#townhouse shenanigans | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

seeingivy · 7 months

Text

all american bitch

actor!eren x f!reader

**part of my method acting series

songs mentioned: glue song ft. clairo by beabadoobee and all american bitch by olivia rodrigo

previous part linked here

It’s increasingly warm – the atmosphere in the townhouse now that there’s nearly double the amount of people. There isn’t even enough room to sit, and you’re positive Levi must be having an aneurysm somewhere, from all the lap sitting and bodies sprawled across the floor, with nearly six conversations going on at once.

You eye them all from your vantage point in the kitchen, nursing your glass of water, as you watch all of them with your blood thrumming through your veins.

You’re on the heels of all of it. And it’s all coming together.

Eren joins you in the kitchen, Teddy hanging off the back of his neck, as he gives you a peachy smile. You reach forward and shake Teddy’s extended hand, his eyes nearly lidded with sleep and his cheek squished against Eren’s shoulder.

“I believe you have a song to perform.” Eren states.

You look up at him, a soft glint in his green eyes, as you shake your head. Your request for Gabi was done…and Falco was all ready to perform it too, but the idea of performing for people outside of your inner circle, to even hint that you’re even involved in this type of thing beyond what you were planning for the award’s show was nerve wracking.

You weren’t even sure if you really wanted to come back to all of this yet at the end of this.

“Not in front of people, Eren. Next week…when they’re all gone.” you murmur.

“Deal’s a deal, princess. Guitar or piano?”

“How about my fist, down your throat?” you deadpan.

Eren laughs, placing Teddy on the counter in front of the two of you, his head nearly lolling to the side from his tiredness.

“You have some violent kinks, Y/N.” he whispers.

You roll your eyes, before shoving your elbow into his ribs. You reach for Teddy, and he crawls into your arms, now drooling onto your shoulder as you rest your cheek against his curly brown hair. Eren looks down at you two and the sheer, tangible fondness in his eyes makes your skin heat.

“These aren’t people. They’re your friends.” Eren states.

You frown.

“I know. I just think it’ll be weird. Imagine they all think I’m preparing to come back after the season is over, when I could damn well just go back to my recluse life after this. And what if my…voice cracks or something?”

“Hey.”

“I mean, recluse while still talking to you guys. Obviously.”

Eren rests his chin on top of yours, the two of you watching Connie do some aggressive… acrobatics, if you could even call it that, with Yuuji from a few feet away. Megumi and Shoko are standing two feet away, not bothered enough to be horrified from the injury that’s waiting to happen, while Sukuna and Porco start armwrestling on the coffee table too close to their shenanigans.

“You’re thinking about it too hard. It’s just a song. And mind you, I accidentally told Gabi you pulled her request. She’s going to be heartbroken because she’s been waiting all day.” you state.

You glare at him.

“You did that on purpose.” you groan.

“Well, yeah. Obviously.”

“You’re a asshole.” you state.

“Guitar or piano?”

You sigh.

“Guitar.” you respond, Eren giving your cheek one last pinch before he gestures for Teddy with grabby hands and shuffles away to get the acoustic guitar from his room.

The soft kiss Eren presses to his hair makes you smile.

You walk into the belly of the beast, taking the seat next to Falco, tugging lightly on his hair to catch his attention from the very serious game of Go Fish that he was playing with Satoru and Maki. He looks up at you – anger pulsing in his blue eyes as you give an equally harsh glare back.

“What’s your problem, Y/N?” Falco whines.

“Yeah, Y/N. What’s your problem?” Satoru mimics, imitating Falco’s whine almost perfectly.

You pull on Falco’s ear.

“Gabi’s song. Are you ready?”

Falco’s eyes immediately light up.

“Yes! Yes, sorry. Yes.” Falco responds, shooting up as you give him a curt nod.

You pull the little bench into the center of the living room, Sukuna and Lana sitting at your feet and the group of them all clumped onto the couch as Eren enters right on cue, presenting the guitar to you.

It’s almost romantic, the way he goes about it.

Or maybe you’re just thinking about it too hard because Eren could make everything feel intimate. Even the way his eyes meet yours sends a chill running down your spine.

Eren places the guitar in your hands, reaching forward to secure the strap around your neck and curl shis lucky guitar pick, a brilliant shade of emerald green, into your hand. The little affections he gives you before you start singing – cupping your chin in his hand, a tiny wink for good luck.

It simmers in your chest.

You swallow hard, as Falco pulls the little slip from his pocket, handing it over to you to read out to them. You can already see Gabi smiling so brightly in the back, her hands tucked around Eren and Levi’s as she teeters forward and back on her heels.

“The request is…write about the bestest of friendships. Like so good that you can’t even stay away from each other because of how fun it is to be together.” you state.

Levi scoffs.

“I wonder who that’s about.” he mutters.

Gabi’s cheeks turn red as Levi and Eren continue to tease her, and you give her a warm smile, lightly strumming the guitar as you give Falco the go ahead to start.

Falco: I've never known someone like you Tangled in love, stuck by you from the glue Don't forget to kiss me or else you'll have to miss me I guess I'm stuck forever by the glue, oh, and you

You can’t help but watch Gabi – the way her brown eyes shine brightly at Falco as he shuts his eyes, his quiet voice filling the air as everyone intently listens.

Falco always had that quality, the ability to command a room, but it was all encompassing, searing, when it came to Gabi.

You wonder if she remembered that there were other people in the room who could see her. Or if she was even cognizant of the fact that there were other people in the room besides him.

You turn to Eren, giving him your cheesiest smile.

Y/N: You've been hiding in plain sight, and it appeared, oh I know Loving you once only feels wrong, I need you I always knew I'd find you, to be here is worth the wait to I'm not lying when I say, "I've been stuck by the glue onto you"

You hate how fucking attractive Eren can be sometimes. Eren rolls his eyes, making a dramatic display of clutching his hand on his chest as he blows you a kiss after your verse.

And after you and Falco start singing together, he’s reaching for Gabi’s wrist, the two of them doing some silly version of a slow dance together – taking turns spinning each other around, attempting to dip each other, and stepping on each other’s feet as Falco leans his chin on your shoulder, the two of you unable to look at anything, or anyone, else.

Maybe you’re just as bad as Gabi. Probably even worse.

Falco and Y/N: I've been stuck by glue Right onto you I've been stuck by glue I've never known I've never known someone like you I've never known I've never known someone like you

There’s a resounding group of cheers as you and Falco finish off, Gabi and Eren running to wrap their arms around the two of you, as everyone else joins in. And in the heat of the hug, nearly suffocating all of the air out of you, you can’t help but secure your hands into Eren and Falco’s hair, leaning both of their cheeks against yours as you let that seeping warmth, the promise of their company seep deep into your bones.

There’s the tiniest twinge of regret. That maybe, you had robbed yourself of it when this was exactly what you needed all along. But it’s almost sweet too. That the loss of it means you’ll make sure, that you’ll always be grateful, that you’ll fight to keep it this time around.

Later that night, after Levi and Hange somehow pulled together a dinner for the group of you and that sweet high comes crashing down.

You find yourself sitting across from Eren on the couch, your feet secured in his lap as you scribble into your notebook, finishing off all the lyrics – the ideas that you had been preparing for the award show.

Eren can’t help but watch you, your forehead scrunched in concentration, glasses hanging at the edge of your nose, and the way you nervously bite your lip and messily scribble into your notebook.

He can tell that whatever it is you’re writing, that you’re going hard at it, writing so fast that you won’t even let the letters dry and letting the ink smear all the way down your twist.

Eren reaches forward, pushing your glasses back to the bridge of your nose. It breaks your concentration, enough for you to give him a blank stare in response, before you turn back to your notebook.

“Thanks, Eren.” you mumble.

Eren gives you a smile in response, before resting his chin on your knees and trying to decipher your upside down handwriting. The first thing that he makes out is his name.

“What are you writing? A love letter to me?”

You scoff.

“Obviously. No, we’re opening for the Institute Awards next week. I’m writing the song we’re going to sing.” you state.

“The Triple Threat performance is usually at the end. And I’m…I’m not going to steal your moment like that. You should do it on your own.” Eren states.

“I agree. But I sent in a demo of me singing and told them you were going to do it for the opener. So I’ll still do my triple threat performance, but we’ll do this too.” you state.

Eren reaches forward, snatching the book from your hands, and slamming it shut. You look up at him, giving him a smile, and the sheer lack of consideration in your face – the smirk you’re giving him, it makes Eren want to kiss the attitude right off of your face.

“Who said I would sing an opener with you?” Eren asks.

“Who said I was going to perform New Year’s Day at my first ever award’s show?”

Eren sulks. Leave it to you to use his own moves against him.

“Fine. What are we doing?”

“All in good time. Just see if you want to write a verse or something.” you state, handing the little book to Eren, as he places the pencil in between his lips, and runs his eyes over the lyrics.

Sukuna cuts you off, breaking the soft silence in the room from everyone’s respective spots, as he frantically reaches for the TV remote and flicks it on. He’s clicking through all the channels before he stops – on Ricky and Hyla doing an interview – and gives you and Eren a weary look.

You immediately readjust in your seat – Eren’s hand secured around your waist as he pulls you closer, until your thighs are nearly flush – as you both lean forward, drinking every word of the interview.

“Why did you choose to release your single from your new album, Pop Princess, three days early?”

"No fucking way." Eren murmurs.

Hyla smiles, securing her hand in Ricky’s, as you fight the urge to gag.

“I just felt like it was a really relevant time to release it, that…that my adoring fans deserved to hear it early as a reward for being so loyal to me.”

“What’s the song about?” the interviewer asks.

“It’s something I’ve been thinking about for a long time, a mix of different themes that have been really present for me, in the past few years. I’ve seen how other artists and actresses have functioned in this industry and honestly? The direction that we’re going in has been so disappointing lately. Look, we all have deals that don’t work out the best for us, partnerships that just don’t end up serving us at the end – but lingering on it, years after the fact just seems harsh at this point.”

Hyla fakes a choked up throat, sparkling tears in her eyes.

“I just think that as women, we need to show that we can be stronger. We don’t need to throw fits about how we were wronged or feel the need to call out anyone that’s involved. It’s mature – to swallow down that anger, for the greater good of keeping good relations with people. That’s how women function, how we should always move forward. It’s almost central to it, being strong enough to weather the unfair conditions we’re given. In fact, you should be grateful that people above you are even willing to give you the opportunity to work with them, you know? That we can transcend the limits placed on us in whatever capacity.”

You scoff. You could just reduce the limitations in the first place, so you wouldn’t have to transcend them.

“Honestly, I think it’s a bitch move to do that. There’s a need for integrity here and using this to build your reputation, associating yourself with people who aren’t the best, being petty? Loving drama at this point, at such a big age, it’s just immature. There’s power in being optimistic.” Hyla finishes, giving a bright smile to the camera.

They display the cover art onto the screen – a picture of Hyla and Ricky smiling into the camera as you fight the urge to gag. And the audacity is piercing, that Hyla has a silver ribbon snagged in between her locks in the picture.

Not that you own ribbons, but the comparison is clear. The single cover is the exact same pose as the one you and Ricky did for Death of a Bachelor.

Eren’s turn to his side to find you glaring at the screen, your eye nearly twitching as you reach for the remote and turn the TV off. You can feel them all staring at you wearily, Eren’s hand rubbing small circles into your back as you turn your head to look at Sukuna, with expectant eyes.

“Forty-five minutes.” Sukuna states.

“Hour and a half. And I get to take Niccolo.”

Sukuna reaches forward, clasping his hand in yours as you shake on it. And watches as you consequently jump off of the couch, dragging Niccolo to the closest room and slamming the door shut behind you.

Eren turns his head back, leaning his chin on his forearms as he looks up at Sukuna and Jean at his side now, the two of them giving each other a familiar smile.

“What’s happening?”

“You’ll see.”

Eren watches the door anxiously, and after an excruciating twenty-seven minutes, you nearly run out the door, almost tripping on the carpet, as you slam a sheet of paper onto the coffee table in the center.

The group of them are all leaning over his shoulder – Connie, Sukuna and Lana, Yuuji, Sasha – every single one of them breathing down his neck as they read the lyrics you’ve scribbled onto the back of one of the throwaway season one posters.

all american bitch

Eren looks up at you, your arms crossed against your chest, as he meets your unrelenting eyes. And watches as you slam the old camcorder onto the coffee table this time, giving them all a look.

“Who is going to record my music video?” you ask.

Sukuna reaches for the camera, flipping it open and twisting it around in his fingers, before giving you a curt nod.

“Me.”

“And guitar?” you ask.

“I’ve got that one. Colt can help.” Porco responds.

You turn to Eren, holding out your hand to him as you pull him up, refusing to let go of his hands as you hold them in the air between the two of you. Eren's looking down at you and you're unable to place what exactly it is that's brewing in his green eyes.

“You’ve got the drums, then?” you ask.

Eren gives you a not, affirmed by the big smile you give him, as you run off to the set and the group of you follow. Niccolo plays the backtrack for them on the walk there – the rock-esque sound with your singing layered over it as he tries to memorize the counts of the beats.

When you reach the backset, with old props lying around and the instruments half assembled, everyone gets to work putting the set together. You leave the lights on their on/off setting, tasking Falco and Gabi to flash them multiple times while you sing. Mikasa and Sasha are quick with it – Mikasa snagging an old sparkly dress from the spare closets and Sasha tasking herself with doing your makeup quickly as the boys practice the backtrack behind you.

And when everythings well and done, Mikasa tucking your hair behind your ears, Sukuna giving you the thumbs up from behind the camera, you take the microphone in your hands.

If Hyla Clarkson wants a bitch, you’re going to be the biggest bitch she’s ever seen.

You turn to Eren, giving him a wink, before the group of them start playing, as you film your comeback music video.

I am light as a feather I'm as stiff as a board I pay attention to things that most people ignore And I'm alright with the movies that make jokes 'bout senseless cruelty That's for sure

And I am built like a mother and a total machine I feel for your every little issue I know just what you mean And I make light of the darkness I've got sun in my motherfucking pocket, best believe Yeah, you know me, I

Forgive and I forget I know my age and I act like it Got what you can't resist I'm a perfect all-American

Eren can’t help but cheese as you run around the group of them, Sukuna following you with shaky hands as you scream the song into the microphone, You’re jumping up and down, moving closer to the camera and then running back, all with the biggest smile on your face. The pure excitement makes his heart pound.

And really, it fills him with an elation he hasn’t felt in the longest time. For him and from you. Because it reminds him of you in the chemistry read, when you sang New Year’s Day for the first time, the shy smiles you would give him before you leaned in for a kiss. It reminds him why he was so in love with you that sometimes he found it hard to stop.

I don't get angry when I'm pissed I'm the eternal optimist I scream inside to deal with it Like, "Ah" Like, "Ah" (oh my fucking God

Eren had always found it hard to not be in total awe of you. But now more so, in a glittery green desk, with your sparkling eyes, all he could do was stare. And maybe it’s a little weird – that the fact that you’re screaming bloody murder makes him so happy – but getting to see you expressing your emotions through music without being halted, without being watered down by Danny and Sareen, it fills him with sheer pride.

All the time I'm grateful all the time I'm sexy and I'm kind I'm pretty when I cry

Oh, all the time I'm grateful all the fucking time I'm sexy and I'm kind I'm pretty when I cry

Eren watches as you heave your chest, bringing the microphone down, as Sukuna lowers his camera, before Eren nearly jumps up from his seat, reaching for you.

You all but oblige as Eren reaches forwards, cupping his hands around your face and feeling your heart nearly explode as he presses a kiss to your cheek.

He leans his forehead against yours, the two of you quietly breathing in unison as the rest of them huddle around the camera, playing it back.

“You never cease to fucking impress me, Y/N.”

You grin.

“Yeah?" you ask.

Eren presses one more kiss to your cheek for good measure. He's sure he'll regret it tomorrow.

"Hell yeah."

On Thursday night, you can’t find Eren, Sukuna, Lana, or Connie anywhere. Not in their rooms or on the set – not lingering around outside the townhouse or taking a walk around the neighborhood.

And they’re the only people that you want to see. They’re on the heels of being vulnerable, so painfully vulnerable in front of the entire world, and you just want to be there to hold their hands and be there through it all.

You settle into the coffee table for early dinner, Jean and Mikasa at your sides sharing one of the little scones, as they give you a halfhearted smile. You focus yourself on distracting yourself, writing the song that you were tasked with for the day.

The slip you pulled this morning was one that Maki had stuffed into the little bowl earlier this morning, hence it being the one you pulled first.

write a song about how crazy it is that you and eren made the internet explode after literally just acknowledging each other (simply iconic, i fear)

“You know you’re shaking your legs so hard that the entire table is moving, right?” Jean asks.

You lift your head up from your notebook, shooting both of them an apologetic smile, as you place the pencil into the center of the spine and hiding your scribbled lyrics by closing the book. You shift around on the chair, hugging your knees close to your chest, as you turn towards the two of them.

Mikasa places her little half of the scone back on the napkin, brushing the crumbs off of her hand as she turns to face you. Jean seems to take some silent cue from her, you giving him a passing wave as he quietly shuffles out of the room and leaves the two of you abandoned at the coffee table.

“He could have stayed, y’know?” you murmur.

“I know. Just felt like it should be a you and me moment with everything that happens tomorrow.” Mikasa murmurs.

You nod as Mikasa diligently splits her already halved scone into a quarter before she slides it piece over to you.

“Does it piss you off too? That Connie and Eren want this time to be alone? Because I get that tomorrow’s going to be a big day for them, but…but I just kind of want to be there for them.” Mikasa states.

You frown.

“I didn’t realize it was intentional.”

“They have their reasons. And…and I even understand them. Lana and Sukuna want to spend their last day of privacy as a couple, with Teddy, just the three of them. Eren told them about some lake that’s nearby that he figured they would really like. Since they’re into all that nature crap.” Mikasa states.

You smile.

“And Connie. He could easily lose all the deals he has, the kind of…reputation that he’s had for years. It’s kind of daunting and I’d want to spend that time talking to someone I was close with, like my mom too. And you know Eren doesn’t like to talk anyways, just likes to kind of ruminate in his silence which I figure is what he’s doing outside.``

“He’s outside?” you ask.

“Yeah. Went out there a while ago.” Mikasa responds.

You hum in response, giving him a nod, as you dig your chin into your knees, trying to stomach – to remember exactly what that feeling looked like. Though you imagine it’s not half as liberating as it felt for them as it did for you when you did your interview, because a central part of it was that you were taking the high ground.

That the effects of it were never going to reach you. And really in hindsight, surprise dropping your sung only proved that it really only benefited you. That in Niccolo’s words, the ones that he repeated to his label when he gave them the song under your conditions, that you were immortalized as a pop star. That at some point, it wasn’t even about you.

It was the circumstances. That there’s a certain mysteriousness in fans, companies, people’s eyes about what happened to you, that it’ll draw them into whatever you have to say.

So much so, that if you really wanted to, you could get whatever you wanted. And you were going to test the theory.

“I wish they’d let us be there for them too. I want nothing more to be with them right now, any of them, if they’d let me.” you respond.

“Me too. But I guess it’s what I wouldn’t want either. When I know something big is going to happen, like something that makes me really nervous, the only person that I want to be around is Jean.”

If Lana and Sukuna are together and Connie’s with his mom, that means Eren’s alone.

“Speaking of Jean, we…we talked about everything that happened when I was gone. I really am sorry I wasn’t here for you while all of that was happening. Not that it would have done much, but…it keeps me up sometimes that you needed a friend and I wasn’t there to be one. And I kind of robbed you of letting you be that for me too.” you murmur.

Mikasa smiles, leaning her head against your shoulder.

“I don’t mean this in a way to make you feel bad, but just because you put yourself down just there. I do hope you know your friendship means a lot to me and you even just being around me sometimes does a lot more than you think it does.” Mikasa states.

“I appreciate that. You do a lot for me too, Mikasa.”

“Levi actually had a talk with me and Armin about that the other day. About forgiveness. Think he was trying to push Armin into truly forgiving Eren by talking about why I forgave you and…and all I could do was stare at the polaroids on the wall.”

“Well, I’d do that too. It's Levi.”

Mikasa laughs.

“It was a picture of the seven of us. You, me, Jean, Eren, Marco, Armin, and Ymir. And he was droning in on all this crap about forgiveness and all I could think about was how little I used to be. Like really, we were fucking fifteen when this all started. I was sixteen when I started dating Jean.” Mikasa starts.

Mikasa’s demolishing her scone into tiny mounds of crumbs as she talks, the light brown scattering across the white napkin. And you wait for her to walk into addressing it, on sharing her piece about the elephant in the room.

“Sometimes it’s really fucking humiliating to think about how I treated Jean in those days. Jean, he means everything to me. And sometimes I wouldn’t even spare him a second glance. And there were days where I’d have so much guilt about it, that…that it would kind of eat me up inside. But I looked at that picture and all I could think about was…”

Mikasa sighs.

“I was only sixteen. I spent so much time hating myself at that age, so unwilling to accept what Jean was giving me because I thought I didn’t deserve it. And I was only sixteen. And maybe I didn’t deserve that. I was still getting used to my own skin, figuring out what it was like to be me, and I owed it to myself to take love at face value when it was being presented to me. And if I wasn’t able to do it right, that’s okay. And maybe not even the second or the third time, but I…it mattered that I wanted to be better you know? I think realizing it is the biggest step.”

You place a hand around one of her shoulders, squeezing hard into her muscle.

“And then I looked at you. You were sixteen, Eren was sixteen, Armin and Jean were sixteen. Maybe you were just figuring out what it was like to be you too. And Ymir. And Marco too.”

Your throat is dry.

“Sometimes I feel guilty for forgetting about him. Whenever I get upset about how things went down, I…I feel like shit. It could be worse, y’know…I could…” you murmur.

“You could be dead.” Mikasa responds, finishing the thought.

It's bleak.

“Yeah.” you sigh.

“Me too. I wish he was just here to see that me and Jean had worked it out.”

“Me and Eren too.” you respond.

Mikasa lifts her head off your shoulder, before turning to face you. And she wraps her arms around you, leaning the entirety of her weight on you as you dig your face into her shoulder.

“And us.” Mikasa states.

You beam.

“And us.” you repeat.

There’s a silent pause, before Mikasa starts quietly mumbling into your skin.

“...I really hope you’re not going to make me ask again. I know Jean already told you that we were scheming to oust Amy out and potentially ban her from the wedding and…and I hate awkward situations like this so please don’t make me ask again.” Mikasa mumbles.

“Did your scheming work?”

“I told her she’d have to make all the bouquets by hand and suddenly she’s busy that weekend.” Mikasa's states.

You laugh. You pull back and pinch the side of her cheek.

“I won’t make you ask again. And I’m more than honored, like quadruple the first time I asked you. Anything you need, I am at your service.”

“Oh, thank god. I want you to spill a drink on Amy at the reception. And you have to help Eren with the Historia and Ymir thing. We can’t figure out what to do.”

You frown.

“What Historia and Ymir thing?”

Her face pales.

“You…you don’t know?” she mumbles.

You shake your head.

“Fucking, Eren. I thought he would have told you by now. They…they’re not together anymore. It…it was actually really bad, Y/N.” Mikasa responds, face drooping.

“Are they okay?”

“Yeah, but…not on good terms. Levi was even nervous to bring them back on the same day just to kind of spare them the hurt but…but he ended up deciding too anyway because he wanted us all back here for the last day of filming. He’s just going to try his best to be there for Ymir.”

You feel like a wilted flower.

“Did Historia not end up wanting to be with her…because she’s too nervous to come out?”

“I don't know. Ymir was more than happy to live in the shadows. And…and she gathered us all together and proposed to Historia in front of all of us here. She decorated the set with a bunch of fake snow like that scene they did in season two and…and she made this beautiful speech and…Historia said no.”

“Oh my gosh.”

“No, Y/N. It got worse from there. Ymir…she started begging her. Saying she'd do anything to be with her. I know that Ymir isn’t like Historia in that sense, that she didn’t care about being out and maybe even a part of her wanted to, but…but she was willing to give that all up.”

You put your head in your hands, mulling over it all.

How unfair it all is.

That Ymir had to beg for something so simple. That Historia wasn’t able to give it to her because of something that was out of her control. That they drew the line in different places.

That they were both unhappy.

“They’re on really bad terms?” you ask.

“Historia wrote a bunch of songs about Ymir after the fact. It didn’t take long before people drew conclusions and it kind of…drove Ymir crazy. That she was too embarrassed to be with her for real, but that she has no qualms writing a song about it. She’s over it now, of course, but…you know. That still lingers to some extent.”

That there was no bad guy. That they could both be hurt but both be right at the same time.

There was no side to pick.

“I’ll fix it for you. I want you to have fun at your wedding. With all of your friends there. And I will be more than happy to drench Amy's dress in red win.” you respond.

Mikasa’s smile doesn’t reach her eyes. You can tell that she doesn’t believe you in the slightest.

You take your half of the scone and march out the the little courtyard and look for Eren. It doesn’t take you long to find him, the pale moonlight illuminating his little figure, lying down in the grass by the tree.

You take the spot next to him, the bristles of the grass tickling your elbows and the chilly night air really freezing you to the bone.

You don’t say anything. In the nearly three hours you sit out there with him, you mull it over – all of it over – in your head a hundred times.

Before you drift to sleep, you swear Eren reaches for your hand and squeezes three times.

Eren leans forward, wrapping his arms around your neck and leaning his chin on your shoulder, your cheeks brushing against each other as you read through the tweets together on your phone. On the precipice of your episode airing, Eren had asked you to show him all the tweets about the documentary, but supervised.

He didn’t really trust himself to do it on his own.

“It’s…good.” Eren states.

“It’s great. People really believe you guys, Eren.”

Eren smiles.

“If this all works out right, I think I’ll be able to do it, Eren. Or at least mess with Scott Clarkson really good.” you whisper.

Eren reaches for your phone, before throwing it to the side. He's tasked himself with cracking all the bones in your fingers.

“You know, you never did tell me what it is that you’re trying to do. Everyone keeps telling me that you’re trying to do something for me but…I can’t really figure out what that is if you don’t tell me. And I could actually help you if you let me.” Eren states.

You lean out of Eren’s touch, sitting directly across from him on his bed, legs criss crossed on top of each other’s. You reach forward, cupping Eren’s cheek in your hand as you smile at him.

“I’m repaying a favor. You…you did what I couldn’t. You got my album back for me. And I…I know deep down that all you want to see is Scott Clarkson without a career, stopped from being able to hurt anyone the way he hurt all of you. I can’t give you back anything that he took from you but I can try to do this for you.” you murmur.

Eren fights the urge to scoff.

You could give him back what Scott Clarkson took from him. If you just decided to make a move.

“That’s right.” Eren responds.

“This…this is a contingency plan. If people don’t see reason, if they continue to collaborate with him…I don’t want any of your vulnerabilities to go to waste. And really, the only thing these people care about at the end of the day is what makes them money. Their business is what keeps them going.”

Eren frowns.

“I don’t like where this is going.”

“Eren, don’t worry. I’m trying to be smart about this. I talked to Levi and he told me that Scott makes money off the big three. The movies, the record label, and the tabloid company. I asked Niccolo’s company to break all ties with their conglomerate – down to miniscule things, like sharing equipment – if they wanted to release my song. And big things too, like dropping Ricky from their joint label.”

Eren’s eyes go wide.

“There’s no way they agreed.”

“They didn’t even think twice. Niccolo made them send the drafted contract over before we sent the song over. And I’m sure part of it is the appeal – that I haven’t been around in so long that people are itching to see what I’m up to. You…you can’t really buy hype like that. It’s already making money. I’m doing the same thing with the awards show – planning to sway Hyla’s designers, Scott Clarkson’s closest business partners into making deals with his competitors, till he’s left with nothing.” you state.

Eren mulls the thought over.

“I don’t know if that’ll even do anything.”

“If you can’t take him down by the truth of the matter, I’ll take him down by his business. And knowing him, that’s the only thing that really matters to him anyways. His…his entire brand as an industry titan crumbles if people aren’t rallying around him, if people parade behind others instead. He can’t get to anyone if no one lets him in the first place.”

Eren's eyes falter.

“I don’t know if I like this, Y/N. It kind of sounds like…you’re putting yourself on the line just for me. I don’t want you to feel like you have to sell yourself out to these people to make him suffer on my behalf.” Eren states.

You glare at Eren.

“Our behalf. He took everything from us, Eren. From Lana and Sukuna, from Connie. Don’t act lke I don’t know that it was his tabloid company that was on scene when Marco died. At the very least, I’m going to humiliate this asshole and his stupid fucking daughter the first chance I get. They don’t get to get off so easily for everything they did to you, Eren.”

Eren smiles, reaching forward to cup your cheek as you drop your hand from his.

“Is this what everyone’s talking about when they keep calling you my vicious guard dog?”

You roll your eyes.

Eren rubs his thumb back and forward on the softness of your cheek.

He savors the fact that the love in the room is resting firmly in the palm of his hand.

“You really think this will work?” Eren asks.

“I don’t know. I just feel like…some things never go out of style. If we build up the hype just right, people will stop collaborating with him. For good.”

Eren grins. It makes your heart do a somersault.

“Then let’s give them a fucking show, Y/N.”

You reach for your phone and dig out the email from the depths of your inbox. And type in the details before crawling under the sheets with Eren and giving his hands a squeeze.

Confirmed Attendance: Y/N L/N and Eren Jaeger Vogue Met Gala 2024

next part linked here

an: MOTHERFUCKERS WE ARE GOINGGGG TO THE MET GALA. I have been waiting since the fucking BEACH CHAPTER for this next one on god im so excited

I am now aware that one of the tweet sets is blurry and there's a repeat and if I can muster up enough of a fuck I will fix it tomorrow (I won't)

taglist: @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @cutiejg @bokutosthings @bookwrmm @mblrrr @wheredidmycrowngo @somethinginyoureyes7 @chilichopsticks @okaystopwhore @you-always-made-me-blush @itzmeme @firelordazulaaa @whoami-72 @g-ghostly @intimacywithceline @erensmoodygf @cocomellxn @princess-ackerman @jaegerfiles @cacapeepee @rui-0836 @moonmalice @invisible-mori @sofiasber @bbybeeb @timetobegone @tee4str @ttokki2 @leave-rae-alone @ec3lipsy @officialsimpp @gojojang @yookayyo @lordbugs @multiplefandomthings @iobeyfandoms @camilo-uwu @justanotherkpopstanlol @mel-star636 @fvckingeetar @ttalgi @najaemism @ilovekimchi123 @youraggedybitch @xoyumiqls @leafguitar

pls comment on this post or any of the chapters if you want to be added to the taglist <3

291 notes · View notes

happilylovingchaos · 1 month

Text

Sorry again about my past rant, @lonestar-s5countdown… this is early but I had a lot to look for on AO3.

And oh boy. This is my only reaction to how deep the grief/ mourning tag is:

Judd:

3 am by Annide: Judd and TK spend a sleepless moment bonding over the things that keep them up at night, with the former thinking on the old 126 members.

Grace and Judd One-shots by ExpectSpellingErrors: Exactly what it says in the title. Go one at a time, though— there’s 751+ stories as of Aug. 3 this year!

Sometimes by Multifandom_damnation: Judd and TK aren’t that different in their respective trauma-scarred self-esteems. They just need to clear up their clouding pride and pain to understand that.

Nothing lasts forever by lydiamxrtin: Judd takes TK horse-riding, vís-a-vis 1x02.

Southern comfort by Araloth: Judd shows the new 126 what barbacoa is, resulting in a Southern dinner.

Hands over pulse points by isnt_that_wizard: An AU where Judd and Grace allow Tarlos to stay with them after they lose the townhouse.

Grace:

Of grief and grace by @AliceSchuyler: Grace loses her father earlier in this story, before he gets to meet her baby.

Ladder 126, please respond by trashpup: Explores further the devastation that followed Grace on the other side of the fertilizer factory.

911 Dispatcher’s week by SneetchesToo: Grace showing in canon and fanon why she’s the steady voice on the other end we know and love. Some comedic shenanigans ensue.

Wake me up by @AliceSchuyler: An Avicii songfic that follows Grace’s perspective and flashing moments of meeting Judd during the car accident on the bridge.

I could hold on forever by DoubleL27: It’s Judd’s turn to be there for Grace when she starts having bad dreams of her own.

Like a wrecking ball by machtaholic: Taking place sometime during 1x09, Grace visits TK to give him a self-care day.

This love we carry by fiddlersgreen: After he learns his lesson in 3x13, Carlos and Grace discuss their shared experiences of seeing their life partners in the worst pain possible: that of unimaginable loss.

Deep Dive for Grief: Will be split into different sections depending on the canon-compliant/ AU types.

Canon Codas:

Grand gestures by @lonestarbabe and Pigeonsplotinsecrecy: TK processes his breakup with Alex badly, leading into the drug overdose we see in the pilot.

@heytheredeann wrote 4 works, and all took place in Texas, all in Judd and Grace’s POV, all after the fertilizer factory explosion. I kinda can’t believe it isn’t already a series.

Those were the days by benjaminrussell: Judd has a bittersweet dream. Takes place before the Strands arrive in Austin.

In a world like this (I’ve got you) by @lire-casander: A 5+1 coda that sums up his POV of the events of season 1, and early season 2.

Teach me what I need to know (to be strong enough to let go) by hollyhobbit101: After 2x13, Tommy continues to mourn for Charles, but she’s got Grace to help her through.

No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear by lydiamxrtin: So far unfinished, but it explores how deep TK’s grief for Gwyn goes and how profoundly it changes everything in his life— not just how it’s broken, but how it can be put back together. Even if there’s a mother-sized hole left.

Let me by @heartstringsduet: A realistically sweet look at how TK and Carlos’ intimacy weathers the loss of Gwyn.

Both your smiles were twice as wide as ours by daisieflowers: A low-key one-shot of Alex’s reminiscence, some hints of grief, and remaining ambivalence toward his ex-boyfriend. It’s a little melancholic, but there’s catharsis in learning how one’s faring from the end before moving forward.

Tales of love and loss by micaurel: The 126 celebrates Dio de Los Muertos to grieve, commemorate and celebrate the lives of people they’ve known and loved.

Lou 2: Lou-o-ween! by @dragonbinx: As a Halloween get-together featuring Tommy’s girls and an escaped Lou 2 goes a bit awry (like it does), Tommy and Carlos reminisce on their own celebrations with the two people they loved.

Light the shadows on your face by @lire-casander: Not quite grief-focused, but it does feature Michelle saying goodbye (for now).

Tribute by ThirteenRedVampireBites: A 1x10 coda that follows up on the International Space Station loss. I think the fandom probably doesn’t know how badly needed this resolution was, especially for Grace and the astronauts’ families.

Grieving for Owen AU:

The last goodbye by buckdiaz: TK goes into hard denial when he learns why Owen hasn’t reported into work.

Long way to get by meditatinghoneybadger: Owen’s sudden death on the job causes TK to relapse in his grief. The rest explores how he and Carlos try to get through both his rehabilitation and the process of forgiving each other.

Taken by @whumpkeys: Another version of 1x04 when Owen doesn’t make it out of the crumbling house.

Grieving for TK AU:

Quédate by hollyhobbit101: A truly bad-future for Tarlos. I cried at this just as much as I did for Gwyn’s canonical death.

I got a feeling that it’s time to let go by @marjansmarwani: TK gets really close to death (like he kinda does), and the last one is still sad (spoiler alert) but there’s a different reason now for Owen to grieve.

Shut your eyes and fall apart by @marjansmarwani: TK dies for real, and the 126 comes together to grieve together.

Grieving for Tim Codas:

Who cares if one more light goes out in a sky of a million stars (it flickers, flickers) by gapsinthedays: Nancy copes with Tim’s death, horribly.

Reaching, there is nothing left by tiniestmite: A harrowing POV of Tim experiencing his own death.

Grief is a lantern by Pigeonsplotinsecrecy: A follow-up to the mourning montage in 2x02.

Not one or the other by @maxbegone: While honoring a friendship tradition, Nancy processes the traumatic events from the previous months in season 3. There’s a mention of TK’s NDE but it is also half-Tim-centric since he’s the first work friend (as far as canon is concerned) that Nancy had.

Every second chance (that changed its mind on me) by @lire-casander: It’s a nightmare, and the pain from it will still make itself known sometimes. But throughout this interpretation of how Nancy moves forward in season 2, it’s possible to wake up.

#911 lone star #911 lone star season 5 countdown #911ls season 5 countdown fic recs #judd ryder #grace ryder #grief week #tommy vega #charles vega #tim rosewater #gwyneth morgan #gabriel reyes

18 notes · View notes

maddithefangirl · 2 years

Text

The Greenhouse (Azriel x Reader)

Warnings: MAJOR FLUFF

Word Count: >400

a/n: I randomly came up with this today so I had to write it immediately. Hope everyone is having a great day when reading this. xo

*＊✿❀✿＊**＊✿❀✿＊**＊✿❀✿＊**＊✿❀✿＊**＊✿❀✿＊*

You had not been able to stay away from your greenhouse since your mate built it for you.

“You know what would be so nice in our backyard?” You said to your mate as you stared out the kitchen window of your townhouse.

“What, my love?”

“A greenhouse!” you said with so much enthusiasm Azriel is surprised you didn’t spontaneously combust.

Your hair was shining in the evening glow. Azriel would do anything for you, and so he called for Rhys and Cassian to help him with building you your very own greenhouse. The next day, Feyre and Nesta came over to help you supervise your males. You knew they could do it on their own, but you also knew what kind of shenanigans they could get up to.

You could not believe how fast they were able to build the structure for you. By the time you woke up the next morning, you had a beautiful greenhouse filled with shelves and all the supplies you needed. Hugs were given all around and one large kiss was planted on your mate’s lips. You had never had someone go to such lengths to show you their love.

As you paid the boys in a hearty breakfast, you didn’t think you could be so happy.

You blinked back into the present as you got back to work planting the new flower seeds you picked up from town today. You stood at the high table in the middle of the greenhouse with your favorite potting soil mix in your wide-lipped orange bucket. The sun was high in the sky beating down on the greenhouse. There was potting soil everywhere and your gloves were stained brown.

You didn’t realize it, but Az was watching you from the door. His eyes were filled with admiration and love as he gazed upon his lovely mate. He would truly do anything for you. Even if it meant having to take extra trips to Windhaven and the Court of Nightmares in return for help building the greenhouse for you.

He made his way over to you and wrapped his large arms around your waist, tucking his head into your neck. “Stop back-hugging me while I’m trying to plant! You’re distracting me,” you jokingly say. He kissed you three times before you were able to turn around. His eyes gazed into yours as he moved his hand to your jaw so that he could wipe away the dirt on your face with his thumb.

“Hmm?” you mutter up to him.

“I just really love you.”

#azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x you #azriel x y/n #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #azriel fluff #maddithefangirl #maddi's flash writing

367 notes · View notes

xxswagcorexx · 7 months

Note

Hey do you maybe have any lifesteal fic recs? There’s not a lot of rec lists in this fandom and I’m not sure where to start!

okay so um. i am perhaps the Worst person to go to when it comes to this stuff because. You See,

if you want a more. comprehensible list, my two swagdoons fic recommendations is probably the best place to start (1, 2). i am also going to shout out the nevada series and no bills in the mail since i've seen a few people talk about them on tumblr and i love both of them!

but i have gone through my bookmarks and have complied some fics! all of these fics are complete :)

Sweet Berry Pie by beaningeneraldenial

Clown is a busy assassin with too much experience on him to not attract a lot of potential clients and employers. One contract has him going away on the week of his and Branzy's 2nd anniversary, which Branzy doesn't appreciate much. He knows, however, how to make their anniversary celebration good! He makes a pie… he only adds a bit of gunpowder in it. or: Clown should've left a post-it note on the fridge saying "Do NOT touch, Branzy!" before he left for the week. He regrets it only a little.

Repent, Harlequin by trafficpose

The problem with knowing Clown: suddenly, chaos was an option.

Tunnel Vision by jukeboxtea

Mid is far from a quiet person. But when she’s in battle, she’s deadly silent. (or, a short character study on Midmysticx.)

Wire snare by dogdomesticated

Getting a read on intent. What will kill you first: the toxin or the detonation? A short abstract exploration of Rekrap's character and themes in Lifesteal season 3.

Rollercoaster by Thrills (IWantToRemainASecret)

Branzy compares Clownpierce to a rollercoaster and other shenanigans.

i wouldn't blame you if you turned around by Anonymous

sometimes things don't go the way you want them to. it's a story clown has heard time and time again.

What do you see when you look at the stars? by lovecore_jpg

“..What do you see?” “..What?” Planet paused, a little confused by the question. “Like– when you look out at the stars. What do you.. see? ..Besides stars?” ---------------------- Planet likes to stargaze when everyone else is asleep. This time, somebody joins him.

Olethros by arospecitzsubz (Octaveice)

"Theoretically, the ruin goes before the grace. He'd named his sword for a reason."

Brown Eyes by PacificSeaOtter

Nobody knows what color Clownpierce's eyes are- not until Vitalasy, Subz, and Rek start a bet trying to figure it out. Thus ensues the saga of failed, but hilarious attempts to get Clown's mask off.

and I swear I could slit my throat with your dull knife by Scared_Rodent

Like a frozen lake, Branzy noticed how Ashswag's expressions hardly changed, how nothing he saw surprised him at all. Branzy remembered falling in love, remembering dates by the beach with nothing but his smile. On the deadliest server in the world, Branzy remembered him.

winter in prague; 1618 by whichlights

winter in prague; 1618. tensions are high after the defenestration of multiple catholic officials, and a war will break out not quite two years later. in this time of tensions, a vampire by the name of clownpierce is injured. his friend is there to care for him, at least.

drinks in new york; 1926 by whichlights

drinks in new york; 1926. prohibition has swept across the country, but that doesn't mean the party stops. world class performers, drinks, and more- all at greenwich village, a historical hub of gay activity. clown and redd have holed up in a townhouse in the village, and have been having a wonderful time in new york.

games to play on work break by Felix_J

"A boring place is what it is. Hell." Jaron says, and it might sound a little bitter. Ash gives him a blurry look. "No, why do you look at me like that." They've stopped asking questions, (Jaron knows asking questions is not a good thing, and generally, he doesn't care). "You think, that was such a hot resort, and Satan is the greatest of 'em, you're curious, right."

A man, a squid and a clown walk into an elevator… by Thrills (IWantToRemainASecret)

Branzy is crushing hard on the dutch man he and Chief share their elevator rides with, and he seeks to learn Dutch in order to form a connection with him. Too bad he can speak English. Too bad Chief isn't going to stop Branzy.

Now as the curtains rise up by softnoblade

Maybe next it’ll snow. Maybe the remains of this server will be preserved, frozen under layers and layers of snow and ice. Perhaps, decades from now, some unlucky archaeologist will stumble across the remains of this server, and simultaneously uncover both the preserved remains of war and the immortal beings that had slaughtered them.

def function (singularity): by Anonymous/np13

it's always why did you mess with your player data and you're missing half your data structures and never ‘how was playing with your data. messing with code looked fun was it fun’ (it is, right up until it's not.)

sunsets on powerlines by w_nter

It starts with a broken lightbulb in his hands, or maybe in a forest, or maybe in a cabin tucked deep in the woods. (or: a purpleduo + the darkest minds au)

bona fortuna by sinoptics

The god of chance enjoys a visit to the human realm.

throw a punch by vanivanilla

there’s not much to do in prison, or: planet and jaron have a brief conversation as they reset their hunger

In Moments Alone (In His Office, With Pillows And Tissues) by Clownsplin

Although his outward appearances suggest otherwise, Clownpierce's moments alone are filled with stiff joints, aching muscles, and tear-stained cheeks. He gets small moments throughout the day when his pain lessens, even if by an infinitely small amount.

atlantis by Anonymous

Planet is stuck in a space between life and death, waiting. (A million miles away, Jaron is in the same position. A couple of feet away, Bacon had tried to run. Turns out there's not a lot to do when you can't respawn without being immediately killed)

farewell to the port by Anonymous

The day Branzy becomes a pirate he wakes up on a small island somewhere in the Caribbean, drunk out of his mind and distinctly lacking shoes. He thinks, somewhat despairingly, that he really should not be gambling again anytime soon. or, The Golden Age of Piracy, and the situations and decisions that drive people to become outlaws.

lose the battles by Felix_J

"you lost." it states. unless there are any more tricks up planet's sleeve, which there shouldn't be. but planet... is a strange one. "thanks." they say, and that's right, that is a full blown smile. krow still can't figure out exactly how planet's expression works, but this piece shines out, same as his eyes shine. "thank you." planet repeats, like they're not sure krow heard, or do know it can't exactly believe its ears.

Phantom in Your Foyer by arospecitzsubz (Octaveice)

Half the damn crowd had been cheering.

Kiss me in the corridor, but quick to tell me goodbye (You say that you're no good for me) by Mx_Artemis

Ash is no stranger to evil, nor is he a stranger to ClownPierce. Honestly, is it such a crime that he wants to catch up with him?

The immortal and his assassin by Thrills (IWantToRemainASecret)

He opened the door without any theatrics, no slow creak open or dramatic swing wide, he simply opened it like he was an old friend visiting a familiar face. And- Hold up, that is a familiar face. The soon-to-be-dead man was sitting on the edge of his bed, eyes shut as he slowly sipped at his cup of tea. He opened his eyes lazily, half-lidded gaze settling on Clown’s face in a way that made him feel as if he had been drenched in freezing cold water. Because he had killed his man before.

no hard feelings by sinoptics

“Hey, Redd,” Clown starts as he reaches Redd, voice ever so slightly out of breath, and then he pauses awkwardly. “So.” “So?” Redd repeats, confused as to where this is going to go. “Our arrangement is off. From now on.” Clown states. What the fuck.

or; the fic in which Clownpierce fumbles not one but two bad bitches

anything you say can and will be held against you by Felix_J

It's funny to see how Red tries to process the little things and guess if they belong to Ash, or Ash's persona that doesn't differ from him as much as he thinks, or maybe much more so, or just things Ash makes up. Ash likes to add a lot to the last pile. Poke around, like a little challenge, reminder he's not all that easy. Currently, with the fucking fish. roses and smoke week, day 6: aquarium | fantasy

For that star trapped in your chest by dogdomesticated

Thunderclouds. Stuck waiting around for Vitalasy to show up, Subz goes down a line of thinking he's been avoiding, and by then it's too late. Something about trust, something about defining what you can't see. Light, and where to find it.

The Boy and The Forest by BearAndHoney

As the tale goes there is a boy who wants to be king adn loved. And as the tale goes there is a forest full of mysteries that one else has been brave enough to explore.

the fox's young master by Felix_J

He finds a fox in the forest, dark fur-broken leg, and it reminds him, as it always does. He takes it home to fix it up, and it doesn't matter if it's just a mindless creature, if. To pass its time, he tells it a story. roses and smoke week, day 3: myths | gods

foreguess by Felix_J

I'd never go on dates just like that, after being married so long, you know that, Ash? Red'd move his head on the seat, and he wouldn't be able to see his eyes through the sunglasses. What's even the point of that kinda date? He would continue, not really ask, because of course he has to poke and argue, it always goes in a loop. Even though he knows, and he agrees with Ash. Thanks, Red, Ash'd answer and break it, because there'd be something in his stomach that's so soft, there is. roses and smoke week, day 2: swap | horror

predictable shows by Felix_J

"I'm rewatching the footage for the auditions, yeah." Red nods, slack. He considers picking the remote from his hands to push unpause, but doesn't think Ash won't find it a serious offence and make it end up on the floor in a corner at all. or, "one of them is lying" boosfer + swagdoons swap. roses and smoke week, day 2: swap | horror

The Mourner by Anonymous

The mourner stands in the open, partially hidden in the smoke. Holding out a bouquet of roses as they wait for their loved on to return.

Case #091413 - Always Bet On Red by orphan_account

Case #091413 Statement of… Branzy? No last name given apparently, about a relationship of unclear nature with someone only known as “Clown”. Dated September 13th 2014, recorded by Zachery Prince at the Institute Cordum.

little comforts by sinoptics

He turns to Vitalasy then, who’s tending a pot on the stove. “Hey, uh,” He starts, and Vitalasy makes a hum of acknowledgement. “Zam could probably use some affection.”

Mutual Hell by Kappuccinokat

Mapicc exhaled, frustrated, and stood up, walking over to the empty window. Zam tried not to relax too much. “I’m assuming this is hell, then.” He drummed his fingers on the window sill. “That’s what I gathered, yeah.” — Or; Zam had lost it all, and now as he awaits his fate in hell, a familiar face threatens to break his resolve.

Homemade Headache Cures by ros_is_writing

“Vitalasy,” Subz announced. “I can’t fucking see, and it fucking hurts.” He emphasized his point by knocking his head against Vitalasy’s shoulder, the metal of his armor hurt slightly. Vitalasy made another sympathetic noise in the back of his throat and bumped his chin to Subz’s head. Normally their head bumps were comforting to Subz, but now they just made his head hurt worse. Damn these fucking glasses.

Siren's Song by KingdomKey

The Phantoms are a renowned pirate crew who sail the seven seas. Their ship comes across a rocky island, and as they carefully traverse it, they come upon a strange creature. It certainly isn't friendly.

sweet dreams i'll always share with you by Anonymous/cutthesky

Red can transform into a plush version of himself (a big Minidoons). Shenanigans ensue one day as Ash and Red wait to fall asleep.

Cut it Out by Anonymous

He always had Ro and his knife, didn't he?

Lifesteal > Eastside > Create a Posting by bloodynocturne (avoxutopia)

Craigslist has always been an odd place, a collection of people in the same place; selling, buying, searching, looking to give or take something. And sometimes, there's small connections. People searching for each other in a circle, narrowly missing one another every time.

Southbound by ros_is_writing

“We could always use the above ground station,” Planet said in the same tone of voice that they used before. Nonchalant, bored even. Like they hadn’t just suggested an actual crime. “No.” Bacon said immediately. “That’s illegal.” “What’s illegal?” Jaron asked.

Poopies' Fun Day in the Hypixel Pit by rainy_writez

With the end of Lifesteal season 4, Poopies the endermite (who is still here somehow because it defies the mere concept of law) has become restless. So Spoke takes it to the Hypixel Pit for a fun day of incomprehensible violence. Surprisingly, Poopies ends up leaving with a new friend… or maybe more?

losing by B0LTZ

take a breath, spit out the blood in your mouth, and get back up on your feet. you still got a couple of motherfuckers to prove wrong

see with your two eyes by Felix_J

He's not a god, because the flag Red sails under doesn't believe in gods. And then he's wrong. In the reasoning, not the other thing.

carry me to tomorrow by Anonymous

Ash chooses to trust himself to the unwavering night.

mixed media: flesh, electricity, bone by Anonymous

“Do you think we’re friends in other universes too?”

(hello) my old heart by Anonymous

What he doesn’t ask is why Ash chooses, over and over, to step through that door, through Lifesteal and Earthbound and the wastelands of an apocalypse. The void knows how many other worlds they’ve followed each other through without a second thought.

fun activities to do with the person you're stuck under house arrest with by oneirogen

Open heart surgery doesn’t even rank up high in the number of weird shit he’s done on this server. Maybe approaching the top tens, if he's being generous.

smile for the camera (repeat and do it over) by gin (tabanthas)

You’re an ally and an enigma at the best of times. At the worst, you are a challenge. You are never, never a friend. OR: rek and his trust issues <3

divine intervention by Anonymous

"If we went through this all again," he says, and it sounds so far away. "Would we still find each other?" (Less than a metre away, Jaron stares at the sky. To his side, Bacon looks at the rubble by their feet. Even when you know it's coming, the end still feels like a loss you can't prepare for)

a parting of clouds by genesis_frog

What do you say, after all of that? Subz and Zam's first conversation after the sign room.

there will be darkness again by genesis_frog

Zam has been in the Eclipse Federation nearly a month now. Subz is getting more and more obvious by the day. Vitalasy steps in.

let me hold it lightly by genesis_frog

It’s a quiet life, outside the world border, but it’s one Zam and Subz have made for themselves.

to the previous respondee: by orioncataclysmic

IMAGE: more bolded comic sans. This time, it’s held up by washi tape, patterned with dicks. It reads: i like war and death and asthma attacks and if you don’t you’re a bitch and your moms a hoe OR: a battle of wits, told through an apartment corkboard, messages between Zam and Mapicc, and glimpses into Mapicc and Bacon's lives

Steam Heart by enderpearlnecklace

After sneaking onto an airship full of pirates, Branzy tries to find a way to escape.

Dear Diary: Today, I killed someone by Fey_wilde

Squiddo prides herself on her excellent memory. It’s one of her only positive attributes, one she can count on in nearly every situation. In just a blink of the eye, she can recall a story, an adventure. Every single bit of data crams itself into her head, sorting into neat piles, ones she can sift through with speed and efficiency. Mobs, history, abandoned places, extinct worlds, glitches, she knows them all. Her memory never fails. Yet, no matter how hard she tries, no matter how many hours she spends lying awake, unseeing eyes staring at the ceiling of her makeshift base, she just can’t remember why. Why did I join Lifesteal?

New Years Eve by Nox_aMillion

Going to the roof was a tradition the two of them had for New Years because apparently they liked extreme parkour off a roof while fireworks actively went off. Or the privacy was nice. Something like that.

Halloween Night by Nox_aMillion

Honestly they had done everything else there was to do on Halloween at this point. They were even dressed in repeat costumes, Red as a demon and Ash as a vampire. (Yes they could be more creative but any costume was a costume.) The two had been coming back from a fear farm when Red mentioned that there was a party at this house tonight. It was nearly two in the morning by the time they got here but the party was still going strong. Parties in houses like this didn’t end until the police got there.

#mcyt #lifesteal smp #tw swearing #media.warning.swearing #anyways i am tired so.#top 10 worst things to ask core swagcore: do you have fic recs #because Oh Boy do i #anyways hope u enjoy ^_^#mailbox.core

40 notes · View notes

asnowfern · 1 year

Text

Crimson Blade - Part One

Summary: When Paris-based Feyre stops contacting their London home, Nesta engages private detective Cassian to investigate. The truth turned out to be much bloodier than she ever expected.

OR a vampire Cassian and human Nesta Victorian love story

Rating: M, for vampire shenanigans

WC: 4.5k

Read on AO3 | Part Two | Part Three

A/N: Happy Nessian Week everyone!🩷🩷🩷

This fic is written for @nessianweek Day 7: Free Day and is part two of my Victorian Vampire series. Part one is Crimson Starlight, a artist Feyre and vampire Rhysand love story. While I would love for you to read Crimson Starlight first, I tried my best to make this fic capable of standing on its own.

A huge thank you to @thelovelymadone for beta-reading. You are amazing and I love you!🩷

Enjoy!

It starts with a letter. Or in this case, two letters.

Two innocuous letters lie on the table and are the primary focus of the two sisters. One is addressed to both in the familiar scrawl of their sister, while the other is scrawled elegantly in an address to Elain. For a moment, nobody moves. However, Nesta can feel Elain's indecision and familial concern warring with personal excitement. Nesta picks up Feyre's letter and jerks her head at the other.

Hiding a smile, she sees her sister carefully tearing with guarded excitement into her letter as her own eyes scan the contents of her sister's letter.

It has been over a month since Feyre last wrote to her sisters from Paris. When Feyre moved to the French capital to pursue her artistic dreams nearly four months ago, she sent regular letters to Nesta and Elain. The letters were not the most affectionate or frequent (about two to three a month), but they were perfunctory. They let her know that Feyre is safe and doing well.

Nesta feels the worry ebb from her chest as she finishes the letter's contents. Next to her, Elain folds the letter and places it back into the envelope. Her spine is straight, and her movements are controlled and precise, unreadable to anyone who isn't her sister. "Good news?" She asks as casually as possible without letting her suspicions show regarding her curiosity about Elain’s mystery letter.

Elain shrugs, "You first. How's Feyre?"

"She is doing well. She apologizes for the late letter, saying she was selected to exhibit at the World Fair and was focused on that."

Elain's answering beam is bright like the Sun: "World Fair! That's amazing. Although a little word would have been nice."

Nesta nods, her shoulders raising slightly in a silent, resigned expression. Feyre has always been passionate. She gestures to the envelope still clutched tightly in Elain's hand, "So, good news?"

The middle Archeron's head bobs as a spark enters her eyes, "They agreed to take me on as their landscapist. They would cover all training and living expenses as I shadow their current staff." She trails off hesitantly.

Sensing the hesitation, Nesta asks, "But?"

She nibbles on her lower lip slightly before speaking, "It would be a live-in job at their country estate for the first couple of weeks before I get transferred to take care of their London townhouse."

Nesta smiles. Leave it to Elain to worry about a small thing like leaving her sister alone in the city that pretty much grew up in, "Go, it's just a few weeks. Imagine how much reading I can get done."

Nesta frowns as her attention gets snagged by maroon spots on Feyre's letter. She brings the paper closer to observe the spots, completely missing what Elain has been saying.

"Nesta!"

She snaps her head up, "What?" Nesta asks, trying to keep her irritation at the interruption hidden from the surface and let Elain only see her concern for her alone.

Elain's brows are creased in worry as she repeats slightly exasperatedly, "Are you sure you'll be alright by yourself?"

Nesta scoffs and rolls her eyes good-naturedly, "Go, I'll be fine!" She insists as Elain’s worry turns into unbridled happiness. Like the very first day of spring after a long winter, the joy from Elain spreads like wildfire.

She observes as her sister excitedly runs to draft her response, only turning her focus back to the letter in her hand after she is alone in the sitting room.

She draws a sharp breath. She must be paranoid, right? She must have been reading too many novels recently. Why else would a letter look blood-splattered?

She pushes the thought away and picks up a half-read journal from the desk. It's nothing, it's probably nothing.

It’s likely a new type of ink, the color of maroon.

It’s nothing.

***

Nesta sighs to herself as she looks up from the newspaper clipping and at the cream-coloured building, raising a hand to the door handle for what has to be the fifth time. She knocks on the door before she talks herself out of it.

Is she overreacting to engaging a private detective because of an obscure brown spot on a letter?

Maybe, but she's not letting that stop her.

Her back is rigid as she walks up the stairs, her shoes somehow hitting the carpeted surface a little too loudly. She cautiously pokes her head into the second-floor flat when the pressure of her knock pushes the door open.

"Hello?" She calls, unable to keep down the shiver that traverses her spine, feeling like she's being watched.

Thick curtains cover the window and shroud the entire flat in semi-darkness. The room is disconcertingly neat, without a single frame or stationery out of place. She cautiously pads across the room, taking in every framed article - from the arrest reports of major crimes like murderers and arsonists to more minor offenses like lost antiques.

Nesta starts to zoom in on a recent article of a French aristocrat getting mysteriously mauled when she spots a small poster poking out from under the chair. Intrigued, she lowers until she is balanced on the balls of her feet and picks up the sign, her blue-grey eyes widening at the picture of an elegant glass-domed building and the wordings above it: PARIS EXPOSITION UNIVERSELLE 1889

The Paris World Fair - where Feyre’s art will be showcased. Her heartbeat picks up. Of course, there are many, many reasons that this private detective has for having a copy of this poster. A possible theft or even an art enthusiast. It doesn’t have to mean anything.

She startles at the sound of a door opening from a distance. She hurries to slide the paper back beneath the seat and draws herself to full height. Her face returns to its usual haughty impassiveness when the man enters the sitting room. Nesta bites the inside of her mouth to avoid giving away a reaction to his appearance.

Though he is dressed in sharp casual attire, every stride is taken with powerful military precision. Piercing hazel eyes lock with hers for a second before they sweep over her body, assessing. Despite how it raises every hair on her body, the gaze draws a slight upward tilt of her chin at him. A cocksure smirk graces his lips as he clocks the action. It cuts through the stern features and raises the right eyebrow, where a thin scar dissects it.

"Please," he gestures to the armchairs before the fireplace, "Sit, and we can get started."

Nesta wordlessly makes her way to the seat, taking care only to lower herself as he does.

The man leans back with his legs crossed casually, "So how can I help you today, governess?"

To her surprise, the muscle in her jaw tenses as the smirk on his mouth grows, and she asks lightly, "Ah, is this the infamous deductive skill I keep hearing about? The great Cassian Everly at work?"

He leans forward and uncrosses his legs almost obscenely wide, a gleam entering his eyes, "Would you like to find out?"

Recognizing the challenge, she scoffs, "And give in to your dying need to show off? I'll pass."

The detective shrugs, quickly brushing off the insult. He leaps off the chair, the feet of the furniture scraping against the ground as it moves backward with the sudden impact, effortlessly crossing the distance between them to grab the exhibition poster from the bottom of her seat. Green and gold flakes dancing around his pupils in teasing, knowing, "So, who in Paris do you want me to look into?" He asks too casually, yet Nesta can feel the threat.

This man is dangerous, she realizes almost belatedly as their faces are inches apart. Her eyes unwittingly take in every handsome feature, even once daring to dip down to his mouth. Her following words come out more breathless than she ever intended, "Rhysand Night." The name leaves her lips as the spell around them breaks like glass.

For a split second, his brows creased. The look passes so quickly that it leaves her doubting if she even saw it. She continues, feeling the need to explain while her face becomes a little flushed at her unexpected confession, "He is my sister's sponsor. A sort of agent for her artwork. They left for Paris nearly four months ago, then nearly two months ago, my sister stopped sending us letters." She hands him the letter, "Until this finally arrived three days ago."

He takes the envelope from her, rough fingertips lightly brushing against soft skin. He carefully scans the paper products before giving the contents of Feyre's letter a quick read. "The brown spots," he declares, evidently isolating the same abnormally as she did, "are simply coffee stains."

She bristles, asking almost indignantly, "So not a cause of concern?" She can’t help but cross her arms at his dismissal, slightly disappointed at his quick assessment.

"No," he agrees but pockets the letter nonetheless, "but if you still want a report on Night, I'll take the job." He says as he stands up and holds out a hand to her.

She smiles tightly, "Thank you." She intones as blandly as she can as she grabs his hand to stand up. Now, on her feet, she realizes he is but a couple of inches away as he takes her hand and raises it to his mouth while meeting her gaze with his hazel eyes that promise something to her.

She tries to ignore the knot in her stomach, tightening as his lips brush her knuckles, "I'll have it ready for you in three days." His eyes darkened as the words rolled off and caressed her skin in playful, hot rasps, "Pleasure doing business with you, Nesta." His name has her goosebumps rise as she snatches her hand away and walks as gracefully as she can out of the rumor like a Queen. When she no longer feels his gaze on her, she picks up the pace and allows herself to disappear into the crowd.

***

Nesta raises a porcelain cup to her lips and sighs deeply at the fragrant scent of the tea. The world passes in a rapid swirl of dark French woods outside the window before her. She sinks back to the velvety cushion, her mind again drifting back to the private detective throughout her journey from London to Paris.

She isn't quite sure what she had expected after her visit to the investigator. However, a young courier at her doorstep asking for payment with comprehensively documented papers was probably not it. Not after the burn of his stare etched into her brain, or the pressure of his lips on the back of her hand left her tingling for hours—her hand flexes from the mere memory of it.

Then she stiffens, her back impossibly straight, like a prey under attack.

Unable to shake off the sudden unease, Nesta whips her head around the empty carriage. There is something out here. She's sure of it.

The train lurches just as she stands, causing her back to collide with a solid, warm wall with an "oomph." Thick, calloused hands grab either side of her upper arms to steady her.

"Easy there," a low, husky voice haunting her dreams rumbles, kicking her heartbeat up a notch.

"Detective," she mumbles, her body still hyper-aware from the strange fear that struck her earlier.

Numbly, she turns to face the newcomer. The grip on her arms tightens as her chin raises to meet him eye-to-eye. Time stills as hazel eyes meet stormy blue. She feels the lump forming in her throat as she takes in his form. He was undeniably attractive before, but now, with brown skin reflecting the silver sheen of moonlight in the most gentle, sensual caress? The man is devastating.

Brown pupils dart around her face as the edge of his lips curves upwards, giving the teeniest glimpse of pearly white canines, "Fancy meeting you here."

She swallows heavily as the world begins to move again. The rhythmic sound of the train against the tracks returns, loud and flashy, and kicks her excellent sense back into gear.

She narrows her eyes, demanding, "Are you following me?" She asked as accusingly and haughtily as she could, trying to land a blow on him.

The accused waves a dismissive hand as a deep chuckle escapes him, "Trust me, if I was following you, you would never even know I was." A hand disappears into his lapels, "I guessed you would be here, and I came to return this to you."

Three pounds, the exact amount she paid him for the work.

"Why?"

"I know Rhysand Night. We are very good friends." He pauses, contemplating his next words, "It did not seem right to charge you when I already knew most of the information presented."

She shakes her head and raises a hand to close his fingers around the coins. She says, "I paid for information. It matters not how it was obtained so long as it was factual."

A look of surprise overtakes him, but he silently pockets the money anyway. She turns and settles back into her seat, the glassware clinking as she once again brings the cup to her lips and sips the tea.

"May I?"

He sits beside hers at her nod, facing the racing, dark forest beyond the window.

"How did you know I would be here?" She asks, unable to quell the curiosity, and almost immediately regrets it as he perks up. His smile is almost irritatingly triumphant.

"You were always going to find your sister. No matter what anyone, even me, says about those brown stains on the letter. That glint in your eyes told me that the day we met. Considering your employment, you need a week's notice and sufficient headroom to book your transport. Of course, there are several ways to travel from London to Paris, but a person of your stature and financial position? This particular Dover and Calais route offers security and speed without burning a hole in your savings." He said, all matter of factually, as if he knew the exact steps she would make from one meeting with him.

She blinks, absorbing the information. The teacup in her hand rattles slightly as she places it back down. "You're not that impressive," she informs him curtly.

He smirks, "But I got it right, didn't I?" He crooned as her hackles rose while the smile on his rugged, handsome features only grew like a cat who captured the canary in a trap.

She doesn't deign to give him a further chance to gloat and asks, "So why are you going to Paris? It can't be for me." She intones sharply, determined to cut his fire with her ice.

Though the burning gaze says otherwise, he tells her, "The World Fair is always full of mysteries. I'm here to see which one I can uncover this time."

The chair drags against the carpeted surface as she stands, bidding him a farewell, "Then I guess I'll see you there." She says flatly as she can without revealing how scared she is at his unnerving comment. She is almost at the door in her haste when his voice calls out with a touch of panic:

"Nesta?"

His face is touched, just barely, with nerves as she stops in her stride and turns back to him expectantly. As her gaze meets him, the nerves fade from his face as he smiles like a devil at the sight of her.

"Don't leave Paris without saying hi." He says it like an order, but she can hear his question beneath the façade. He can’t fool her, and she can’t fool him.

The sides of her lips twitch upwards as she heads back, "I'll see you around, detective."

***

Nesta slides down the staircase of the hotel lobby and instantly spots the man waiting for her at the base. He takes a gloved hand, raising his lips in greeting. A stray wavy strand escapes from the neat bun and falls to tickle her hand as molten hazel brands her.

"You look exquisite, Nesta."

She lets her gaze rake through his body, dressed in the most layers she's seen. Though every tailored shirt, vest, and jacket clings to his muscled form and attracts wandering eyes. She murmurs thanks as she takes his elbow and loops an arm around. She stands half a step too close, the proximity sending a message more evident than anything that can be said out loud. His elbow is tight around hers as they exit the building, leaving behind gloved whispers.

He offers a hand as they step out of the carriage, greeted by a row of neat, affluent townhouses. He tilts his head towards her slightly, his mouth curved into a small smile, "I think you'll like this."

She releases a breath she hasn't realised she has been holding as they walk through an intricately designed door. Her ears pick up on the dreamy and melodic harmony of strings and winds, the music stirring something profound within her. There is a splattering of applause as the piece ends before a solo piano act begins in a flow of lively keys.

"Is that Claude Debussy himself?" She whispers to Cassian in disbelief, her arm tightening around him. "How did you-" The words trail off as she finds herself unable to finish the sentence.

How did he know her love for music? She wonders, her breath hitches in her throat at how his eyes hold tender affection as he observes her reaction. It is all Nesta could do to meet the gaze head-on.

He answers, "I thought you might enjoy this." As if it is no trouble at all to jump through hoops for her happiness—the things she holds dear.

She squeezes his arm and gives a small smile in return. With a little bow, he leads her onto the dance floor. His palm is heavy on her waist as another warms her hand through her glove, their bodies so close that the space between them heats up. The first note of the piano has them moving, her feet following quickly in his lead.

There is an ease to dancing with Cassian, she realizes. The proverbial wall between them thins with every spin and twirl of their bodies, with every swell and fade of the piano.

"How are you enjoying Paris?" He asks, his cheeks slightly flushed from the movement, "Was the visit to your sister all you hoped it to be?"

Their hands drift apart as she spins away, effortlessly joining again as the dance spins her back into waiting arms. Her eyes narrow, "Fishing, Everly? I'm sure you know full well how it went."

The evening with Feyre and Rhysand the night before was fraught at worst and awkward at best. Even the extraordinary charm of her sister's art sponsor could not dispel the awkwardness of her unannounced arrival. Conversations were tense and stilted, leaving Nesta more suspicious than when she first stepped through the door.

"Feyre," she continues, their feet moving quickly in time, "Feyre is different. I can't quite put my finger on it, but she does. And I'm not leaving until I figure it out."

"Cassian," he says instead.

"What?"

Their eyes lock as they circle each other, their steps in a perfect semicircle, "Call me Cassian."

A little laughter bubbles up her throat, escaping her lips in a huff. The music comes to a close and ends the dance with a dip. Strong arms support her securely as he pulls her back upright, their faces inches apart. For a stretched beat, hazel eyes darken and dart towards her lips. His sculpted lips are parted, almost in anticipation.

She steps back, giving him a little bow as etiquette demands. "I'm not leaving Paris until I figure out exactly what is going on, Cassian." She feels his weighted gaze even hours after they have parted.

***

The moon hangs high in the sky as Nesta sneaks out of the exhibition housing the World Fair artworks. The night is still, and the building feels eerily abandoned. Even the warm summer night fails to tamper the shiver that travels down her spine.

She looks back at the shut wooden door and heaves a sigh. Once again, there is absolutely nothing out of the ordinary. Feyre's artworks, while stunning in their bright coloured strokes, are standard. Normal like Feyre's flat is, regular like her studio is. Not even a paintbrush needed to be put in the right place.

The golden brunette thoughtlessly tugs the hood of her coat over her head and heads back to the inn. The fast pathway has her cutting through a park, keeping her footsteps light and quick.

She stills when the sound of a throaty moan slices through the silence of the woods. She should move, she should move.

But she doesn't.

Despite her better sense, Nesta moves safely behind the trees toward the sound. Stormy blue eyes widened to mimic the moon above while blood roared through her ears.

It was Feyre and Rhysand. With another man, she doesn't recognise.

Except Rhysand has what could only be fangs extended pointedly at tender skin. Feyre's lips are fused to his neck, arms holding him tight in an embrace. She lifts her head, exposing her own set of razor-sharp canines and blood running down her chin. Nesta watches, horrified, as Rhysand releases the man's hand and whispers into his ear.

The man retreats, his steps heavy and slow like a zombie. Nesta's vision tunnels back to the couple. Rhysand approaches her sister with a predatory gleam, his mouth opening wide as Feyre bares her neck at him. It is too obscene and intimate both at once.

Nesta opens her mouth to scream.

But no sound escapes. A rough hand clamps tightly over her mouth. "Don't make a sound or even move a muscle."

Her heart stings with betrayal at the familiar voice. She begins to shake as another strong arm encircles around her middle. Her breath feels cut off as she soars high up in the night sky, stopping when the street lights are nothing more than fireflies blinking in the dark. Shakily, she turns to look up at her captor.

She thinks bitterly that it is unreasonable for him to look so beautiful, bathed in silver moonlight. It distracts her, pulling her attention away from the monstrously large leathery wings flapping to keep them airborne. Or elongated fangs that can pierce her flesh like a hot knife through butter. No, instead, she is entranced by the way the light reflects off the contours of his face and accentuates his cheekbones, the way his hair gathers deliciously in the wind, taunting her fingers to reach up and yank.

His eyes are darker than she's ever seen, pupils blown wide, pushed to the edges until there is just a rim of gold.

Her brain slowly moves again, and her blood speeds as she seethes, "You've been lying to me all this time. Covering up for them, distracting me, and leading me in circles."

"Nesta," the voice is strained.

Cold fire surges through her veins and laces her words, "Bring me back down now."

"They could've killed you if they've seen you." He argues sharply.

She barely hears him over, her heart pounding in her ears, pushing aside the chill of fear to dig her nails deep into muscled forearms, "Bring me down. Now."

She can almost hear his jaw click in tension. But powerful, leathery wing pitches with the wind, and they descend. Not back to the same woods but precariously outside a dark window. It falls open with a swipe of his nails.

Nesta extricates herself the instant her feet touch the ground. At any other time, she may have dwindled to observe her surroundings properly, what is sure to be his room. Instead, she whips around, striking out like a viper, "He did this to her."

Hazel eyes flash dangerously, his lips curling into a snarl, "Don't talk about what you don't understand." He hissed at her like she was a silly little prey who could be coaxed to the slaughterhouse.

The wolf emerged from hibernation and roared within her. She shoves the hysterical laugh that threatens to escape and scoffs derisively. She hisses, "Feyre was human when she left. Not," she swallows the lump in her throat, "not this monster Night turned her into."

"A monster." he echoes flatly, a hint of hurt flashes past his face. It is gone within a heartbeat, replaced by a determined predator's glare.

"Yes," She tilts her chin to level a stern gaze at him, refusing to step back even when he is close enough that the heady scent of snowy pine and sandalwood envelops her.

She is as stiff as marble as his face lowers towards and the tip of his nose ghosts along the nape of her neck, "Then do you know," he growls, breathing deeply, "how delectable you are to monsters like me?" He whispers as his hot breath practically envelopes her, urging the wolf inside her to let him in and let go of her burdens.

A whimper wrangles out of her as a hot tongue laps her throat with one long lick. The strangely erotic action sends a spike of heat straight between her legs. He chuckles lowly, the barest of movement in the front of his thigh, rubbing delicious friction against her core, “So what does this say about you? Enjoying the attention of a monster?" He crones, his breath hotly against her neck while baiting her like she is nothing more than an insignificant plaything to him.

Slap!

Her hand stings from the impact as she spits venomously, "Is this what he did to her? Seduce her into it? With music and lies?" She wrestles herself out of his grip, stumbling backward. Hot tears prick the back of her eyes, but she holds firm, throwing him the coldest look she can muster, "You tell Feyre. If she ever valued her relationship with us, she would tell us the truth. Otherwise," she takes a breath, "otherwise, she's dead to us."

She straightens her back, her legs moving almost mechanically out of the room.

"She was dying, and he saved her." He croaks out, desperately like it was something she wasn’t supposed to know. Yet the secret stops her in her tracks and hangs between them heavily. Nesta would have done anything to save her sisters, even if it cost her life. But this…

The ends shouldn’t always justify the means—even miracles carry a heavy cost, for the roads to hell are often paved with the best and good intentions.

She stops, just barely long enough to reply. "Depends on your definition of saved." She says as softly as she can, for if she releases her fury, he will see her bruised heart in pieces beneath her façade. Some things are never meant to be played, no matter the tragedy.

Feyre was as good as dead to her as was he.

#nessianweek2023 #nessian fic #nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #nesta x cassian #vampire!cassian #crimson love series #in an ideal world both parts would have been finished by now but alas #life is tiring

58 notes · View notes

lucienarcheron · 1 year

Text

Forget Me Not [ Elucien ]

Prompt: Drunk Elain and her shenanigans. | Originally posted on 11.03.2017. Genre: Fluff. I needed Elucien fluff. Rating: SFW

“I can’t believe you let her get wasted. I wasn’t even gone for that long!”

Lucien stared at his sister-in-laws in disbelief but the two only gave him sly smiles.

“You were gone long enough and she’s such a lightweight. Do you have any idea how fun it is to watch her drink?” Feyre said with a snort, taking a sip of her own drink.

Nesta watched Elain with a smirk. “She’s the one who said she could handle it and we shouldn’t worry about her so much.”

“She says that every time. And she’s wrong every single time.” Lucien mumbled, watching his wife spin around on the bar stool and giggle loudly when her drink spilled over. The last time this happened, Elain had given everyone at Rita’s an unexpected strip show. The time before that, she wouldn’t stop sharing intimate details about their sex life with anyone and everyone who came near her. Then, she tried to actually perform some moves. Lucien was very wary when it came to Elain drinking.

“Feyre! Feyre!” Elain called out with a hiccup, waving widely. “You should g-get chairs like this for the townhouse! Then w-we can spin around during meals!”

Her wide-eyed expression of delight had the three of them biting back grins.

“Sure, Elain. We can do that if you want.”

“Especially if you want us throwing up all over each other after every meal.” Nesta snorted and Lucien shook his head.

“I’m taking her home.”

“Good luck with that.” Feyre said with a laugh. “Because she’s going for another drink.”

True enough, Elain had leaned over to the bartender, giving him a better view of her cleavage than he needed, and then sat back wiggling in the chair, completely off-beat to the music playing in the background. Feyre gave him a pat on the shoulder before dragging Nesta back to their own mates, leaving him to deal with her sister.

Lucien paused for a moment, watching her with a soft smile as those big eyes of hers glanced all over the room before they finally landed on him. His smile widened and he gave her a wave, watching with satisfaction as her whole face flushed.

Before he could walk over to her, Elain stumbled out of her seat, drink sloshing in hand, and made her way over to him. Lucien stood rooted to his spot as she slid into the bar seat next to him.

“Hi.”

Lucien raised a brow. “Hi.”

“Y-you’re hot.” she stuttered and he chuckled softly.

“Thank you.” he replied and slid into the seat next to hers, their knees touching. “You’re incredibly beautiful.”

He watched her blush again and giggle. One of her fingers traced the rim of her glass as she bit her lip, squinting at him and then hiccuping.

“I – I feel like I know you.”

“I sure hope you do.”

“Like I’m…I’m drawn to you, you know?”

“I really hope you are.”

“I feel…like I want to get n-naked with you.”

Lucien choked back a laugh. “That is awfully straightforward of you, Elain.”

She giggled again then leaned forward, towards him. He bit back a grin as his eyes drifted to her exposed cleavage then back up to her face.

“Are you single?” she asked quietly and Lucien smiled amusingly.

“No.”

Elain immediately frowned and blinked at him confused. “But…you have someone?”

“I do.”

“Is she pretty?” Elain whispered and her lip started to tremble when Lucien nodded and answered,

“Oh, she’s breathtaking.”

“But you called me beautiful.” she protested and started to blink back tears. Lucien watched her and did his best not to laugh, his lips twitching.

“Yes, I did.”

“Is-is she your girlfriend?” she asked, her frown deepening as she sniffled.

“She’s my wife actually.”

“You’re married?” Elain half-shrieked, her glass sloshing with her as she leaned back, away from him, a look of betrayal on her face. “B-but I felt a pull! I’m – I – want you!”

Lucien sat back and watched his wife with amused disbelief as she burst into tears, dramatically throwing herself down onto the bar counter and sobbing.

Gods, she was such a ridiculously adorable drunk.

He laughed softly before leaning over and gently rubbing her back. “Elain, why are you crying?”

“Y-you have a wife.” came her muffled response followed by a sniffle.

“Elain, sweetheart. I need you to look at me.”

Slowly, his very drunk wife sat up and if Lucien could paint only one picture in his life, it would this moment – with Elain looking beautifully disheveled crying over this nonsense. Just to have physical proof of something he could make fun of her forever over.

“What?” she croaked with a sniffle, wiping a tear as she glared at him.

“I’m Lucien.” he said pointing to himself, then pointing to her. “And you, my dove, are my wife.”

This made her pause and she blinked at him. Elain tilted her head and then gasped, pointing to herself.

“I’m your wife!”

“Yes.”

“Y-you’re my husband!”

“Yes.”

“We’re married!” she shrieked, giggling giddily and Lucien burst out laughing.

“I’m really glad you’re not disappointed by this turn of events.”

She grinned at him then grabbed his face, planting a sloppy kiss on his lips before pulling away and he looked at her with a raised brow.

“D-do we live together?” she asked, her hands still cupping his face.

“Yes, in a very nice house.” he replied, leaning forward to give a less sloppy version of her kiss. “With lots of flowers.”

“Then we should g-go. I want to have sex with you.” Elain said promptly and shot out of her seat. Lucien caught her as she groaned and wobbled.

“Not so fast, wife.” he said with a chuckle, carefully picking her up and cradling her against his chest. “I don’t think you’ll be inclined to have sex when you’re too busy vomiting everywhere.”

“Hey.” she protested, probing his chest with her finger as they made their way out of the bar. “I - I can do both. Vomit first, sex after.”

Lucien laughed and winnowed the two of them directly into their townhouse. “You get so scandalous when drunk, my dove. What do I do with you?” he said, walking towards their bedroom and gently placing her down on the bed. Elain immediately wiggled in it and giggled.

“I’m your wife.” she whispered with a drunken smile and Lucien leaned down to give her a tender kiss, smiling widely, pushing loose strands of her hair away from her face.

“Yes, yes you are.”

“Forever?”

“Is that what you want?” he asked her with a chuckle and she nodded.

“Forever and ever.” Elain replied, pulling him close and wrapping her arms around him. Lucien adjusted himself so that she rested her head on his chest and wrapped his legs over hers, his hand running soothing circles on her back.

“Then forever and ever it is.” he said kissing the top of her head and she nuzzled deeper into him.

“Even when I vomit on you?” she whispered and Lucien laughed softly.

“Is it true love if you haven’t vomited on your significant other at least once?”

Elain laughed, pinching his back playfully. “Mmm, I love you husband.”

“I love you too, wife.”

The two slipped into silent content. Lucien would give her a peaceful morning to tend to the massive hangover she will definitely have, but the second she sobered up, he had a few activities in mind to make sure Elain never forget whose wife she was, sober and drunk.

#elucien #elucien fanfic #elain archeron #lucien vanserra #acotar fanfiction #gfics #fic: forget me not

75 notes · View notes

thelioncourts · 1 year

Text

I think amc, for promotion, needs to do a shorts series, sort of like what night island sounds like, but it's just cute domestic loustat and domestic loustat + claudia shenanigans. like release it every week with new eps and they're, like 15 minutes long, and it's just something bizarre the unholy family got up to when things were good. because there was a 5 year time span where loustat were just them and things were good and then there was at least some time with claudia.

7 eps to start, ep. 1 is loustat in baton rouge (like louis mentions once). give us some crazy reason they had to travel, have louis freaking out about logistics ("What about our coffins, Les?!"), have them get blood drunk on a victim's blood and suffer a vampiric hangover, essentially. ep. 2 is a loustat + claudia flashback to her birthday party that we briefly see. show us the befores, her not so quietly parading around the townhouse talking about 'well when my birthday gets here next week, I think !!' and have loustat pretend to not give it thought so she thinks they're not doing much, then BAM, big birthday <3 and so on and so on

#i'm really struggling with everything being sad rn lmao #all the fics are sad rn s2 is obvs mostly sad i need to smile amc

55 notes · View notes

alpydk · 22 days

Text

Red on You (Part 5) - Knights of Cydonia

Gale x Rugan - ZhentWeave Shenanigans

Going to get some more Gale x Rugan next chapter. Don't worry, I've not forgotten this is their fic after all ^^ (I'm just enjoying writing all this madness, so thanks to anyone along for the ride for dropping in)

Ao3 Link

Rugan’s leg slipped from the drainpipe he’d clung to tightly, the iron clattering against the wall loudly. He hugged his chest to it, his breath caught in his throat as he closed his eyes and hoped that attention had not been drawn to him. His plan had been to reach the roof of the Mighty Manticore Tavern, but the lack of ladders, rusty piping and the horde of undead approaching from the south had left him to find another alternative. He’d since found himself heading further northwest, the coastline coming into view, expensive townhouses of various wizards away for the holiday season covering the horizon.

“At the academy. Avoid the streets. Supposed undead. Unclear of number or cause. I love you.”

Bit fucking late, Rugan thought to himself as the sending spell came wordlessly to him. The rising groan around him had been enough to get him climbing the side of a nearby manor, hands clinging to the pipe, legs aching from the hours of running and crouching without reprise. Should’ve taken the sewers... He peered out of the corner of his eye, a shambling monstrosity of what had been the previous tenant coming into view at the base of the building. A severed leg was dragged behind in the grasp of what was left of the towering merchant, his barrelled stomach open bare and the torn contents hanging down over his gore covered kneecaps. Rugan could smell the stench of putrid, decayed flesh and it took all his self-control not to vomit from the few feet above the ground he had found himself stuck.

Lifeless eyes came into his view, arms held up with the shredded gurgles the creature produced. The sound built and with it, so did the desperation as it tried to reach up and grab the legs it hungered to have. Rugan felt as if his heart had stopped, all time around him now closed on this one pinpoint moment of live or die. His legs scrambled up the pipe, but he felt as if he could not move from the point he’d become trapped in. It was simply him and the growing number of corpses that homed in on his position.

---

“Clear you a path!? You do realise she is over a kilometre away. Even with my spells, it cannot be done.” Gale pulled at the shoulder of Leonidas as he stood at the wall of the academy rooftop, looking for a straightforward way down to reach the woman they had seen panicking.

“Maybe not that far, but the roofs are empty around her. If you can clear around even a hundred feet, then I can make a run for her.” He began to remove the heavy armour he wore, revealing loose dark leather underneath. “I move quickly, I move quietly. I can get to her.”

Gale hesitated a moment. He knew they couldn’t leave an innocent to die when there was even a slither of a chance to save her. “And what of your return?”

“I’ve survived worse. I’ll tell you all about it when I get back.”

He sighed, rubbing a fingertip in a circle on his temples to relieve the headache caused by stress. He looked out over the city before them, the hordes in the streets mostly massing around the courtyard walls. For a moment he was almost thankful for his years of lanceboard, the scene before him like that of a grid, and the creatures, the pieces of the enemy in a strategic formation. “Follow my exact steps. I will place upon you the fly spell. It will give you enough distance to get across to the Flagon Dragon.” Pointing out the tavern across the way, he then gestured to the surrounding undead. “Once there, I will fireball the entire area. It will draw attention to me, but should grant you enough of an opportunity to continue towards our damsel unscathed. I will continue to keep the area as free of danger as possible, awaiting your return.”

“Understood.” Leonidas placed his sword aside, stood on the edge of the stone wall and, with a deep breath, prepared himself for what was to come. “It’s a good thing I enjoy thrill rides.”

“Tibi do pennas.”

With the spell cast, he was in the air, a determined arrow heading to the tavern as instructed. The wind blew through his dirty blonde hair, tears cut the corners of his blue eyes with the speed he moved. As Gale’s second spell erupted in scorching white light, Leonidas felt the heat of the flames below him, the streets now a mixture of charred bodies and burning shopfronts. Hitting the sun-bleached tiles of the Flagon Dragon, he started into a sprint, an alternation of running and flying between rooftops with only the woman ahead in his sights. He would reach her; he would save her. There was no option of losing anyone else in this life.

---

Ilmater…

Andora sighed to herself, her dress torn and stained with blood and dirt from the sewers she had sat in. She’d not moved from the ground for some time after descending the ladder into the darkness, the only source of light from the spell she had cast on a nearby torch, long since burnt. Praying was bringing little comfort, and she’d started to question what purpose her god had in mind for her with all that had happened. The Crying God, one of self-sacrifice, was one she had always unknowingly followed until she had joined the clergy. Whether it be caring for her dying mother or comforting the homeless that she lived amongst, suffering had been her way of living and she’d known when she’d chosen to follow him it had been the right thing to do.

The sound of her quiet breathing was interrupted by mutterings in the surrounding tunnels. She lifted her head, her eyes peeled for who might be approaching. Shadows flickered on the damp reddened tiles of the walls, a lone figure moving silently towards her location.

“And here I was thinking I was done with rats.”

Standing up, she held herself steady listening to the words as it the voice grew louder. She’d heard the rumours of the Zhentarim in the region from visitors to the temple, injured in suspicious circumstances, but she’d never asked further questions. It wasn’t her place to question the lives of those who needed her help. She held her breath and readied her palm to cast a spell, prepared for if it should it turn out to be a monster having followed her into the depths, or something worse that she knew to flee from. As a pale face emerged into the light, she said the verbal component without thinking, watching the golden flames hit the wall and cast a glow upon the shocked survivor.

“By Gods, is nowhere in this city safe!?”

He was alive, insulted but alive, but his pallor was also that of the priest’s she had left within the scriptorium not so long ago. She kept her palm raised before her. “Are you infected, bitten?”

“Infected?” Running a hand through his white hair, he approached her, little fear in his steps, his red eyes glinting in the white light around them.

She could see the viciousness of his features, the sharp angle of his jaw, the pointed fangs behind open curved lips. His voice was soft, a purr as he grew close to her, placing an icy hand around her outstretched wrist and lowering it. She was captivated by him, the way he moved almost like that of the alley cats she had fed as a child.

“Bitten? Once.” He smirked. “Infected? No.” He released her wrist just as quickly as he had grabbed it, looking her over with interest. “An unusual place to find a cleric.”

His words didn’t fully register as she felt his hand let go of her. “You’re not one of those things then? Haven’t been infected by them?” Andora couldn’t believe he might be like her, a survivor hiding in the underground, hoping that when they emerged again, all would be as it was.

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “As healthy as the day I was born.”

It took all her energy not to break down on the cold tiles beneath her, but she could feel her strength wavering with each second that passed. Fatigue had caught up with her. The overwhelming events and adrenaline she had been living off now left her. Her breath caught in her throat, the world span with reckless abandon, and before she knew it, darkness had descended over her in one fell swoop.

Astarion cautiously stepped over the body of the half-elf that now lay limp in front of him. He could hear the quiet beat of her heart and so, with a sigh, sat down next to her, waiting for her to wake again. “Typical clerics...”

---

Darnys’ acting had not gone unnoticed, both from the approaching paladin that leapt across rooftops towards her, and the undead that now pounded on the door to the bedroom below her. Her shrieking had stopped, instead replaced by yells needing actual help as she saw the number of undead on the move.

The distraction had been a little too effective, thought Friol as she climbed the ladder up to join her subordinate, abandoning any attempt at getting the amulet with the movement of the marketplace crowd that had instantly turned on her location. Sunlight burnt her eyes as she emerged from the attic room they’d hidden in, the odour of the undead worse outside than within the sealed tavern. Squinting against the light, she caught her bearings. There was little around them to shelter amongst, but roofs spread before them, east and westward, enough to clamber onto if needed.

“Weren’t you going to get that necklace? What the hells happened?!” snapped Darnys, her eyes still glued to the approaching figure on the rooftops not far from them.

“Change of plan. We split up and get to it another way.”

She moved quickly, running across the rooftop and searching for a way to the next to get to somewhere safer. “Split up... Hells, why do I ever listen to you? First Rugan, Tibs, now this!”

Crashes and yells could be heard from the lower floors of the tavern, and Friol knew they had little time left. “Look, your job is to listen and do as I say. That amulet is needed-”

“I don’t give a fuck about the job, boss! I just don’t want to die!”

Words were fired out from Friol’s short stature, her command being shown in full for the first time since the events of the docks a year ago. She may have only had one person to order, but it was enough to give her purpose as a leader of the Zhentarim. “Shut it and listen to me! I don’t know what that artefact does, but it was going to be delivered to some wizard at the academy. Powerful dark magic, Manshoon type business. It is the key to this, and we need to separate it from Tibs before it gets anywhere near its destination. Do you understand me?”

Darnys straightened up out of reflex. “Yes, boss.”

“When that paladin gets here, you’re to go with him to the academy. Tell them it’s a magical item causing the problems. Do not, I repeat, do not, tell them of what the item is, especially if the wizards have survived. Use the paladins to get through the crowd and-” A loud smash was heard in the room below them, the undead having broken through the door. “Shit... Just get out of here. You’ll know what to do.”

“And what about you?”

Rolling her shoulders, Friol smiled confidently. “I’ll live to fight another day.” She turned, leaping from the eastern side of the rooftop, falling a few feet before vanishing into the shadows of an enclosure that lay before her.

“But...” Darnys felt lost, orders given but not fully understood in the panic of everything that had happened. She was alone, snarls and moans growing louder under her feet as the room filled with the walking corpses trying to reach her.

“Come on, I’ve got you.”

A leather covered arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her away from where she’d been frozen. Keeping moving was the only option she had as her senses came back to her, as the paladin she had lured pulled her from the rooftop back towards the safety of Blackstaff Academy. Following orders was all she had ever done, and it was what she would keep doing if she wanted to survive.

---

Clearing his throat, Lucius walked the halls of the academy. They lay silent, the horde outside nothing but a distant murmur that did not help him relax. He’d seen his men slain before him; trained soldiers who should have been prepared for every eventuality cut down in minutes. A recruit had raised his sword to find his neck bitten before the blade had then been thrown aside and he’d turned on his brethren. All Lucius could do was order a retreat, watching as they fell one by one. The recruit a snowflake in the avalanche that came to follow. Now he followed that same metal clad recruit down the stone corridors, steel boots echoing with each step, the sight of blood dripping down the paintings something he barely registered.

“Tristan... You’re to return to camp...” His words trailed out before him, but the recruit ignored all his commands. He coughed up a layer of thick saliva from his back of his throat, spitting it to the floor, the taste of copper simply from the blow to his jaw, he reminded himself.

Blood dotted along the floor before him, shadows danced along the walls, the eyes of the paintings watched him, judged him. “Tristan... You can not ignore a superior,” he whispered into the darkness. Reaching his arm forward, silver armour met his palm, cold and smooth against his touch.

A rasped scream was released as the recruit turned to face him, gleaming armour turning to stained rust, shades of brown and red, a mixture of the metal and blood that oozed from dead flesh. Lucius backed up, fear visible in his eyes and heart. “No...” His footing was uneven, his legs unstable, caught in the tarred earth beneath him. Sweat beaded on his brow, his eyes burnt with unshed grief, but before he could shout, he found himself on the floor, reality spinning around him, and the body of Percival lying, throat slit before him.

#bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #bg3 gale #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 rugan #zhentweave #Spotify

2 notes · View notes

hiperfixationqueen · 1 year

Text

Because season 2 is in a few weeks and we're all excited and in the good omens shenanigans again I decided to share some of my Crowley headcanons

they're a big Tchaikovsky listener

the song Clara Clairvoyant by Donovan was inspired by them

they scream with foliage but are very sweet with flowers

their toenails are always painted black

they smoked a lot between 1919 and 1985

they never liked drugs in spite of Hell thinking they came up with them

they had a townhouse in New Orleans in the 20's and early 30's and threw incredibly absurd parties in it

Crowley invented negronis

Crowley has an aquarium with a heat lamp, sometimes they sleep in it

From the 15th to the early 17th centuries, they presented mostly as female and absolutely adored corsets and stays

They served as courtesan in the court of King Henry VIII's first wife, Queen Catherine of Aragon. Interestingly, Aziraphale was also a courtesan in Henry VIII's court

He made Shakespeare dream the entire 'Much ado about nothing' play in one afternoon nap before he wrote it

He came up with the melody for Vivaldi's 'Winter' concerto

Hope you like it fellas

#headcanon #anthony crowley #aj crowley #crowley #good omens season two #good omens #ineffable husbands

16 notes · View notes

i-will-physically-fight-you · 1 year

Note

Tell us an idea for a longfic you want to write in the future.

I'm not sure if I'd ever write it, but @theeternalspace helped me brainstorm a fic involving Roman and Virgil. Like okay. You know that fandom trope in late '00s to mid 2010s fics where suddenly one of the characters is inexplicably a cat and the other character unknowingly takes them in? Yeah that but it's a superhero AU and Roman is a wannabe superhero (with no powers) and Virgil is his arch nemesis (really, a worrywart w/ superpowers who is trying to keep Roman from hurting himself).

One day, Roman runs into an actual supervillain--a crazy cat lady that has been turning people into cats. At some point Roman gets poked with the "makes people turn into cats" serum and manages to flee the crazy cat lady's grasp, but well. He still turns into a cat.

So he's exhausted from the ordeal and distraught not only failing to defeat the villain but also turning tail (haha get it?) and running away. He tries making it back to his own apartment, but ends up passing out underneath a porch of a townhouse to escape the rain (oh yeah, it's supposed to be raining).

He awakes up to find that some kind person took him inside a new toasty house and placed him on some soft blankets and what the FUCK why is it his arch nemesis, does he know who Roman actually is??

Meanwhile Virgil, absolutely NO clue that's Roman, saw a weak orange tabby stray cat on his doorstep and took him inside with the intention of taking him to the vet (there's an odd collar that looks more like a human necklace, but eh. the cat could be micro-chipped). He's had cats before so like, he's not surprised to see the orange tabby acting wary and hiding from him.

Anyways ofc Roman doesnt have a micro-chip but Virgil ends up keeping him and shenanigans occur from there. Mainly Roman slowly warming up to Virgil and realizing that he might not be an actual bad guy to begin with. And yes, the crazy cat lady's plots are foiled and Roman gets to be human again, happy ending and all.

#kat answers #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton would be the manager/owner of a coffeeshop virgil and roman both visit #Virgil is actually close friends with Patton but somehow Roman and Virgil just comically miss one another when they visit the coffeeshop #Remus and Logan are Roman's roommates who definitely freak when Roman goes missing #Janus is Virgil's older brother who does crimes and is the arch nemesis to the actual superhero of the city (Thomas)#Janus and Thomas have one of those hero villain relationships where they both want the same thing #but the hero (thomas) disagrees with the villain's methods #so sometimes they do end up working together (namely trouncing other unsavory villains from their city)#and sometimes Thomas turns a blind eye to Janus's operations

17 notes · View notes

coffeedrgn87 · 2 years

Text

December 25th Drarry Drabble: "NY Resolution" [Final Chapter]

Read the whole story here.

Tags: Loads of talking, banter, heart-to-heart, happy ending, so much potential

Harry appreciated the cocoon of silence and warmth around Malfoy’s terrace more than he cared to admit. Beyond the limits of the railing, it was bitter cold, with temperatures well below minus ten degrees Celsius. It didn’t deter London from celebrating the last few hours of the year merrily. This year, Harry wanted no part of any of it. He wanted peaceful silence, an escape from the madness that was his life.

Malfoy had delivered just that on a silver platter, no less. Despite never having made a secret about his fancy London address, he’d ensured that members of the wizarding press could not find his Regency townhouse. Whenever they tried to approach Number 22 Wilton Place, they suddenly and inexplicably felt the overwhelming desire to board an overnight train to Inverness that included no less than twelve stopovers. Harry had watched the spectacle from the window of Malfoy’s front room for a while, and he couldn’t deny that Malfoy’s Ministry-approved shenanigans made his heart skip with joy.

Of course, he’d told Malfoy none of that, and he intended to keep the sneaky snake in the dark for as long as possible, and preferably until the end of time. Meanwhile, he was determined to enjoy himself as best as he could. Malfoy offering him a tumbler glass with a single-malt whiskey thwarted that plan a little, though.

Casually leaning against the terrace railing, Harry turned his head and lifted a brow.

“Are you mad? I am never drinking in your presence ever again.”

Malfoy responded with a rumble of laughter.

“Why? Scared you’ll try and kiss me again, Potter?”

Harry rolled his eyes, and to make his point, he crossed his arms over his chest.

Malfoy shrugged.

“Suit yourself, Potter. More for me.”

Harry pressed his lips tightly together, and momentarily distracted by stray rocket fireworks, he watched as the gunpowder exploded high up in the sky, creating a beautiful blue shower. Once the last spark faded away, Harry turned his attention back to Malfoy, finding him elegantly sitting in his favourite wicker chair.

“Just so you know, I am still mad at you and Ron, you conniving bastards.”

It was Malfoy’s turn to roll his eyes, and he made a proper show of it. Harry couldn’t help but scoff.

“Leave Ron out of it. You’re damn lucky to have a best mate who’d walk through fire for you.”

“More like a snake pit,” Harry grumbled, though he had to concede that Malfoy was right. Ever since they’d met, Ron had had his back. Once, he’d literally walked through fire for him and cursed fire no less.

“What was that now, Potter?”

Harry shook his head.

“Nothing.”

Malfoy’s grin told Harry he wasn’t convinced but he could live with that.

��You know, Harry, the offer is still on the table. I can tell you exactly what happened.”

For the first time, Harry dithered for a moment, but then he shook his head.

“If you’re worried I’ll spin the explanation in my favour, I do have a phial of Verita—.”

“No!” Harry vetoed that suggestion before Malfoy had the chance to finish his sentence, and feeling just a little embarrassed, he shook his head. “No,” he repeated, quieter this time.

“I trust you wouldn’t exploit it, Harry.”

Malfoy’s voice was soft, and his expression was open. He’d set his glass down; his legs were uncrossed, and so were his arms. Harry found himself stuck staring at him, drinking in his sharp features, the glittering silver in his grey-blue eyes, his soft pink lips and how he’d parted them ever so slightly, how his fleece-lined grey sweater fit him like a second skin and how his bespoke navy trousers accentuated his frame perfectly. The cocoon of warmth that kept the terrace nice and toasty meant that Malfoy had discarded his shoes and was slowly wiggling his toes in his navy socks.

Harry’s mind unhelpfully reminded him of the night he’d kissed Malfoy, and he suddenly felt warm all over. A pleasant tingle surged through his body and flared out through his limbs, making his toes and fingertips prickle just a little. He pushed the memory away and shook his head.

“Absolutely not, Mal— Draco. No, not an option.”

Malfoy inclined his head.

“Duly noted. Out of curiosity, and only if you’re willing to humour me, why the strong reaction?”

Harry ground his teeth together. He suddenly craved that drink after all but resolutely refused to move away from the railing to go and get it. He wasn’t about to take any chances. Malfoy and alcohol were a bad combination, and Harry wanted no repeat of what transpired at the Ministry…except for a nagging voice in the very back of his head that ardently tried to convince him that he was in denial. He stubbornly ignored the thought.

“Veritaserum shouldn’t be used to allow two people to have an honest conversation with each other. It should be a last resort for interrogations and trial testimonials. Trust should make honest conversations possible. Trust and the ability to reserve judgement until one has the full story.”

Malfoy nodded.

“I very much agree with that. Do you think you’d be able to afford me that courtesy?”

Harry shook his head, then let out a sigh.

“No. But not because I don’t trust you or find myself unable to reserve judgement. I might still be a hothead but I’ve grown up a bit since Hogwarts.”

Harry smiled wistfully.

“Then what’s the reason, Harry?”

Letting out another sigh, Harry looked up at the clear night sky. It sparkled with millions of stars. He tried to make out one or the other constellation but found that he’d forgotten most of what he’d learnt in his Astronomy lessons. He didn’t answer Malfoy’s question for the longest time, and to his surprise, Malfoy didn’t press for more information. Still, the more time passed, the more Harry suddenly wanted to answer that question. He still wasted a good five minutes chewing on his bottom lip, but eventually, he convinced himself to take a leap of faith.

“I’m scared,” he whispered.

Malfoy looked at him with a surprised expression but didn’t say anything. For a while, Harry expected Malfoy to mock him for his answer, but the derisive remark never came. Instead, Malfoy made to get up. Harry quickly held up his hand to stop him, and Malfoy sank back into the cushions of his wicker chair. He still kept his legs and arms uncrossed. Harry appreciated the open gesture more than anything.

“Scared because…?” Malfoy asked, trailing off, leaving it to Harry to fill in the blanks.

Harry returned to chewing on his bottom lip, wondered if it might snow before the end of the year, and huffed a quiet laugh at the silly thought. Malfoy lifted a brow but didn’t say anything. Harry didn’t elaborate. Instead, he shoved his hands deep into his jeans pockets and curled them into loose fists.

“You’re a good-looking bloke, Malfoy.”

The compliment seemed to catch Malfoy off-guard, but his mask only slipped for a brief second, then it was back in place, and he offered Harry a smile.

“Thank you, you’re not so bad yourself, Potter, though I must admit your kissing abilities leave much to be desired.”

And there it was, except Harry didn’t mind the mocking comment this time. It made him laugh, and chuckling softly under his breath, he shook his head.

“That wasn’t me putting my best foot forward. I do know how to snog.”

Malfoy grinned.

“That so?” he asked.

Harry rolled his eyes.

“You’re not going to goad me into a repeat performance, Malfoy.”

Malfoy shook with laughter. His eyes twinkled, and a strand of hair fell into his face, half-obscuring his left eye. He blew it away, but it stubbornly remained where it was.

“I’d never goad anyone into kissing me, Potter. I believe a kiss should be given freely because a person wants to kiss me, not because they feel it’s something I want.”

Harry frowned.

“What do you mean?” he asked.

Malfoy reached for his drink, took a very tempered sip, and then set the tumbler back down.

“What I mean is that I believe you kissed me that night at the Ministry because you wanted to do so, not because I wanted you to kiss me.”

Harry scoffed.

“Malfoy, number one, I was drunk, and number two, I had a cursed mistletoe hanging above my head, driving me absolutely bonkers.”

“The mistletoe didn’t make you kiss me, Harry; that was all you. Sure, being intoxicated lowered your inhibitions and likely made you decide to ‘just go for it’, but the mistletoe played no game in what happened between us.”

Harry frowned deeply.

“Don’t be daft, Malfoy. The very purpose of mistletoe is to encourage two people to kiss.”

Malfoy nodded.

“Encourage, yes. Plant the idea even, sure, though that’s folklore for you, actually make you kiss another person, nope, absolutely not. No mistletoe has ever had that power, and no mistletoe will ever have that power. It would take the Imperius to accomplish that; as you know, that’s an Unforgivable Curse.”

Harry continued to frown.

“But—” he tried to object, though words failed him and he found himself unable to articulate his thoughts.

“Can I ask you a personal question, Harry?”

Sighing, Harry nodded.

“You don’t have to answer, but let me put the idea in your head, and you can decide how you feel about it for yourself. Loads of people tend to feel lonely around Christmas. It’s cold and unfriendly outside, and we all crave intimacy every now and then. Different people desire different forms of intimacy. Some people crave a sexual connection, while others may simply want a cuddle partner or a fluffy pet, maybe just a blanket or being in the same room with someone they care about, spending quality time together. It could also be none of that or all of that.

“Perhaps, your subconsciousness has been craving a bit of human contact, and since I imagine real connections are hard to come by in your position and spending time with friends isn’t quite the same, at least not always, I propose the mistletoe was simply a manifestation of your innermost desires — powerful magic such as yours can occasionally wreak havoc in a wizard’s life. When you gave in to them and kissed me, the mistletoe considered the debt paid and respectfully withdrew.”

Harry opened his mouth to respond but found that he was pretty speechless. Unable to think of a single thing to say, he simply shrugged.

“Do with that what you will, Harry. I don’t expect you to take my word for it, but consider it food for thought.”

Harry nodded. He felt quite out of sorts. His thoughts were racing, and he struggled to grasp anything in particular. Feeling a bit dizzy, he chose to look up at the sky. Several bright stars conspiratorially winked back at him, and smiling to himself, Harry caught sight of a shooting star, though he wasn’t entirely sure whether it was one or simply yet another rocket firework. He chose to believe in the magical power of a shooting star, and on a whim, he decided to prioritise making meaningful connections in the new year. The thought had him look at Malfoy and they locked eyes across the terrace.

When Harry smiled, Malfoy reciprocated. His mind was still reeling from all the things Malfoy had said, but standing here, looking at Malfoy, he felt strangely calm and content. It was an odd sensation, one he often chased but hardly caught, and instead of harnessing it, he simply let it wrap itself around him. The feeling was comforting, warm, and safe, and Harry positively revelled in it. A cheeky idea came to him, and never one to think first and jump later, he called out to Malfoy.

“Hey, Draco.”

“Yes?”

“How would you feel if I kissed you at midnight?”

Malfoy grinned. His eyes sparkled with mischief.

“That would depend entirely on whether it’ll be as bad as the last time or whether you’ll actually make an effort this time.”

Harry laughed. He pulled the sleeve of his jumper back and checked the time.

“You’ll have to wait another three hours to find out.”

Malfoy laughed.

“Lucky for you, I’m a patient man. Fancy a game of chess until then?”

“No doubt, I’ll lose spectacularly, but sure. You and Ron should play.”

Malfoy chuckled.

“Well, Weasley’s not here now, so I’ll have to make do with who’s available.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Why do I have the feeling that you’re insulting me?”

Shaking with laughter, Malfoy rose to his feet.

“Because you, Potter, always assume I’m insulting you.”

Harry pulled a face.

“Most of the time, I ain’t wrong.”

Malfoy pretended to look horrified.

“That’s ‘I’m not wrong’, Potter. Your English grammar is abysmal.”

Harry laughed.

“Only doing it to drive you bananas, Malfoy.”

“You are succeeding.”

“Excellent.”

THE END

Read the whole story here.

7 notes · View notes