#unedited snippet

[ksbbb]

WIP WEDNESDAY SATURDAY

Tagged by @hemlocksandfoxgloves @blue-hair-and-angels

Love is a Twisted Dance of Shadows (mafia au-dark Theo)

Paint the Town Red (dark Liam)

Where no Hope is Left, is Left no Fear (vampire Theo and werewolf Liam)

Snippet from Where no Hope is Left

Don’t do anything crazy.” Stiles warns, already annoyed by the flimsy plan they have and needing to fill the silence with his two cents.

Theo knew he should have driven by himself. The truck is out of commission for now and going with Stiles should have been an easy choice because if he had to sit in the car with the Argent’s they probably wouldn’t have made it here. Liam’s too on edge over Gerard and Theo didn’t want to have to come between them.

He’s trying to keep from using his supernatural abilities, or his scary face.

“Got it. I’ll make sure Theo behaves himself.” Liam says, a bit too quickly and waiting for Scott’s cue.

“I’m more worried about Stiles going off script.” Boyd responds, causing a smile to form on Theo’s face.

“I’ve only done that once or maybe twice. Stop. We’re not going there.” Stiles mutters, as Derek opens his mouth to say something.

There’s a whole lot of talking and Theo’s not used to it. It feels weird and awkward. Almost like he’s in a different place where he can actually be seen as more than his usual monster-like self.

Tagging @chasing-chimeras @maplesyrizzup @thiamsxbitch @wolfboy88 @honestlydarkprincess @theoceanismyinkwell @rhyslahey @fruchtfliege @mmoosen @thiamblogger

[youaretwicemine]

“She’ll try to kill you if you go back there.” “I know. She’ll probably succeed.” I stamped out the frantic thoughts dancing behind my eyes. No time to plan, can’t stop to contemplate. It had to be now. “Sami, I know you don’t want me to go. But I can’t let more people slip through the cracks because of me.” 

[mysterycitrus]

[a roy pov companion snippet to persephone part two]

There was a time, just after his father’s death, when Roy would fall into fits of choking suffocation.

His throat would close, his mouth turning itchy and hot and tight and he’d gasp and claw at his own flesh, desperate for air. Wheezing, bent over on all fours, struggling to breathe and desperate for relief, swallowing around that phantom smoke in his lungs that clung to him and refused to leave.

Brave Bow would find him in the dirt, press a calloused hand to his forehead and brush his hair from his eyes. He’d had the same hands as Roy’s father, then – steady from years fletching arrows.

Calm, boy, he’d say. The fire is gone, and you remain. You remain, and for that you must breathe.

It’d taken years before Roy felt it again, crouched with a needle in his arm and Oliver Queen’s shadow casting him in darkness. That same, encompassing squeeze that pushed his organs taut against his bones, stretched like taffy and drawing all air from his body. It’d been Dinah there with him, that time. Different callouses, with that same tender gentleness.

Then, Jade. Lian. Ollie. Donna. His comfort changed shape, and he learnt to drag himself out of the fire by himself, breathing around the fist in his mouth. The feeling became familiar, and so did the way it would leave him trembling and skittish. In and out. Inhale, exhale. You remain, and for that you must breathe.

Now, he’s sitting on a rooftop in Queens, and the smoke has returned to drown his best friend, because Dick Grayson believes there is evil in him. That all the good he’s done is poisonous. That he bears the burden of a grown man’s mistakes. Because – because Bruce Wayne couldn’t let one good fucking thing in the world lie.

He carries through the motions, watching himself from outside his own body as Dick thrashes, refuses to breathe until Donna physically compresses his lungs for him, forcing him to inhale. His heart is beating so fast it’s as if it’s not beating at all.

Never in his life has Roy wanted to kill someone more.

Donna is staring bullets into the side of his head as they descend into Dick’s apartment, holding him with a tight grip. Dick, younger Dick, seventeen-year-old hurt and miserable and alone Dick, stays silent but his eyes flutter like he’s about to pass out. The bruise on his face has only darkened in the hours since they left Jason Todd’s apartment, and the yellow spots on his cheekbone have started to purple. The bags beneath his eyes are deep.

How did I never notice he was like this? Roy thinks, half incredulous at himself. How did we let this happen that first time?

There was an answer, but it was for an older Dick who still carried all his cards to his chest. Would they be forgiven when that Dick found out what they knew about him? How they knew him now, better than they had before?

Garth, bless him, is holding a performatively casual pose as they gently push Dick through the open window. The soup is in a bowl – the slightly misshapen one that’d been Damian’s first try with a kiln – and Garth looks at him, then the soup, and pivots to start the kettle instead. What Dick really needs is solids, and maybe some protein, Roy knows, but the chances of him just throwing it back up again are high.

“Garth,” Roy says, and Garth turns those big, glistening eyes at him. It’s like staring into a lava lamp. “I’m sorry, but nobody wants any fucking soup.” Then he risks putting his hands on Dick’s shoulders – the kid doesn’t flinch, thank God – and says: “You, stay there. I need to go put my head in the shower.”

He presses down gently until Dick sits on the couch, carefully avoiding Donna’s gaze as she tries to catch his eye and rubs his hands over his face. Inhale, exhale. The smoke thickens, twists, chokes. Roy tilts a little but manages to regain his balance, and passes Donna as she goes to Garth, still fretting in the kitchen. Trusting, finally, that Dick wasn’t going to bolt right this second, he walks out towards the bathroom and immediately collides with Wally.

Wally’s still buzzing a little, and the hairs on Roy’s arms stand on end as he’s zapped when Wally grabs his elbows to hold him upright. There’s a deep line between his eyebrows, but when he looks up over Roy’s shoulders at Dick, his face goes slack. This worked out, actually. It’d keep help keep them both occupied to talk out their feelings, until Roy could get back in control of himself.

“Easy, fleetfeet,” Roy says. “Babysit for a second, would you? I need to wash my face.”

“I thought we decided we didn’t want him to run,” Wally hisses back, but Roy just gives him a shove in the couch’s general direction and staggers down the hall.

He hears Wally move forward as he manages to kick the door shut, falling against it as he starts to gasp. Roy presses his head back against the tiles, squeezing his eyes shut and desperately inhaling in through his nose and out his mouth. His throat itches. A throbbing pain starts at his temple, beating with his heart and radiating to his jaw and neck and shoulders until he tenses into a spasm.

In, out. Breathe, hold, release. Roy manages to swallow, but the noise he makes sounds like a sob, and he fumbles with the faucet until he can trust that the water is drowning him out. Again, and he claps a hand over his mouth. Everything feels ready to snap.

He got through it that first time, says a voice in his head. It sounds a lot like Connor’s patient grace. Remember? He’s still here, just the same.

But this is so much worse, Roy replies internally. Can’t you see? Because now he knows it’s not gonna end. It’ll never end.

No. This is too much.

The first time he grabs at his phone, it falls from his trembling fingers and lands on the floor with a crack. It takes him one, two more tries to retrieve it, and instead of standing he folds himself onto the floor, sat pressed against the wall next to the basin. The blue light makes his eyes sting and seeing Lian smiling back just makes that rolling nausea return, thinking of a young Dick Grayson stare at his daughter in wonder. Eight years old, like Dick’s own father hadn’t fallen when Dick was that age. Like Dick had lost a father all over again a decade later. It hurts so bad.

Thankfully, when he swipes through his speed dial, she answers.

“You’re late with an update, boyo.”

For a moment, he can’t even get the words out, just audibly breathes into the receiver with his eyes shut and his free hand twisted into his hair.

“Roy? What happened? Is Dick alright?”

He has to swallow around the lump in his throat again.

“Is Lian there?” Roy manages to get out in a croak. He truly doesn’t know what he’ll do if Mia’s taken her to MOMA or something. Maybe permanently move into Dick’s bathroom. “She free to talk?”

“Sure.” He hears Dinah move and begin to walk. She’s calm, but her steps are quick and loud down the line. “Give me an answer, Roy. If you want to talk to her because you’re bleeding out-“

“No, no,” Roy says. “No, it’s just – it’s been a long day.”

It’s only about twelve pm, but Dinah doesn’t comment on it. He hears a door open, then shut. His heartrate picks up again.

“Dinah,” he says, and he hears her stop. “Dinah.”

She knows, clearly.

“He’s seventeen, Dinah.”

“Yeah, Babs said.” A pause. “Seventeen, huh?”

“He’s…” Roy stops, tugs at his hair a little. “I can’t tell you –he’s been saying-”

“You were all kids. You know that right? The stuff you were doing wasn’t normal, in retrospect. Makes sense he’d freak you out.”

But it’s not just that. It was the casual acceptance of baiting Deathstroke. Dick’s conviction of his own fault about losing Robin. His terror of confronting Bruce. The profound, absolute loss of everything. Dick Grayson lost his father at eight years old.

Roy can’t reply to that, really, so Dinah says:

“Here she is.”

There’s a shuffle, another pause, then –

“Daddy?”

The tension leaves his body so fast he almost drops the phone entirely, and his legs properly unfold into a sprawl.

“Hey, princess.”

“You okay?” Her voice raises in pitch slightly, like when she’s getting nervous. He’d put a lot of effort into stopping her from sounding like that, so it’s jarring now. “Dinah said… Dinah said-“

“I’m fine. Really. I just wanted to check that Mia wasn’t buying you more Legos from the giftshop with my card.”

“They were mermaid Legos,” Lian tells him, worry gone entirely and now a little huffy. “And Mia said – Mia said you were a landlord. And could buy them.”

“Daddy is not a gazillionaire like Batman.”

“Does Batman have Legos in the Batcave?”

Batman has bloodied memorabilia of all the people he’s let down, Roy thinks privately, but says instead:

“No, but he has a dinosaur.”

“A real one?”

“No. It’s like the one’s out of Jurassic Park. A robot dinosaur.”

“A robot dinosaur,” Lian says rapturously. “Can we visit sometime? With Uncle Dick?”

I am never letting either of you near him ever again, is the correct answer, as much as Dick would throw a fit over it. Roy clears his throat, rubs at his eyes, and changes the subject.

“Maybe. But I want a school update. I didn’t get to talk to you about it, yesterday.”

“Well,” she stops, and he can hear her think it over. “I’m better at spelling than Cassidy, because she always forgets her ayches. But I taught her a trick for it. I can teach you too!”

My best friend was only eight, he thinks.

“Yeah, baby,” he says in a hoarse voice, and tilts back his head. “Tell me all about it.”

[chock-and-bates]

Cant wait to read your medieval au and imagine charles wearing a slutty damsel dress, lying on a bear fur waiting to be ravished <3

bear fur, you say? are you, like, psychic???

in honor of this prophetic ask, here is a very long snippet from my dark medieval au, roar of the fire.

(tw: blood, #43 fans beware!, and some mild chussy spice 🌶️)

His husband had dragged his chairs close as soon as they had sat down, wrapping a possessive arm around his shoulders and tucking Charles into his side, where he had stayed throughout the feast, with Max occasionally trying to hand feed Charles food and snickering when he would snap at him.

They were still pressed together now, observing the barely contained mayhem in the Grand Hall. Charles watched as Lando made a fool of himself, shamelessly flirting with Sir Ricciardo, Carlos, and the physician's apprentice, Oscar. He spun around on the dance floor, throwing his arms around whichever man was closest, and laughing maniacally at whatever they said.

Charles scowled at the scene, ashamed that such a fool was his lord-in-waiting. It made him grateful that Max was not one for dancing, for Charles had no desire to be in close proximity with the little strumpet tonight.

Of course his present situation was not much better. Since the dancing had started, Max was honestly more preoccupied with Charles than with watching his own court. He kept plying him with more wine, humiliatingly lifting his goblet to Charles’ lips for him to sip from as he whispered filthy promises to him, occasionally allowing his hand to wander no matter how many times Charles tried to push it away.

“I like the gown,” Max murmured to him, his finger running along the low neckline of the blood red dress Charles had been forced into. He brushed the tip of his finger against Charles’ skin, “You look very pretty.”

Pursing his lip, Charles threw him a withering look, “I look ridiculous. Apparently Lord Perez did not think my usual robes were fitting for a feast.”

Chuckling, Max just leaned closer to rest his forehead against Charles temple, his arm still tight around his shoulder so he couldn’t shrug him off, “My poor little queen. Maybe it will cheer you to know that I do not intend for you to be wearing it for much longer.”

Heat crept up his neck at the words and he uselessly tried to squirm away, “I told you, this is not a conversation befitting for a feast, you brute.”

Max didn’t let him budge an inch, instead whispering hotly against his ear, “Did you see the massive bear rug one of the diplomats gifted us? I’ve already ordered it to be taken to our chambers and laid out in front of the fire. I’m going to take you on that rug tonight, wife. Going to rip off this dress and-”

“Your grace,” Lord Horner’s voice interrupted Max’s filthy words, “May I present to you, Lord Colapinto.”

With an irritated huff, the King pulls away to see the guest. Flustered, Charles also glances up at the intrusion.

Lord Colapinto turns out to be one of the foreign diplomats, a young man, with a charming face, and a misplaced, confident sparkle in his eyes from far too many drinks. He gives a low, drunken bow to Max and begins to extol the incredible feast-

Charles tunes out of the conversation quickly, he has no desire to listen to more diplomats lather his husband in praise and flattery, as if that will spare their lands if Max sets his sights on them.

Until he realizes Colapinto’s eyes have begun to rest on him.

“I, of course, offer my congratulations on your recent nuptials,” Colapinto practically purrs as he stares at Charles, “Your bride is most lovely.”

Everyone at the great table stiffens, Charles included.

“Your grace, you do not dance,” Colapinto looks back at Max, the drunken haze in his eyes even more obvious after his words. Who could have let this poor man stumble up here in such a state?

Max does not answer the question. He’s gone very still, his gaze sharp and focused, a predator observing his prey.

“King Max does not dance,” Lord Horner answers instead, an icy warning underlying the statement.

One that, unfortunately, Colapinto does not heed.

“Ah, a true shame. If I may,” Colapinto stumbles closer, “I would offer to take the Queen for a dance, if it pleases your grace.” He extends a hand towards Charles, “Your beautiful bride deserves to be shown off to the court-”

Max stands abruptly. In what feels like the blink of an eye he has unsheathed the knife from his belt…and stabbed it straight through Colapinto’s wrist and into the table.

The lord shrieks in agony, writhing in shock and pain as his blood spreads out from where he’s pinned. Exclamations of surprise and disgust erupt from those near, causing the music to stop and the rest of the guests to crane their necks to see the bloody spectacle.

Charles does not look away from the grisly sight, clenching his jaw and staring at the foolish lord as he screams and squirms.

“It does not please me,” Max sneers as he answers the lord’s witless question. 

With icy eyes he looks out at the rest of the crowd, everyone falling silent and fearful under his stare.

“Come, we’re retiring,” he says to Charles, taking his hand and pulling him to his feet. 

Everyone bows to them on their way out, but Charles barely notices, Calopinto’s shrieks still ringing in his ears.

Moments later, despite the violent scene, Charles still finds himself laid out on that bear rug. The fur is pleasantly warm from the heat of the fire against his bare skin, that cursed dress laying in tatters near the door. Max is also naked, laying half on top of him, sucking and biting dark, possessive marks into his neck as his hand works at Charles between his legs.

“Did you want to dance with him, schatje,” Max asks him, the words whispered against his throat.

Biting his lip, Charles tries desperately to hold in the wanton mewls that Max keeps pulling out of him, his thumb relentlessly circling the sensitive bud at the top of his sex, while his cunt keeps clenching around the two fingers Max has buried inside him. He keeps remembering how it’s the same hand that had just wielded his knife.

Still, his question makes Charles scowl, and he hopes Max can hear it in his voice when he answers. “No. As if I would ever want to dance with a drunken idiot.”

He can feel Max’s smile against his neck, sharp and violent.

[overtake]

Save a Horse | 11,425 words

divorced dosh, endgame maxiel, but they have a threesome about it first (there is about 7k of plot, but you can just skip to the end if you're here for the moshiel threesome of it all)

It's a good hour. The best hour, maybe. Daniel doesn’t bother paying the slightest attention to the lessons. He’s too busy telling Max elaborate, fake backstories about each of the horses. They’re halfway through a really bad bit about Olympic horse diving when a throat clears in front of them. “The lesson ended ten minutes ago, so I thought you might like your daughter back,” Josh says drily, but he’s clearly fighting back a knowing smirk. Max and Daniel are sitting thigh-to-thigh on the bench, knees knocking together every time Daniel does the loud laugh that pulls his handsome nose up into a minuscule crinkle. Their faces are closer together than is strictly necessary. Max could probably count every individual eyelash framing Daniel’s warm brown eyes. “Sorry,” Max says, reluctantly pulling back. Josh offers Max his hand and tugs him up like Max weighs nothing, biceps flexing the whole way. He lets his hand linger the same way he did with their handshake: short enough for plausible deniability, but long enough to make Max wonder.

[lizardkingeliot]

Once you break the seal on letting Louis call Lestat baby in a fic it’s over you can’t stop he’s calling Lestat baby forever

[magicaldreamfox1]

dreamy snippets

— i know what you desire (you're such a bad, bad liar): chapter 13

listen . this will the longest chapter in the history of sugar daddy au and i've been suffering for so long. im buying cake when this is done. anywayyyy i thought i was really funny for this lowkey

[ksbbb]

WIP Sunday Monday

Tagged by @fruchtfliege

“I texted you this morning.” Theo raises an eyebrow, kicking Nolan out of the room with a calm, and direct look, his gaze moving to Liam’s neck, overpowered with the intoxicating sound of Theo’s voice.

“Uh..I was at the beach all day.” Liam apprehensively points out, backing away, the darkening eyes of the other wolf halting the fight he had to argue.

“I don’t like waiting.” Theo brushes his fingers against Liam’s chest, soft as he can, stirring the heat within his heart, cutting him off from saying more—another brush of fingertips to Liam’s lips.

“How did you get in here?” He whispers, heart racing, and trembling as his eyes are drawn to Theo’s own, a flash of red sucking all the oxygen out of his lungs.

“They let me in.” Theo says, referring to the front desk and roughly sliding his hands around his neck, pulling Liam into a suffocating kiss, teeth nipping at his bottom lip.

“Wait, what? They didn’t ask any questions?” Liam sharply asks, worried about the damn security in this place, but the thought is lost as soon as Theo pulls him into another kiss.

Tagging anyone that wants to! Everyone’s been tagged ❤️

[aliferous-ly]

Sometimes Tango sees gold. He's deep in the Warden's den, so surely everything is soaked in blue and green.

Prussian blue. DePrussian blue. Like depression. Eh? Good one, right?

Tango sighs. The gold only flits in the corner of his vision and he's tired, he's endlessly tired but he can't leave until he's done. It's already been so long. He's stuck making shitty jokes to haunted faces that would sooner blastificate his face off than laugh.

But the gold. It's like stardust on his tongue. Memories of hellfire. Gorgeous gilded blackstone, the stuff from his days as a blazeling. No, more like dandelions, like sunbeams through forest branches.

Tango sticks his tongue out in concentration, hopping between crackling soulfires. Navigating his own maze requires skill! Skill that he doesn't always have, admittedly.

Releasing a quiet sigh of relief, Tango approaches an unfinished pillar. He twirls his pickaxe and gets to work. Shulker boxes surround him in short order.

So focused on his work, he misses the gold. He misses the yellow, the soft, the scorching, but it draws near all the same, getting closer and closer-

"Ah! Ow, ow, ow, ow," a voice yelps.

Tango screams, fumbling with his pickaxe and building blocks. Both fall to the ground as Tango whirls, nobody's supposed to be here, especially not-

"Jimmy?"

Jimmy sadly stomps his wing out. Black marks mar the feathers, ugly soot staining the gold. "Hi, Tango."

"What are you... How are you here? What are you doing here? You're - you're on Hermitcraft!" Tango gapes.

"Oh, um, crossover event?" Jimmy tries.

"I didn't think there was one of those right now," Tango says. He roots around in his many pockets, making a small happy noise when he finds his comm. He boots it up and peers at the list of people online.

Strangely, Jimmy's the only non-hermit. Tango scrolls through a few lines of Jimmy-Skizz banter, then sees Grian's message of a simple, "join vc".

"Grian got you on?" Tango says, still mystified.

"No, it was more of a group - Tango, quit distracting me! I trudged through all this - this hullabaloo to see you!" Jimmy punctuates this with hands placed determinedly on hips, expression set to a hopeful scowl.

Tango can't make heads or tails of it. It might have to do with the several shots of espresso coursing through his system. Or the lack of sleep. Or the concentration-fatigue, or the way his eyes have been going crossed when he peers at redstone wiring. Any number of reasons, really.

"...why?" Tango finally asks.

This stumps Jimmy. He blinks a few times and furrows his eyebrows. "Why? What d'you mean why? You're my rancher, that's why!"

Well, that's true. Tango nods. Then he paused, frowns, and shakes his head. "Wait, you can't be down here! Spoilers, Jimmy, spoilers!"

Jimmy snaps his fingers. "I'm not a hermit! And I'm certainly going to watch the videos when hermits release them. I won't spill!"

"I guess..."

"But anyway, let's get out of here. It's so stuffy and - fiery," Jimmy says. He flutters his burnt wing helpfully.

Tango wilts. His desire to see Jimmy and guilt at causing him harm wars with his ever-present need to keep working. "I'm busy, Jim. Gotta keep working. It's already been so long, the hermits are getting antsy..."

Jimmy invades his space and as the cavern trickles to silence, he wraps his arms and wings around him.

Tango's always been weak for him. He exhales. Any scrap of energy still clinging to his worn-out body vanishes, and he rocks further into Jimmy's hold.

To his credit, Jimmy just makes a small noise and adjusts so he can support his weight.

"Come on, then," Jimmy says softly. He runs his fingers through his hair. "Let's go take a rest, yeah?"

"Yeah, okay," Tango breathes. He closes his eyes and sinks into Jimmy's warmth. It's rather terrible of his fellow hermits, he thinks absentmindedly. Using his rancher for such nefarious means.

But now the glimpses of gold haunt him no longer. His precious yellow fills Tango's vision, covering him in head to toe with deep contentment.

His rancher. His rancher. Tango smiles, and everything glitters.

[sukunasdirtylaugh]

always a god never human II satoru gojo

tags: post shibuya au, alt au where satoru is cursed to be blind, fluff, argument, angst, regret

word count: 4.5k

note: I wanted to write something that could encapsulate what being human is for satoru in the best worst case scenario. some of you might love this as I do, and thank you for your support. also, I made a reference to odysseus and the cyclops so I think I got it right (I haven't read the odyssey in nearly 10 years). also forgive me and please correct me if I got the kikufuku part wrong. will make a part two if this comes out well (I already have it drafted).

satoru gojo had been exposed to curses for as long as he could remember. first, as a boy, then as a student in jujutsu tech, and finally as a friend and instructor to those around him; but he had never been directly cursed.

not until now.

"you may remain as the strongest, satoru gojo, but your strength will be the only thing to hold you. no one but yourself will disinter it, so don't waste your time searching for something already set as destined." he recalled.

"love will be your salvation yet damnation, for you will cry for your shortcomings and failures. no one but you will carry this burden. let it remind you of this day, of the battle in which you never, truly won."

he always wakes up in a cold sweat afterwards. with the erratic beating of his heart and the tears running down his cheeks, satoru clings to himself, pressing a hand to his heart so as to remind himself of his current position. the back of his throat feels rough like sandpaper, and he licks his lips before reaching for the glass of water he's reserved for nights like these.

he drinks nearly all of it, his heart heavy before his fingers fish for his phone by his bedside.

"hey siri," he speaks, voice hoarse, "what time is it?"

"it's 3:24am."

with an exhaled huff, he puts his phone to the side, making note to remember where it is in the morning. as he lays his head down and focuses on the feeling of blood rushing to his fingertips, arms laid out side by side and fists clenching and unclenching, he sighs.

tomorrow will be better, he tells himself, but it has to change, whispers the other.

"now listen, don't give me that look, it's serious!" your frown causes utahime, your longtime friend of 4 years to shake her hands out to grab your attention, causing you to stifle a smile from your face as you hide your lips behind your cup of tea. "I have a job proposal for you, from a friend. and I think you'd like the pay."

utahime had always been sensible on the topic of money. knowing your constant struggles as a college student and now graduate, seeking to find new sources of income to keep up with bills and student loans, the sorceress felt compassion for you, a friend of hers who has grounded and guided her through frustration after frustration; work and romance related. she's never had the luxury of normalcy to a life like yours, she knows, so doing this was in her best interest for your benefit.

she tells you she has a friend who has decided to take up reading. problem is, he's blind.

"he's not a child, though he acts like it sometimes, but he's not some prune old man either. he's around your age so I'm sure talking to him along with your patience won't be an issue."

besides the generous pay for your time, 6 hours a week for $500 as a starting salary, there was something about this arrangement that left you with a good feeling in your heart. and it wasn't because your client was blind, no. it was the sheer opportunity for growth, in doing something you loved and doing something someone wanted to partake in. so on the day of your arrival you dress your best, hair neatly combed with a pearl diadem and academia as your outfit inspiration for the occasion. "he lives in a secluded home," you recall utahime's words, "up on a hill, or cliff. I don't know. it's always cloudy over there," and you can make out the home on the hill. it's quaint, and you feel thankful for having picked the clothes adequate for the weather.

it surely looked like it was going to rain, so you quicken your pace until you're at the front door, standing still as you swallow the lump at the back of your throat. you were no psychic, but the way your heart churned and palpitated let you know something was about to change your life forever.

"you must be the girl utahime sent, I'm satoru. please step inside," you absentmindedly take in the smile he gives you, taking no answer from you before he opens the door to let you in. he wears a pair of black glasses, contrasting to his snowy hair and porcelain skin. wearing casual loungewear neither of you dare to touch one another in the sense of exchanging a handshake out of respect, or fear. it all feels formal, too formal as if this were a job interview or more.

"it's quite cold outside, isn't it?" after you step inside and change into a pair of slippers that are slightly too big for you, satoru shows you to where you would read to him.

he makes conversation rather well, you find, but there is slight awkwardness in the interactions but not in the way he moves around the house. as he moves up the stairs, he has a hand against the wall as he takes each step with precision, knowing when and where to step. you're fairly quiet, but polite in your conversation with him, until you reach the space he calls his 'study' which is just a room with a large window accompanied by books and belongings.

"you're probably wondering how on earth a blind guy has a clean place, right? well to answer your question, housekeeping."

"I wasn't thinking about that," you answer softly biting the inside of your cheek, "I was just admiring the window."

there's a momentary silence between the two of you. either satoru is surprised by your reply, unrelated to his blindness, or you have struck a sensitive chord, however, his nod makes you think otherwise.

"it is. before I was blind, I'd come here as a teen. house is mine, so even the doors are nice in here." and when he hears you agree, he smiles. "anyways, I'm sure utahime told you the basics about this, yeah?"

"yes."

"great. there's a book on that table to your right. you can start reading that one." as he walks, he takes a seat on a chair across from you. he patiently waits until you sit down again to ask, "before we start, would you like some water?"

"yeah," you breathe, "that'd be great actually."

"there's a few water bottles under the table next to you," he informs, making himself comfortable on the chair, limbs spreading comfortably as you take out a water bottle and glance at the book in your lap.

"this book is about malaysia," you read the title, "is that somewhere you'd like to visit one day?"

"maybe," he says, "it was from a friend of mine."

"did he go to malaysia?"

there's a long silence in between the innocence your question and his answer.

"he did," he answers slowly. "it was always a dream of his to go, so that's why I've kept the book." you don't press him further, instead nodding and suggesting on starting.

when you open the book, you don't miss the elegant cursive writing at the top right of the page.

n. kento

you frequent satoru's home every monday, wednesday, and friday for 3 hours every day. the pay is more than what you expect the first week, $750, but you wonder how this man can easily afford your services.

the bigger question, is how can he live alone in such a home like that? does he ever get hurt? what does he do then?

"yeah, I live here by myself." he answers your question on the third week of your employment. "it's pretty neat though. I don't have to worry about anyone misplacing anything I leave, you know?" his attempt at a joke makes you chuckle and walk up the steps behind him to his study. "are we reading something new today?"

"there's something different I want to try," he tells you, "last night, on the news, I heard there was a feud over some meso-american statue. something to do with jade material being one of the few in existence. I know this is beyond what we agreed, but do you think you can find an article on it?" you nod, affirming his request.

"great!" he smiles, relieved, "my laptop is on the desk. feel free to use it."

you wanted to say that was the last time he asked you for a favor like that, but it was you who fueled his interest. that day, you ended up finding 4 articles, and playing 2 videos about the subject. and as a result, both you and satoru engaged in related conversation until the end of your assigned time.

every few days, satoru would inform you on something (practically asking) and you'd reply by responding, researching the questions he ached to know. it went such way that you were reading him books less and less and more article, media coverage, and conversation.

"did you hear about the experiment trials being conducted by this company called oceangate?" satoru asks, interest laced in his voice, "they're thinking about sending people to view the titanic shipwreck."

and quickly enough, so were you.

"yeah, I also heard about it. I couldn't help but read an article about it. apparently, they've done a few trials, but the company is independent, so I don't know how safe it is or if they have government members involved..."

one of satoru's favorite moments consist of the following.

"did you hear about the crime case that just happened last week? the one with the girl who survived the car accident."

"I did!" you answer eagerly, "I heard her stepdad was the last person to talk to her boyfriend."

"do you think he murdered him?"

"it's tough to say," you bite your bottom lip in contemplation, "I knew he didn't approve of him because he was an aspiring musician, but these texts came out saying he wrote to his brother, 'that man better stay away from my daughter or else I don't know what I'll do',""

"no way."

"and that's not even the worst part," you adjust yourself on your seat, criss cross applesauce. "they found dna remains in his car before his death, hair. right before the car accident. there's speculation they argued before..."

"the accident." satoru nods.

as the weeks progressed, so did your conversations with satoru. the two of you had a knack for being adaptable in your interactions with one another. you could reach a book for an hour, then talk about some recent story or just spend a whole session talking, with the mention of an article or some source always being mentioned.

and satoru burned for that. with every interaction, he found himself looking forward to what else he could bring up, and so did you, even spending time of your own researching things he might be interested in learning about.

things the both of you turned out interested learning about.

"here," satoru could feel the warmth emanate from your body (or his) as you sat next to him, your body scooting closer to his, "hold your hands, yeah, like that," placing a small statue, no bigger than the size of a wine bottle, satoru freezes slightly as you guide his fingers to glide along the edges of the statue.

"my friend managed to get this one out of the archives," you explain, "of course, I just had to bring this to you too. can you sense the material?" the corner of satoru's lips tug upwards in acknowledgement of your excitement. it makes his heart squeeze and pulse in ways that felt familiarly unfamiliar. in a good way, of course. everything you brought in his life was good. whether he could see it or not, you were always so welcoming and sweet.

"is this... legal?" he out of everyone finds himself whispering. as if the authorities could be outside his door. you giggle.

"yes," you smile, "I asked my friend if she could let me borrow this for the day, to take 'pictures'." you chuckle, "obviously that's not what we're doing, is it?" a warmth follows satoru's cheeks as he shakes his head and you smile. "this mesoamerican statue is the same material as the one we read the other week, remember?"

we, satoru's words echo in his head as he nods. "y-yeah. thank you for doing this, you know."

"of course," you smile kindly, "I figured, out of everyone who could be here, I figured you deserve this."

deserve.

"open your hands for me, satoru." your soft voice speaks as you cup his hands, the ocean waves crash from afar. after much convincing, you managed to pull satoru out of his comfort zone. what's the point of going to the ocean if I can't see it? he asks.

well, what's the point of me reading to you and us interacting if you can't see me? you counter. and he realizes you've won.

he can smell the saltwater, can feel the wind blow through his hair and let his feet sink into the sand, but that's not what makes his heart skip a beat. your hands shouldn't feel this soft, he thinks. the way you allow grains of sand to fall in his hands feel otherworldly, holy. the way he senses you smile at him and place a shell on his palm, letting him trace the surface with his finger as you guide him makes him feel as the most enlightened man alive.

he can sense you're close, not by strands of your hair slapping his cheek as the wind blows, but by the warmth of your body. suddenly, he does not feel he is at the beach, but with the beach guiding her hands with his and feeling the warmth of what he feels is your smile.

he remains silent, you're looking at him, and he's looking at you underneath his shades. he's frozen. waiting for you to say something, to break this off as if this would never, by any of his wildest dreams, occur in any universe.

but you don't.

satoru feels his pulse quicken, breathing deepen as the point of your feet slot themselves to his, your nose barely brushes his own, causing the six eyed user to forget everything he once thought he knew of limits and boundaries. kiss me, he thinks, take me, he begs to the heavens. satoru thinks he could be captivated, deeper than any spell odysseus and his men were under at sea, but they were cursed by calypso's beauty, and he felt blessed by the touch of an angel. your touch enviable to the gods above.

when you kiss him, he feels like he just made the greatest discovery to mankind, like he's waited his whole life for this, a feeling that greatly surpasses galileo's lifelong accomplishments and napoleon's combined. no feeling, word, or sight could transcribe what it feels to have your lips slide through his, to have you softly gasp against his lips, and to have your body close to his. satoru is convinced that he has reborn, become whole by the touch of your lips which have sweetly imprinted themselves throughout everything he is.

he holds the back of your neck gently, so as to remind himself that you are here, not a dream but here with him. flesh against flesh, man and woman who share one breath.

when you both pull away, satoru feels himself begging to pull you closer, but the hands that push him from you let him know you need to breathe. and although his body cries otherwise, you speak breathlessly, a hint of a smile in your tone, "did you feel that shell? it was my favorite kind to collect growing up," and he smiles because he learns what it is to collect something as valuable as the shells, your lips.

with nearly 3 months of knowing you, there was a shift in satoru's chest one wednesday morning as you excused yourself for a call.

"...of course I don't! you think I want to live with him?" you ask, voice laced with disgust, "I won't be tied down like that again and you know it, Kiro. I'll be cursed if I have to be with someone like him again. you know I'd never stay for someone like that. It's dead weight on my shoulders, and I won't have anything but pity on him." your words, from the end of the hallway send daggers at satoru's heart.

"yes, I'm at work, what else do you want me to do? It's not like I can just fly my way to you in such a short amount of time. you should have told me..." a long pause, "yes... he's blind," another long pause, "I get paid on the 26th, but my boss won't let me work on the 25th, so you can sleep in my bed while I get home. and wear something under the covers, okay?" somewhere, somehow satoru wanted to tell himself he was not hearing things correctly, that you were still the same girl he knew to be around, but when you returned after your call, something was definitely wrong with you.

"so, how was you call?" he asks, feigning interest, "everything ok?"

"yeah, fine, thanks." you breathe, tired, opening the book in your hands, "chapter 21, the last spring."

one week later.

as much as he wanted to deny it, satoru was beginning to think you had changed. what was it? was it him? the kiss? the way he grabbed you? or have you finally had enough of these little visits that could have been masked as pity for a young man like him?

when the 26th passes, he does not ask what your plans are. as much as he wants to ask, he thinks it's not of his place to ask. is he doing the right thing? he doesn't know. it certainly doesn't ease the unpleasant feeling bubbling in his stomach.

"do you have a favorite treat?" you ask. caught off guard, he nods.

"kikufuku," he tells you, "when I was in high school, there was this elderly couple that had a kikufuku stand and they used to have the best ice cream fillings."

"I thought kikufuku was cream based?"

"It was, but not to them. their ice cream filling was one of a kind."

"when was the last time you had some?"

he laughs, "years ago. I'm pretty sure they ended up closing because the wife died, and she was the only living relative who knew how to make it."

"that's too bad."

"I know, but at least they were happy doing what they did." satoru then changes the subject, shifting the focus to a lighter topic.

on december 6th, satoru recieves a call.

"I told you, you don't have to call me sensei anymore," satoru groans, throwing a wooden sword towards yuuta, catching it flawlessly.

"why not? you've always been my sensei. or would you rather us call eachother cousins?"

"you're right," answered satoru adter a long moment, earning a laugh from his former student. "so what was it you wanted to talk about? clearly it was not to train, so what is it?"

"I just wanted to see how you're doing."

"well you could've just called..."

"you haven't trained with us in a while," yuuta sighs, "everyone. we don't really know what you're up to these days."

and he was right, but satoru would never admit it.

"what?" he asks, almost faking offense, "can't your sensei go on vacat-"

"-utahime sensei says you've been in your home a lot," he clarifies, "only few of us know. toge, panda, yuuji and I."

"what about megumi?"

"he's kind of in his own world," yuuta sighs, placing his weapon down before taking a seat next to gojo in the training room. "he knows things haven't been easy."

"you've kept an eye on him and yuuji like I asked, right?''

"to a degree," he admits, "I can't have them open up so freely because I'll always be their upperclassmen, but you... you're..."

"I get what you're trying to say." he answers flatly.

"you do?"

he nods.

"can I walk with you to your home?" yuuta asks, "there's another thing I'd like to ask, personally this time."

satoru finds himself agreeing with his younger student, what else could he do besides that? as the two walk, satoru finds himself giving advice he didn't think he could give, advising the student on what shall become of him now that he's already over age and in his own right to choose his destiny.

as he advises his pupil, satoru finds himself wondering the same for himself. he's turning a year older in 2 more days, what will become of him? what will he do? what does this mean in relation to kenjaku's damned curse? it aggravated him. upset him how everything felt so secure, almost ideal weeks ago, but now his life felt back in square one, returning to his home that he had grown used to be alo-

"surprise!"

not one, nor two, but several familiar voices called from the inside of his open, making satoru freeze in shock.

"surprise! we thought we'd surprise you sensei" panda's voice rang.

"he's right!" another voice, yuuji's appears, "we thought about making a little get together with our favorite sensei..."

"obviously someone had to plan this," satoru turned, stunned when shoko's voice came into play. "you?"

"no," she chuckles, turning to you but you quickly shake your head, reaching for utahime, "it was utahime!" you call, "she wanted to plan something nice for you."

"aww well aren't you sweet?" he grins tauntingly at utahime who can't help but send daggers your way as shoko muffles her laugh.

for the duration of the party, satoru is accompanied by his co-workers, friends, and students. he hears more about what they've done. what travels they have accomplished, and what romances some of them have experienced all while they share laughs. all while satoru searches for yours.

you stand a respectable distance away from him, deciding it would be best to let his friends and students take over since he hasn't seen them in so long. you weren't as special as they were, only having known satoru for the least amount of time, a part of you felt like a stranger. not that anyone made you feel left out, no. everyone was kind to you and even appreciative for your presence. however, you spent a whole majority of the party not talking to satoru, as if you weren't there.

when it came time to cut the cake, everyone who was an adult was nearly drunk. the students, all joyously supervised by ichiji laughed as they shared a group photo. yuuji, satoru's student mentioned something about adding the photo as his lockscreen, causing everyone to burst out laughing from ichiji's protests. everyone looked happy, with a twinkle in their eyes as the end to the party came to an end.

the students and ichiji were the first to leave, then shoko and utahime finding balance in one another, leaving you alone with satoru in his home.

"you didn't drink, huh."

"I don't really drink in social events." you shyly admit, scratching the back of your neck as satoru does not face you, looking towards the door where utahime and shoko left not long ago.

"you thought you were social?" his words take you by surprise.

"I, um.... I talked to your friends." you say, "they were very nice."

"I barely heard you."

"that's because you were probably occupied talking to the others-"

"-you didn't talk to me." he finds himself saying in annoyance.

"I didn't want to take your day away,"

"from who?"

"you."

"there's nothing to take from me."

"yes there is," you tell him. "your attention. you haven't seen your friends in-"

“they all pity me.”

“what? no they don-”

“-you’re not blind. people don’t… they don’t look at you like some pity animal, just waiting for you to fuck up.”

“you are not a pity....”

“oh yeah?” he breathes, ragged. “then why the fuck did you agree to read to a blind man?”

there was some silence, regret pooled at the back of your throat and then a shift in your weight as you stood. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. I like you, “I- I’m sorry.”

“I’m sorry too,”

“I- are we…?”

“I don’t think we should be seeing each other,” he expresses. “not for a while,”

“a while?”

“yeah, a while.’’

“do you… want me to leave?”

“I think it’s for the best.”

“Do you want me to come back monday?”

“I don’t think so,”

when you left, satoru's jaw tightened, hands now fisted by his sides and a body so rigid one might think he were frozen in place. satoru stays like that for several moments, eyes nearing a burning sensation as he focuses on where he would imagine the door is, almost expectantly waiting for your return as if this were a dream.

but it wasn't.

and as the minutes pass, he paces his living room. hands running over his hair.

he had done wrong.

"ichiji," his voice almost broke, dry and borderline desperate. “I…” I think I fucked up, “I want you to pick up y/n. She just left my place, but she doesn’t have a car.”

"I already did," he says, "she said just that."

“Did she tell you anything?” he finds himself expecting.

“not really..."

“how did she look?”

normal? Ichiji wanted to say, didn't you just see her? but the tone in satoru’s voice confirmed that he did something to leave you so quiet after the party. 

“she was quiet,” he tells him, “...maybe she was tired from the party. you know, she organized it herself.”

“she... what?”

“yeah. utahime helped her bring the cake. she needed someone to drive while she carried the cake because she didn't trust anyone to hold it the 20 something minutes it took to get to your house. she told me she was trying to look for someone who knew how to make ice cream kikufuku and ended up finding the niece of the old owners of a shop she said you used to frequent. after long convincing, she was able to get the niece to help. I’m pretty sure she made the cake, with the help of the niece of course. she also made the dinner, and even had shoko bring in the drinks along with candles that your friend forgot to bring, — so I guess she was just tired, right?”

Satoru was speechless. unsure if it was the fact that you did so much for him or the fact that he had never heard, in his entire life, hear ichiji speak for so long with such conviction, it was everything he needed to hear.

right? the words in satoru's mind, head pounding with everything and anything relating you. and on the other side of the line stood a confused yet almost concerned ichiji.

"hello? are you still there?"

"yeah," he answered dryly, "is... is she home safe?"

"of course, I dropped her off." but it sounded like, why wouldn't she be? to which satoru felt like it wasn't a good enough answer. he needed to see, hear that you were okay. and he was afraid that he was regretting his words so easily.

"satoru," now serious, ichiji's words pulled him from his thoughts, "are you still there? what happen-"

"-I fucked up," he choked, "I... I said things I shouldn't have..."

[kay-elle-cee]

In Search of Something More Ch. 7 Supersized Snippet!

Well, despite my efforts, Chapter 7 of ISOSM will not be out by the end of the year. Between work and IRL commitments, the last 2 months have been really non-stop for me—I'm hoping things slow down just a bit in the early part of next year!

I'm going to stop promising dates for this chapter, but I will tell you I'm already about 3.3k into it, it will probably be over 5k, and other than a gift exchange fic that will go live on Jan 10 (that I've already written, just need to edit), this is my main priority writing-wise at the moment.

Thank you so much for your patience and kind words for this fic in 2024—it's truly more than I ever could have fathomed. I'm very excited for you to see what I have planned for Chapter 7...but for now, a little sneak peek :)

———

On Samantha’s third visit, she arrives with a few broadsides in hand—various ballads and folk songs that had been stashed away over the years—and the two scour through these and the Stinchcombe books until they land on a piece that’s upbeat enough for Samantha’s liking. Lily works her fingers over the keys and misses a few notes here and there, much to her friend’s delight.

“And here I was beginning to think you were perfect!” she laughs, leaning against the pianoforte.

Lily scoffs. “I told you at the start I was out of practice!”

“False modesty is real and a plague amongst our contemporaries, dear Lily. How was I to know you’d be truthfully modest?”

A small grin tugs at the corners of Lily’s mouth as eyes stay focused on the sheet music and her fingers begin playing the song again. “I suppose someone must be, to give the others cover.” It takes a moment for Samantha to catch her breath from laughing so hard and she’s only able to come in halfway through the song.

The two spend significant time around the instrument that day, and are well into their fourth tune, tears of laughter pooling in the corners of Lily’s eyes as Samantha makes her voice impossibly deep to sing in a more masculine voice, when they hear a chuckle from the doorway. Lily hits a wrong note and Samantha’s voice cracks on its lowest note while spinning around in surprise to find James leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed, an amused smile on his face as he watches the scene before him.

“Christ!” Samantha swears, hand flying to her chest as Lily’s fingers abruptly stop playing. “How long have you just been standing there? Whatever happened to announcing yourself?”

A brow raises, and Lily can see the mirth shining in his eyes behind the glasses. “Last I checked, it’s my house. Quite a likely place for me to be.” He strides into the room and takes a seat next to Lily on the piano bench, plucking a random key with a grin. “And as for how long I’ve been here, somewhere around ‘nor tarry for one bottle more’.” His eyes travel over to Lily, and she feels that warmth humming once more beneath her skin. “It seems you were having such fun I wasn’t noticed.”

“I cannot believe you hid her from us for so long, James,” Samantha reprimands. “Graham never plays pianoforte with me anymore!”

“I hope I’m not being relegated to simply an accompanist,” Lily chides playfully. “If so, I suppose I’ll just go back to wasting my days away in the library.”

“Well before you lock yourself away forever, the reason I came up here in the first place was to let you two know that I had Mrs. Jenkins setup tea in the garden. It’s turned into a beautiful day and I thought the two of you might like a change of scenery.”

“Oh,” Lily says, blinking in surprise. “Thank you, that’s very thoughtful.”

“He’s just tired of us monopolizing the breakfast room,” Samantha declares while donning her bonnet and tying it beneath the chin. “He’s just too polite to say it. It’s one of his favorite rooms.” 

Lily’s attention turns from Samantha to James, a slight frown creasing her brow. “You know you’re always welcome to join us.”

A warm hand slides gently over hers, not disturbing the instrument’s keys. “I know you’d have no objection to that,” he assures her. “But I’ve been enjoying watching the two of you becoming fast friends and I would hate to intrude. It is not”—here he throws a playful glare up at their guest—“about you monopolizing a single room in this massive house.”

Her eyes linger on the profile of his face—the strength of his jaw, the slant of his nose—and she feels inexplicably caught when he turns his attention back to her. The hand that still rests on hers is heavy and warm, and the swipe of his thumb as he looks into her eyes jolts her enough that she accidentally plays a note.

[arc852]

It's been a while since I've shared an AU but I have a lot of thoughts about Skizz and Joel joining hermitcraft and I've decided to turn it into G/t.

So basically, Skizz and Joel are joining hermitcraft but something goes wrong. Everyone is starting in a circle for the start of the season but their two newest memebers are nowhere to be seen. Everyone is confused and more than a bit worried when messaging them yields no results.

Meanwhile, Skizz and Joel wake up in a field, only a few inches tall and with no memory except their names and a vague sense of familiarity towards each other.

Because of their memory loss, they reasonably assume they have always been that size and decide to set up a small base in a tree and try to avoid the giants of the server at all costs.

Of course, eventually they get found and caught and a lot of misunderstandings come about it. Because even though these people feel familiar, it's hard for both Skizz and Joel (mostly Joel) to believe they are telling the truth.

Have a little snippet of something I wrote for this! This takes place after Skizz and Joel are caught a second time. (Also, they refer to themselves as borrowers because that is what they believe they are).

 Joel held out his sword and as the giant hand came toward him he slashed at it, sending it reeling back. “Ow! Joel!”

 Before Joel could react again, Grian’s other hand came at him and knocked him over, holding him down against the dirt. Joel felt the wind get knocked out of him for a brief moment before he struggled to try and get away.

 “Grian! Stop, you’re going to hurt him!” Joel heard Gem cry as Joel realized he wasn’t able to get his hands or sword free.

 “It’s fine Gem, it’s not like I’m using my full strength.” Grian answered back and Joel froze in his struggle. Realization crashing down on him that, yeah, this wasn’t even close to the giant’s full strength. It was probably barely even any sort of strength to the giant. And yet, Joel couldn’t free himself, because even when the giant was barely using any of his strength, Joel was nothing against him.

 He deflated, knowing he was trapped. Knowing he was caught once again.

 “Are you done?” Grian asked from above. Joel didn’t dignify him with an answer but he felt the hand around him curl in on him anyway and soon he was being held in a fist and lifted high into the air. He gave a half attempt to try and pull out the arm holding his sword but it was still trapped within the grip.

 Joel tried to look at anything but the giants surrounding him, finally noticing that Skizz also seemed to have gotten caught. Though instead of being held in a fist like him, Skizz was being cradled between two hands by Impulse. The two borrowers shared a look, with Skizz looking sympathetic towards the situation Joel had found himself in. 

 “We really are just trying to help you. And Skizz.” Grian tried but Joel didn’t want to listen.

[whitherwanderer]

#Febhyurary 9 Heaven

Lowborn as she was, Sawyer had few worries about impropriety. If she and her fiancé disagreed, it wasn't hidden. In fact, they'd squabble frequently in front of the company they co-founded, only to return as a united front the next day. She thought they were stronger for it, but wild temperature fluctuations and sufficient force will break even steel.

Rather than seethe in the privacy of home, she had no qualms about finding the man and making her grievances public when she was ousted.

[sunflowersandscreams]

re: that post I just reblogged. adansey being gagged by the red string of fate

"And another thing," Gansey says, waving his hands in front of his face, fingers spread wide to communicate his sheer and genuine alarm. "It is frighteningly common how often people will just- read things off the internet! And believe them! I mean, have people never heard of cross-referencing? Or common sense? If I have to hear someone say 'isn't Wales a city in England' one more time I'm going to do something- indecent, I swear-"

"I would pay to see Gansey do something indecent," Ronan mutters, head resting on his hand propped up by his elbow.

Adam doesn't say anything. He likes listening to Gansey's voice, even as the words get repetitive and he goes down the trail of one of his frequent rants. The illiteracy and lack of responsible reading of some of his Aglionby peers is a common frustration, one that comes up in history when Gansey argues with some idiot about historical truth or accuracy, and one that comes up when they talk about Owain Glyndŵr.

Ronan swears that Gansey must be half in love with him, that he must have another red thread tying him to some decrepit body somewhere, but if he does Adam hasn't seen it- though he supposes he wouldn't. He can only see the strings tying him to Gansey, as Ronan can only see the strings tying him to whoever is unlucky enough to be his fated partner.

"Indecency!" Gansey latches onto the word like a madman sticking pins in a corkboard. Adam wonders if their string of fate is strong enough to use as red yarn to wind around their complicated conspiracy board or if it would shimmer and go opaque, like it does when there's an obstacle in between them. "That's their problem- there are no decent men left in the world, and none even close to decent in our school-"

Ronan sighs and gets up, Gansey slightly too distracted with his raving lunatic rambling to notice. "Shout when he runs out of steam." He slouches off to his room and shuts the door.

Gansey's head jerks up. "Where did Ronan go?"

"His room," Adam says. He tracks the way Gansey's brows furrow and his lip purse together in displeasure. It's poised and proper, yet a little petty, petulant, even.

"Speaking of no decency," Gansey says darkly. He has an affinity for dramatics, Adam thinks, fond if mildly irritated as Gansey starts talking senselessly and relentlessly again. At this point he's just talking for the sake of talking, which is not something Adam partakes in. He prefers to use his words wisely.

There's a thump from Ronan's room and muffled, frenetic music. Adam stares down at the calculus equations he's trying to do, the numbers refusing to make sense with Gansey's ceaseless words making Adam's brain fuzz.

He bites his tongue. He'll have to do something about this.

Adam starts gathering up their string. It's short because they're close by right now, but it lengthens as Adam lays it over itself to make a thick band of ephemeral, bright red material, unworldly and just on the normal side of magical. When he has a hunk of string that suits him, he stands.

"Adam, what on earth are you doing?" Gansey asks, staring at his hands. "I didn’t even know one could do that."

"I am occasionally an innovator," Adam says articulately, coming to stand directly in front of Gansey.

"Of course you are," Gansey responds, not automatically but instantly. "Adam, you're one of the brightest- mmph."

Adam had gotten sick of Gansey's talking a while ago, but he especially has no patience for it now that it's about him. "Sometimes my innovations are even useful." He brings the thick gathering of string around Gansey's mouth, making sure it stays tightly between his lips, pressing down lightly on his tongue so that he can't speak. Adam ties a knot that he's not sure is real and might be mostly made of wishful thinking, then steps back around to see how his work is faring.

"A'tha," Gansey fumbles, still trying to talk through the gag. Adam can hear him breathing wetly. "Ahw?"

"Gansey," Adam says, and makes sure every word is precisely pronounced. "Shut up for a while, okay?"

Gansey huffs, unable to speak. He grabs onto Adam's shirt collar before Adam can pull away and settles for looking at him with his stupid, liquid brown eyes, those eyes that say so much without ever putting a sound to it. Those eyes that draw Adam in again and make him smooth a hand over Gansey's cheek reassuringly, that make him press his thumb to the delicate hollow behind his hear. The eyes that have always been a window to Gansey's soul, even when neither of them can say anything aloud.

Even without words, Adam can still tell what Gansey means.

[matrixsss]

I request arranged marriage tamris!!

OHOHOH I LOVE THIS, also had so much fun writing this aaaaaaaaaaaaaa I LOVE IT THANK YOU AND I HOPE YOU LIKE IT

Full fic will be released during Tam week!

Tamlin x Eris Vanserra, regency AU!

Tamlin has always been a hopeless romantic, dreaming of a marriage that would be filled with love and compassion. Just like in his romance books that he kept hidden under his bed, away from the view of everyone. You could never be too careful in a home that is ruled by a tyrant father. Whenever he needed an escape from his life, living under this roof with a father that didn’t love him, he giggled his way to sleep, reading stories of true love.  

You are to marry Eris Vanserra. His fathers’ words rang in his ears as he sat frozen on his bed, reeling from the suddenness of this. Spring court and Autumn court united through marriage. A union that Tamlin thought was sacred, reserved for love not necessity. The two families had always been at the forefront of Londons’ high society. Women and men dreamt of being married into one of the families. Yet Tamlin is to marry the man that everyone says is cruel and cold.  

He didn’t want to marry Eris. His heart was beating erratically, his breathing turning into short pants and his eyes were tearing up as he slowly came to the realisation his life was not going to go the way he had hoped and dreamt of. But he had no power here, he couldn’t fight against the decision of his father. Suddenly a sense of pure hopelessness came over him and he began sobbing as quietly as he possibly could. The last thing he needed right now was the mocking laughter of his family.  

His fate had been sealed with the utterance of the six words. He was never to have a marriage of love like he had hoped he would have. Tomorrow he is to meet the man everyone described as a snake. As sudden as his sense of hopelessness came a hint of a daydream, a light in the darkness of his predicament. Perhaps, this marriage would be one of love, just like in his favourite book. The pinkish cover of ‘Dreaming of love’ by Solaris, an author that was mainly known for his scandalous erotica, stared at him.  

Londons’ high society tended to scrutinize anyone that would or has read Solariss’ works, so Tamlin had a servant that he trusted to fetch the book for him. It was a hidden affair, and it was quite an event that brought adrenaline rushing through Tamlins’ veins at the time. Perhaps his story would unfold just like Penelope and Helions’ story did from the book. Tamlin opened the book to read it again, it helped to calm him down. The initially scary idea of this arranged marriage turned into a romantic hope, that perhaps all would turn out well.  

Perhaps it was faith looking out for him.  

***** 

He was wrong, there was nothing out there that was looking out for him. Making sure he got everything he ever wished for. No, there was nothing but iciness from his betrothed. Eris’ warm amber eyes exuded nothing but coldness and pure indifference. Tamlin did not look at the man that sat across him, but for a glimpse that he did take, the red head looked bored. Their fathers’ spoke with bite to their words, each family vying for the highest position in society.  

Tamlin found out this marriage happened all because of a rumour, gossip amongst the townspeople, one perpetrated by an anonymous woman that went by a pseudonym Suriel. From what he had heard (eavesdropped) late last night is that the Vanserras’ and Evergreens’ feud over who gets the grand title of the greatest family in society would end with both being out of the races. A new prominent family was to come to town, one that would knock the families out. Suriel even spoke of the oldest son from Autumn, her words must have burned Beron Vanserra for he is the one who proposed this arrangement. And his father agreed, for one they agreed they could not allow this mysterious new family to take over what they have built. A marriage between the two families would strengthen their hold on the society, surely.  

To even think his life is to be completely, irrevocably changes, all because of a damned rumour. If he wasn’t in the room with his soon to be husband, he would’ve scoffed at the ludicrousness of the situation he found himself in.  

“I think we should let the soon to be newlyweds get to know each other.” His mother, Elena, spoke with a gentle smile.  

No! 

Tamlin wanted to scream, his fathers’ words going unheard, his panicked eyes on his beloved mother. But she ignored him, her eyes on her husband and Beron as the two lead the head of the Vanserras’ to another room, probably his fathers’ study. As the door clicked shut, Tamlin couldn’t help the shudder that went through his body.  

Everything was silent, neither of them spoke and Tamlin was sure as all hell that he would not be the first one to speak. He looked at everything in the all too familiar dining room, everything except for the handsome red head. Why would he? He is to spend the rest of his pathetic living life with him after all.  

“Lets’ make something clear,” Eris’ lazy tone suddenly broke the silence making Tamlin look up at him. He wasn’t even looking at him, rather he was studying his nails.” do not expect anything from me. After all this is purely a business arrangement.” Those warm amber eyes found his, but there was only indifference in them and Tamlin could feel the hope he stored in his heart shatter into a million pieces.  

To be continued...

Tagging everyone participating in this challenge: @achaotichuman @/you @theshadowsingersraven @chunkypossum

[inevitablestars]

snippet hour

thanks for the tag <3 @starsworth

From the day she was born she was a sister, she had a sister. Then she had two. They were all that mattered to Andromeda. Everything else could go sideways, but if she had Bellatrix and Narcissa, then she was okay. That was all she knew to be true. For nearly eighteen years, that was the constant. 

As bad as things could be, she never thought that she would be leaving. It was never unbearable. It’s just how it was. Andromeda never agreed with everything her parents said or did. But what child does? That’s normal.

She could look past the way her entire life, and that of her sisters, had been laid out since their births. She could look past the way their family seemed to look down upon others almost inherently. Being a Black just meant that they were better. It wasn’t a crime to think that. It’s how it is. Though as much as she could make peace with that outlook, she was not expecting it to impact her. 

The man she was meant to marry, once they were a proper age and Bellatrix had already married, was not a bad man. She could find happiness in that life. No one she married would ever tell her what she could or could not do, so what did it really matter? If she loved him or not, it would still be her life. 

Then she fell in love. 

Then she knew she had to leave. 

All she could hope for is that the constant of her sisters would never change. 

tagging (no pressure): @calamitoustide @otrtbs @messrsrarchives @poetskings @weasleytriplets @pretentiouswreckingball @static-radio-ao3 or anyone who wants to!