually quite observant. I could tell you things about yourself you don't even know. I just have my sights set on someone and that someone is not her."

You shoot him an incredulous look and snort out a laugh, leaning back to lay down completely on his bed, legs dangling off the edge. "Sure Yun, whatever makes you feel better."

You hear Yunho stand from his chair and feel his weight shift onto the mattress. He appears in your vision, a challenging playful sparkle in his eyes as he peers down at you. "Okay, fine. I can tell that you're trying out a new perfume, you just went shopping because your leggings are a different brand than you usually wear, and I know that you washed your hair last night because you're wearing it all the way down today."

You do your best to ignore the way your stomach summersaults at his attention to detail about you and your routines. You roll onto your side and prop your head up on your elbow, matching his challenging gaze. "Okay Sherlock Holmes. What kind of underwear am I wearing then?"

Yunho pauses to consider before responding "a thong, probably black." You grin triumphantly and lean in just a bit closer.

"Wrong. I'm not wearing any. You lose!" You stick your tongue out playfully at him and he swats your shoulder, falling back onto his mattress.

"You set me up!"

"Face it Yun, I'm just better than you."

"Yeah yeah, whatever" Yunho pouts, voice hightening slightly from surprise. He can feel a slight redness creeping up his ears and prays his hair has grown long enough to cover it. 'I'm not wearing any.' He clears his throat. "So why go commando? You finally planning to seduce your new conquest?"

"He is not a new conquest, he doesn't even know I like him."

"He will once he knows you aren't wearing any underwear for him" Yunho jokes, smiling cheekily. You smack at his chest.

"I didn't want to do laundry last night, asshole. Get your mind out of the gutter!"

"You're one to talk" he mutters under his breath.

You sit up fully and reach for one of the pillows at the top of his bed, slamming it down on his face. "Jeong Yunho I swear to god!" On your second swing, he manages to catch the pillow with one hand and pry it from your grasp, but not before giving you an entirely unhelpful image of his long fingers gripping the plush material.

"What?? All I ever hear you talk about lately is how tall and handsome this dude is and how much his hands make you drool."

"You sound jealous."

"I'm not jealous, I'm pissed that I have to hear all about him and don't even get to know what the dude's name is."

"I told you, I'm gatekeeping this time. You run your mouth too much."

"I do not!"

"Do too."

"Ugh FINE whatever," Yunho chucks the pillow back towards you and you dodge it, leaving both pillows on one side of the headboard, "You're so agitating."

"You know you love me Yun. But just for the attitude," You adjust both pillows and shuffle your way back until you're leaned against both of them, "no pillow for you for tonights doomscrolling session."

He huffs a laugh and scoots up to meet you, pulling out his phone and settling in against the headboard.

An hour later you get up to go to the bathroom, and when you get back Yunho has stolen both of his pillows. You frown and cross your arms. "Hey, asshole, those were mine!"

"Yeah?" He taunts playfully, "Well they were mine to begin with, and my back is killing me. So deal." You roll your eyes and cross back over to the bed, crawling over the side you've been sitting on and curling yourself into Yunho's side to rest your head against his chest. You feel him tense slightly underneath you before he moves one of his arms around your shoulders to let you lay more comfortably.

"There's no way in hell I'm sitting up against that cold ass metal frame you call a headboard." You mutter as you begin scrolling. Yunho's chuckle rumbles through his chest and tickles your cheek. You both sit in silence for a while, content to scroll on your phones. Eventually, you turn to look up at him from his chest.

"I meant to ask how your new project has been going. Whatever you were building when I came in looked pretty intense." You can see the faint tinge of red trail up his ears and neck--a telltale sign that whatever you caught him building makes him embarrassed. You sit up, propping your weight on your elbow and placing a hand on his chest to shove him slightly. "Ooooo now you have to tell me what it is!"

"It's embarrassing..."

"Tell me tell me tell me tell me--"

"Okay fine, fuck. I'll tell you if you promise not to laugh--"

"I won't I swear!"

"Pinky promise?" He holds his pinky out to you, and you raise a hand from his chest. Before you can lace your pinky in his, he pulls his hand up above his head. "I'm serious, Y/N, if you laugh I'll have no choice but to tickle you to death."

He's definitely not stalling because he has to come up with a reply, because he certainly hasn't been building a treehouse for you in what he hopes will one day be a shared server. Yunho thinks to himself that he would rather die than let you find out.

You scoff, "I won't laugh...and even if I did I'm not ticklish so your threat is a moot point."

Yunho drops his hand down onto the mattress. "Bullshit."

"It's not. I don't have a ticklish bone in my body."

"Liar."

You shake your head, and Yunho takes the opportunity to gently press the pads of his fingers into the sides of your ribs. The sensation hits you almost immediately, and you feel the tight feeling in your chest as he begins tickling you. You squeal and thrash around in his grasp, trying desperately to get away from his assault.

"Yun stop it--"

"Not until you admit you're a liar!" You begin to giggle and manage to roll away from him, but Yunho is quick to follow. He swings a long leg over your hips and pins you beneath him, a single large hand trapping both of your wrists above your head while the other dances across your ribs. "Admit it," He sings out.

"Okay! Okay fine I'm a liar!" You gasp out between laughter. Yunho beams down at you and immediately stops tickling your sides, leaving you panting underneath him--

Oh fuck...you're panting underneath him.

He can almost feel the shift in the air as he stares down at you. He knows he should move, just roll off of you and make up some bullshit lie about what he was building. You like someone else, and he clearly wasn't getting out of the friend zone any time soon. He's just making a fool of himself...and yet he just can't bring himself to stop memorizing the way you look splayed out beneath his hips. Eventually he forces himself to stop staring at the way your chest rises and falls or the sliver of your tummy that's poking out from underneath your shirt that's riding up. He locks eyes with you.

Your voice comes out softer than he's ever heard you speak before. "Hey Yun?"

"Yeah?"

"You know that mystery guy I've been telling you about? The one with the pretty hands?"

A twinge of annoyance flairs in his stomach and he can't help but grumble out his reply. "Yeah?"

"I'll give you a hint. He's got me pinned to the mattress right now."

Yunho feels his heart drop deep into the pit of his stomach.

"Like...like right now he does?"

You laugh lightly. "Yeah, right now, Yun."

Yunho swallows thickly as his head starts spinning. He leans down much slower than he would have liked to, giving you plenty of time to take it back--to laugh at him and tell him you got him good. He feels like his whole body lights ablaze when you close the final gap between your lips, and suddenly he is kissing you.

In almost any circumstance that you had seen Yunho kissing someone, he was always fast-paced--hot and heavy petting in the corner of a darkened bar, dares in drunken party circles--which is why you were floored at the reverence he was kissing you with now. His mouth was steady and intense against yours, his hands roaming slowly across the expanse of your torso like he was memorizing the feel of something priceless. You gently pull your hands from his grasp and tangle them in his hair, pulling him closer and matching his intensity with your fervor. You feel his hands make their way to the lower hem of your shirt, and your skin erupts in goosebumps as you feel his fingers ghost along the sliver of skin there. He breaks the kiss and you feel his breath fan across your face as he pants. His hands gently make their way to rest just under your shirt, not quite pushing the fabric up. He locks eyes with you.

"Is this okay?"

You chuckle gently. "Yes, Yun, you can touch me. I want you to touch me." You watch his eyes darken and his hands start running up your torso, pulling your shirt up with them.

"Where do you want me to touch you, baby?"

You exhale heavily and arch your back into his touch. "Anywhere...everywhere...I don't care."

Yunho smirks and feels his ego inflate. "You don't care? Hmm..." He starts planting kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck. Slow. Teasing. "If I remember correctly, you seemed pretty keen about having my hands in some specific places baby. Can you refresh my memory?"

The low whine that escapes your throat nearly sends him spiraling. "You know where...don't make me say it."

He does know, but there's nothing he wants to hear more right now than to hear you say it. He brings one hand up to your chest, cupping one of your boobs and squeezing gently as he continues peppering your neck with kisses. "Was it here? Or..." His hand trails back down and grips your hip possessively, "Here, maybe?" He hears you huff and feels your hand wrap around his wrist. You try to tug it up, and he chuckles softly but allows you to move his hand. He nips your earlobe and asks lowly, "Where do you need my hands baby?" He feels his cock twitch in his sweats when you wrap his fingers around your throat, guiding him to squeeze the sides gently. Your hands run down his chest and drop to your sides as he squeezes a little harder. "Fuck, look at you. So pretty with my hand around your neck."

You whine and buck your hips up, desperately looking for friction. Yunho coos as he looks down at you, wanting to have the image burned into his memory. He adjusts his position so he's sat on one side of you and brings his free hand to your thighs, squeezing the flesh there and watching the way you spread your legs for him. "Pretty girl, I need you to use your words. Spreading your legs like a whore isn't gonna get you what you want." He revels in the way you throw your head back onto the mattress and close your eyes, frustration evident already on your face.

"Need your fingers, Yun. Please."

Holy shit, he could combust right then and there. He smiles and traces his hands along the inside of your clothed thighs. "Good girl. So polite for me." He hooks his fingers in the waistband of your leggings and pulls them down and off, leaving you bare from the waist down. "Sit up for me baby. I want you between my legs."

Yunho sits on the edge of the mattress and allows you time to sit up, moving to sit in between his thighs. He hooks your legs over his, leaving you spread and completely at his mercy. A shiver runs down your spine as the pads of his fingers run across your thighs and you gasp as they brush against your core. He presses kisses into your neck and chuckles, "You're already soaking wet, what's got you all bothered hmm? I've barely touched you..." Yunho hums and teases your entrance with this middle finger. He can feel you clenching. "Do you like my hands that much baby? All it takes is a little choking and you're putty for me." He pushes two fingers inside, pumping slowly and curling back to find your sweet spot. He feels pride flare through his chest at the noise you make, a mix between a whine and a moan that eggs him on.

Your toes curl as Yunho almost immediately finds your g-spot. The pace he sets is almost perfect, and when he begins rubbing tight circles on your clit your eyes roll back into your head. The pleasure is a building wave, and it's all you can do to keep yourself remotely still as he continues pumping his thick fingers in and out. "Oh my god, Yun, please don't stop!" You clench helplessly around his fingers and let your head roll back to rest on his shoulder.

"Awe baby I'm not gonna stop. Not until I see how pretty you look cumming all over me. Will you do that for me, sweetheart?" he coos, bringing his other hand back up to your throat and squeezing lightly. "Will you cum all over my fingers? I bet you want to right? Wanna come on my fingers while I squeeze this pretty neck of yours?"

You whine and preen at his words and arch your back. Your legs begin to shake as Yunho's circling on your clit quickens pace just slightly, the thrusts of his fingers audible from the squelching between your thighs. Your breath quickens.

"My pretty girl, you're such a mess for me, aren't you? Can you hear how wet you are? All soaked for me? I bet your hands don't feel as good as mine hmm?"

You shake your head no violently, whining as he continues to talk lowly into your ear. Your orgasm builds quickly, and at this point you have no faith in your ability to speak coherently.

"No, they don't do they? I want you to show me how good my hands feel baby. Let go for me, sweetheart."

Your breath catches in your throat as you tip over the edge, and the feeling of your release washes over you. Your whole body jolts in his grasp as he continues pumping his fingers. You feel him squeeze your throat gently, just enough pressure to remind you that he's got you.

"Atta girl, look at you! Doing so good for me." You whine and buck your hips, orgasm still riding through your body. Yunho nips at your neck lightly and slows his pumping to a stop as you continue to shake. "That's it baby, just grind on them for me." The final aftershock of your orgasm finishes, and you go limp in his arms, leaning all of your weight back into his chest and breathing heavily.

Yunho pulls his fingers out and admires the mess you made on them before popping them into his mouth. He's still rock hard, and the taste of you on his fingers makes him twitch again. He'll definitely need your help with that later. He uses the hand around your neck to brush a stray hair from out of your face. "How are you feeling?"

You huff out a breathless laugh and turn your face to nuzzle into his neck. "How do you think I feel? That was...wow."

He can't help the goofy smile that crosses his face. "Oh really? Tell me more, I'd like a full report." He jokes, pulling the two of you down to snuggle on his bed. He grabs a throw blanket from your side and pulls it over the two of you and nearly melts when you curl closer to him, burying your face into his chest.

"Give me a few minutes to recover and I'll show you exactly how I'm feeling right now." Yunho rubs a hand up and down your back.

"I look forward to that."

"And then afterwards you're going to show me what you've been building."

Yunho chuckles and kisses the top of your head. No way in hell.

[supercutszns]

Luke x reader where a girl, daughter of Aphrodite, flirts with him and insults the reader, causing her to avoid Luke, but later he manages to find her and confesses that he actually likes them... I don't know if they should already be together or not, but I believe in you!!! you write very well :ooo

Sorry if the idea is bad or you wouldn't want to write something like that, if that's the case please pretend you never read this 🤡🤡🫶

true colours; luke castellan

wc + pairing: 3.6k, luke castellan x child of iris! reader

synopsis: everyone wants luke castellan, including you. curse your mother for getting your hopes up.

warnings: friends to lovers, reader is very insecure, bullying, lee fletcher & will solace cameo!! some angst with a fluffy ending

notes: thank you for the request!! as always this is longer than i anticipated but hope you like it :) i also combined it with another request for a child of iris reader (i also identify as a child of iris sometimes so i lovee writing for them) also i’m pretty sure lee + a lot of parts of this are ooc sorry but i havent read the books in about a year so hopefully everything’s fairly accurate!🌈

You knew this summer would be different because your mother sent her wishes twice as much. On the first day of July, when children flood into Camp Half-Blood like a hive of wild bees, a rainbow always lights up the sky. 

This year, there were two. 

As a child of Iris you’re technically supposed to be in the Hermes cabin. But your love for art, for music, for fun, has made you a particular favourite of the Apollo cabin. Most of your friends are there. They tolerate you singing in your soft, often unsure voice. They love when you catch sunlight and filter it into prisms of colour on their cabin walls. 

You’d probably move in there permanently if it weren’t for Hermes. Or rather, his son.

Over the last few months, in the sticky summer heat, your mother knew you would fall in love. 

It's not any surprise you love Luke. Everyone loves Luke. A fact that's becoming more obvious every passing day. 

It used to bother you less. You’ve always been his meagre, hopeless friend, never any real competition to these girls. You’d basically taken yourself out of the running and instead decided to pine after him in the very back of your mind. A safe, deluded fantasy that would never happen. 

Until recently, where it seems less like a fantasy and more like a terrifying possibility. 

Over the past few weeks Luke has gone out of his way to be sweet to you. Or at least you think so. He’s spent extra time talking to you at lunch, laughing at your half-formed jokes almost in earnest. At bonfires he saves you a seat, grabs you a marshmallow on occasion. You even made him a friendship bracelet of sorts—admittedly a little ugly—but he’s never taken it off. Not since the day you gave it to him. 

Not to mention helping you last week before the archery competition. His hands lingering over yours as he steadied your bow, the curls of his breath on the back of your neck when he stood behind you. 

“Don’t be nervous,” he says, a tinge of mirth in his voice. “You just steady your aim and first is as good as yours.”

(You came in fifteenth.)

You don’t want to say that it’s him weakening your aim, making your pulse beat out of your neck. His nose brushes against the back of your jaw as he leans forward and you smell the pine on his skin. Is this friendly? Is he this close on purpose? Are you delusional?

It’s all you’ve been thinking about these past few days. So when Luke Castellan’s endless admirers come to the forefront of your mind, you feel like all those moments of potential buildup have been ripped away. 

“You alright there, sunshine?” 

He takes you out of your spiral with a teasing lilt you love. When you look at him, his face is a shimmering warmth, complete with boyish smile. 

“Yep,” you reply, trying to ignore the nickname making your insides flutter even though you know he’s saying it ironically.

You’ve always had a gift for identifying colour. It’s the thing you pay attention to most. Something inherited from your mother, you suppose. So you’ve memorized the way Luke’s eyes melt in the sunlight. How his scar blends with his pinking cheeks when it’s hot outside. You never told him, and you probably never will, but you’ve painted him from memory quite a few times in the Apollo cabin—always with the excuse that you were practicing. It's so blatantly obvious you're in love with him there's no point in your friends bringing it up.  

The two of you are meandering around camp before dinner, a tradition Luke started early on in the summer. You talk about high points of your day (mostly you) or share nuggets of gossip you’ve heard around camp (mostly him). It's the thing you looked forward to every morning. A time when his words are just for you. 

Idle chatter flows as you keep walking. Sometimes your arm brushes his and you have the embarrassing urge to tug yours away. You do your best not to stare at him too long or laugh too loud at his jokes. 

“Hey, Castellan!” Someone calls. 

Luke’s head turns. Your heart plummets. A beautiful girl, Aphrodite cabin, you think, is heading towards you. She’s all honey-spun hair and dazzling pink lips, and it’s obvious she knows it. You don’t know her name. But Luke does. 

They fall into conversation the second she arrives. It’s just greetings, pleasantries, but there’s a coy smile on the girl’s face that betrays any sense of disinterest. “Heard you’re not too keen on pairing up with us for the Chariot Race next week. What gives?” Her tone is pouty and playful as she taps Luke’s shoulder. She side-eyes you, lips curling imperceptibly. “I’m sure you’ll have a better chance with us.”

He lets out a strained chuckle. “Dunno, just thought it was fine to switch it up.”

Just like that, you’re out of the loop again. More of her friends flock after her, and soon Luke is tangled in a whole other world. They’re all glowing with a kind of righteousness you only get when you’re popular. You know Luke has friends, tons of them. He's the leader of the cabin with the most campers. Not to mention assertive and gorgeous. His presence is so inviting it’s a challenge not to fall in love with him. 

So you can’t blame this girl, the one that keeps touching his arm and giggling. It’s not like you’ve staked your claim on Luke—no one even knows you exist. As much as you want him to be yours, you know you’ll never stop someone from taking him first. It’s your fatal flaw, you think. Cowardice. 

You end up sidelined completely. Watching him swathed in people more charismatic than you plants an ache deep inside you. All your wishful thinking feels sour now, a pipe dream, a bedtime story to help you sleep better. Somehow it hurts more knowing that it’s nobody’s fault but yours. These people can’t be doing this on purpose. It’s just who they are. It’s who you are—always a step behind, always daydreaming. You are your mother’s daughter, after all. Just a prism reflecting everyone around you. 

Eventually, one of the boys in the group takes notice of you. He’s not nearly as captivating as Luke is—you don’t find the colours of his eyes hold as much depth. There’s also a haughtiness when he looks at you. He sneers, “What the hell do you have on your face?”

It draws the attention of others in the group. You feel like a naked sculpture in an art gallery. “Uh, what?” You stammer. 

Some of them purse their lips. The girl with Luke lets a laugh slip. You’re pretty sure you look like an idiot, waiting there with your brows wrinkled in a daze. Their gazes keep flicking over to your cheek, so your hand flies up there before you can delay any more. When you press your fingers to the side of your face, they come away tacky and pink. Mortification constricts you.

Paint. It’s leftover, half-dried paint. The colour of Luke’s cheeks in the sun. 

“Oh,” you say dumbly. It’s drowned by snickers. All you can do is find Luke, the only face you know, and ask, “Why didn’t you tell me?” without sounding too hurt. 

You know you failed when your voice comes out wrong and his ebony brows push together. “I thought it looked—”

He never gets to finish because the golden girl laughs a little louder, the pink tones in her face a little darker. “Oh my Gods, you’re that Iris kid that’s always singing, right?” She giggles sharply, cornflower eyes darting between her friends. There’s something in there you can’t quite pick up on, until it flushes the pupils of all her friends, and they all grin with a secret knowledge they want you to see. “You’re, like, really good!” The girl simpers, but her bottom lip pulls between her teeth to soften another laugh. 

“Oh, so good!” Another friend piles on. 

Their passive-aggressive chuckles start to sound like hail on a window. You shift further away from them. Dirt slides beneath your shoe, and you long to kick up more of it, displace yourself, disappear. 

You don’t look at Luke. The giggly, flaxen girl has already turned back to him, and you’re sure he’s enthralled once more. You try to stir up the image of Luke’s closeness during archery practice, the lilac bruise on his knuckles when he angled your bow, but it doesn’t take. Now, it feels like you’ve dreamed it. 

Out of the corner of your eye, you see Luke leaning down to catch a whisper from the Aphrodite girl’s ear. The boy that first commented on your cheek leans closer to you again. He’s suffocatingly smug when he grins, “Why are you still here? Shouldn’t you go … wash that off? You don’t want to look like that at dinner.” He snorts. “For an Iris kid, you really aren’t good at taking a message.” 

If you were a more confident person, maybe you’d point out how that didn’t really make sense, or how stupid it sounded coming out of his mouth. But the sentiment of it wounds you, and you’re weak enough as is. 

"Guess you're right," you mumble. You wipe your face of paint as you leave. The memory of Luke’s skin stains you until you wash your hands off in the sink. 

You haven’t talked to him since. 

It’s been a few days of you avoiding him, and it’s hard to explain to anyone why you’ve been doing it. How do you tell the truth? Luke Castellan is a work of art and you are … a weird doodle, or something. Despite your adoration, you know there’s no reason he should feel the same for you. Everyone loves him for a reason. Everyone must ignore you for one, too. 

“Why haven’t you been talking to Luke?”

The question breaks your concentrated silence in the Apollo cabin. You’ve been sitting here for a while now, humming to yourself over a mostly blank canvas. The cabin is dusted with a lilac haze, thanks to your manipulation of the light streaming through the windows. Helps you feel less like you’re at camp and more like you’re in a fairytale. 

“Helloooo, lady, I asked you a question.”

You begrudgingly look up. Lee Fletcher, head of the Apollo cabin, is at the mouth of the cabin, gazing at all your supplies strewn about the floor like they’re a bunch of unsavoury substances. “It looks like a hurricane came in here. Now why aren’t you talking to Luke?”

“How do you know I’m not talking to him?” You mutter as Lee sits beside you. 

“Uh, because you’ve been sleeping here multiple nights in a row and you never do that. And you don’t sit with him at dinner. And whenever we see him you drag me in the other direction—”

“Lee!”

“I’m just saying, you should probably talk about it. My beautiful voice can heal wounds, yes, but not of the heart.” He splays a hand across his chest in mock theatrics.

You don’t say anything. The familiar weight of the brush against your fingertips is far more comforting than trying to talk, so you busy yourself with your canvas again. “He waits for you, you know,” Lee continues, quieter. “In the morning. And before dinner. He always asks if you’re here.”

“Oh,” you say, and your wavering voice betrays your expression. But you think of everyone else at camp, their gleaming smiles and their celebrated parents, their own cabins and friends and dreams, how you don’t seem to have any of those. You think of the girl whispering in Luke’s ear. All her shades of beauty. You know it’s wrong to compare yourself, to be jealous. You’re just … sad.

The cabin darkens from a lilac to an imperceptibly gloomier shade. A blue sort of longing gets caught in your throat, blurring the colours on your canvas. But you keep your brush steady, focused on the scratch of its bristles so you don’t have to hear what you say next. 

“I think I love him, Lee.” And then, “But I don’t think he loves me.”

There’s no sound except the scraping of your brush when it’s run out of paint, and a sniffle when a tear rolls down your cheek. 

“Oh,” Lee fills the silence the way you did just moments before. Then he says your name, laced with pity, and hugs you on the floor of his lavender cabin. 

“You want to help me lead the bonfire song tonight?” He asks after a minute. “Or at least … come to the bonfire song?” 

“No to the first, yes to the second.”

You wish you said no to both. 

The spot you choose after dinner is right next to the fire so you can distract yourself with the golden flecks of flame. Fire is so fluid, so complex, from a colour perspective. But no matter how close you get, the searing warmth can’t hide Luke’s gaze peering over the embers. 

He will not. Stop. Looking at you. 

The singing from the Apollo kids usually soothes you but tonight it’s just making you anxious. All this attention so close to you. Will Solace has been sitting next to you this whole time, your unofficial assigned companion for the night thanks to Lee. One of his siblings beckons him over, and he shoots you an apologetic look, hesitating. "Just go," you wave off kindly. "It's all good." He's not entirely convinced, and you aren't either, but he squeezes your shoulder with thanks and leaves you anyway.

Now you’re acutely aware the space next to you is wide open. And so is Luke, it seems. There’s an awkward moment where your gazes slide over each other and he weaves out of his current crowd towards you. So you do the most mature, sound thing you could possibly do in this situation:

You say you have to go to the bathroom to no one in particular and get out of there. 

It’s dark, but you’ve got sharper eyes than most. Soon the noise of the campfire is behind you. You traipse through the camp towards the bathroom,but you don’t get far before you hear something that makes your stomach drop in the worst and best way. 

Luke, calling your name. 

At first you think you can get away with not hearing him. Then he calls a second, a third, a fourth time, punctuated with, “Come on, I know you can hear me, can you just turn around?”

He’s got longer legs than you so the next time he speaks it’s practically in your ear. “Hey, just look at me. Please. I want to talk to you.”

There’s something so tender in his voice that it makes you cave immediately. But you already feel so fragile, you can feel the tears behind your eyes. You know you won’t have the strength to talk to him. 

His hand curls gently around your wrist and it sends warmth all the way up your arm. He says your name again, softer, and you love the way it sounds. You can’t meet his eyes, but you already know what he looks like. Even in the dark you picture him crystal clear. 

“Look at me,” he repeats. “I just—I need to know what I did wrong.”

His dark eyes are full and apprehensive when you heed him. You notice how much you’ve missed studying his face—the slight bunch of his brows, the tensing in his jaw. And you almost delude yourself that he’s missed you just as much, the way he squeezes your wrist and rakes over your expression.

“Why are you ignoring me?” He asks. 

“I’m not—”

“You are. I know you. Just tell me why.” 

He looks so sweet, so earnest, and it kills you. You think of the way he looked when all his friends made fun of you. It all comes up before you can help it. 

“Do you always let me walk around looking like an idiot?” You ask bitingly, staring at the floor. “The thing, with the paint on my cheek—why didn’t you tell me? I looked so stupid and all your friends just laughed at me!” 

His face falls. “I tried to tell you, I thought—”

“It’s okay to say you don’t like me, or that you’re embarrassed, or whatever, but I …” You swallow, tears thick on your lower lashes. “Everyone makes fun of me. I don’t know why you don’t.”

“Because I do like you,” he states, hand moving up to your forearm. 

“Don’t say that,” you whisper. “You’re so much … better, you know you are, and I don’t want your pity, or your spare time. I just—I made something up in my head that wasn’t there and I only noticed it the other day after you talked to that girl and that guy made fun of me and I’m really, really sorry—”

“It looked cute. I was trying to say I didn’t tell you about the paint because I thought it was cute.”

There’s a lull.

“What?” You blink stupidly. 

“I know I should’ve told you about it, but I swear I was going to before dinner, I didn’t think we’d run into anyone before then.” His cheeks tinge red. “I had this whole dumb thing planned out where I’d wipe it off your cheek and tell you how cute it was once you got embarassed. I was waiting to tell you. I was thinking about it the whole time.”

His hand on your arm is a frighteningly grounding thing. You're dumbstruck by that alone. Your lips part, but all that comes out is, “Why?”

A gentle laugh tumbles out of his throat. “Why do you think?”

His other hand comes up to brush your cheekbone, where the paint had been, and you can imagine him doing it to you on that day. How you'd probably react just the way he said you would, the way you are now. A warm orange glow blooming in your chest. “But the girl—”

“She tried whispering to me how much she liked my bracelet,” he smiles fondly. “Told her you made it for me. It shut her up. I don’t know what that guy said to you but I chewed ‘em all out the second you left. They knew I wasn’t happy. I tried looking for you but you were gone. I don't like them, you know."

You don’t know what to say. It’s too difficult, too uncertain for you to jump the gun on this. So you just stare at all the shifting colours on his face as he moves closer to you. All this time going over his every detail, and there's still more to be enthralled by.

“I found the paintings,” he says, voice so close you can feel it brushing your skin. “The ones of me. I was looking for you in the Apollo cabin a week ago and you left one out. I knew it was yours because ... I mean, there’s no one in the world that can make me look that … beautiful.” 

The last word is apprehensive but it’s spoken with an unimaginable tenderness. He looks a little teary himself. You think you’re dreaming. “I knew I had to tell you after that. I’ve been trying to tell you. But you started pulling away from me so I thought I was making it all up.”

“Tell me what?” It’s a ghost of a question between you, an impossible thing, but the hand on your arm slips around to your back and he presses it there with such certainty. 

“You’re really gonna make me say it?” He cocks his head, but you nod. “I’m in love with you, I think.”

The words cascade over you in ribbons of warmth. Your brain feels fuzzy, seperate from the rest of your body. Your mouth opens multiple times but you can’t seem to control what comes out. “Luke, are you joking?”

“Not even a little.”

“But you’ve got so many other—”

“I want you.”

“I am literally the most incompetent person alive; I can’t sing, I can’t talk to people, I have a weird knee—”

"Your knee is fine!"

"I'm just saying, this makes no sense from an outsider perspective, it's—"

“Okay, clearly the telling thing isn’t working so I guess I’m just gonna have to kiss you.”

It happens so quickly you don’t have any time to think (probably for the better). You let out a surprised “oh” before his mouth silences you, stopping every other thought. He’s gentle, thumb still rubbing your cheekbone, other hand still firm at your waist. You want to panic—where should you put your hands? How do you know you’re doing this right? But he steadies you, the way he always does, and you give in. 

He starts to smile against your lips. You’re almost positive the intensity of your heartbeat could summon a storm. When he pulls away, he kisses the corners of your mouth and you think you’re going to evaporate. “I don’t think I’m very good at this,” you whisper.

“You’re perfect.” He grins a little when your hands tentatively tug at a curl on the nape of his neck. “And none of that stuff you say is true. I mean, you’re definitely a better singer than me.”

Leaning close to your ear, he warbles out a song you know but gets the words horribly wrong anyways. You can’t help but laugh. “Okay, maybe you have a point.”

He hums and chuckles with you. You swear the moon gets brighter when he wraps his arms around your waist to kiss the side of your face. “Next time you paint me, I want to be there when you do it.”

You blush harder than you ever have in your life. “Only if you try painting me,” you say quietly.

“Of course. You’re very pretty, so I’m sure my horrible artistic skills won’t even make you look bad.”

Luke lets you press your face into the crook of his neck. You soak it up for all it’s worth. 

In the morning, you wake up in the same position. Your nose tucked against his collarbone, the shade of pink you love freckled across his cheeks. You can't wait to paint him again.

When you look out the window, you say a silent, grateful prayer to your mother.

She's given you two more rainbows.