#literally 'i would die for you' came on my playlist as i was working on the second one

[sourholland]

Guilty as Sin

CHAPTER ONE ; azriel x fem!reader

summary: the lost princess of the dawn court finds herself brazenly escaping her own personal living hell. seeking refuge, as well as peace to plot in the city of velaris—she meets azriel shadowsinger and through the throws of disdain and discomfort they are forced to work side by side, intertwined through their shared scars.

a/n: ok so this first chapter is literally all exposition and world building within this world, i’m so sorry :( i promise that it will very much so pick up. this series is mainly about me exploring different aspects of my writing, i’ve never written a long series before. my longest is 50k and each chapter was about 2k words so this is something i feel really proud to put out, even if it is just the first chapter. if you’d like to be tagged please let me know!! this fic isn’t necessarily inspired by, but is a lot like taylor swift’s new song “guilty as sin?”. feedback always appreciated:)

warnings: strong language, mentions of trauma regarding men, heavy themes of ptsd and suicidal thoughts

spotify playlist (unfinished)

wc: 5.4k

Run.

The word cut through your mind, slicing through each and every thought you possessed as you gazed downwards at your bloodied hands. There was so much blood. Hot, thick blood ran down your forearms, coating your face and the inside of your mouth. Your stomach lurched, however by the grace of the Gods, you fled.

In over fifty years, you had not left this camp. Since you were just a girl, at twelve years old, you had resided within the hidden stone of the warrior camp. Now you had no choice but to utter a quick prayer to the Mother and run fast and furiously forward without looking back. Only the knife you had just used remained sheathed at your hip as you felt the ground beneath your boot-clad feet. There was a cloak pulled around you, it covered your face well and kept you concealed. 

What was that saying, you thought silently to yourself in between painful dry heaves. ‘Feet don’t fail me now.’

It was nightfall and you ran tirelessly through the forest you had been warned to never brave on your own. As a child, your mother had warned that you must not meet what lurks after dark. She told you that not even those beasts would mind slaying the Princess of the Dawn Court. To them, the title was useless and your blood was just the same. Blood. You reeked of those warriors' blood and sweat and desperation. It was clad to your skin like a layer of oil or grime, the taste of iron making you spit. 

A part of you wondered if you would die out in this forest, no idea where you were or what place Cousin Thesan had brought you so many decades ago. Stopping to lean against a tree, you panted and let the silent tears flow at once. Where were you? For all you knew, he had dropped you within the Continents and only used very good wards to keep the camp hidden. Why had you let them take you? What hadn’t you fought harder against Thesan’s word as Amarantha began exercising power among Prythian.

You had no answer, but only began to run once again. There was no choice, unless you planned to slit your own throat and simply give up. No. You are a warrior, you are a fighter and nothing would keep you from finding your cousin and demanding answers for his crimes. That’s what his actions were to you, criminal and inhumane and you would not be surprised if in the end–you adorned his blood on your hands as well. 

“Who dares enter this part of my forest?” A voice drawled from nowhere in particular, causing you to flinch and raise the dagger shakily in defense. “What is your name, girl?”

The voice came from the trees, you swore to yourself. It came in whisps and wind, the blackness of the forest making it impossible for you to determine where exactly the source was. If there was a source. It omitted what you swore was a chuckle, an unfamiliar sound to you for so long. Sweat collected at the nape of your neck and temples, hair stuck down to your forehead and your skin blazed as you continued to rotate in full circles with your dagger pointed at nothing.

“Y/N, Princess of Dawn and Bringer of Light. What is your business in dwelling here? This is no place for a young Fae girl. Especially one so sweet as yourself, and you wear the blood of ten men. It is as if you hope to die tonight,” the voice whispered, a hot, invisible breath on your neck. “Do you hope to die tonight?”

“No,” you finally spoke into the abyss. “I hope to locate my homelands, I am in search of the High Lord of the Dawn Court. Show yourself.”

The voice ignored your demand, “leave this forest, Princess. For the ones hunting you are far worse than those warriors you slaughtered miles back.”

The stiff cloth of your dress began to itch beneath your robes and you stood taller than before as the voice surrounded you. Perhaps you would die tonight, at least you would have gone out thrashing and fighting until your final breath. There was a mild ache behind your brow and the night sky showed no signs of daybreak.

“And why have you refrained from killing me?” You finally asked, shifting back and forth and contemplating whether or not to begin running again. 

“I possess no body. I am nothing but the wind and the trees and the breeze against your skin,” it hummed, cynically. “Cross the river up ahead and veer left, the path will lead you out of the forest and into the countryside where at least you will not be hunted for sport and strewn up and cut open for the creatures that dwell here to eat you alive.”

A cold chill ran up your spine and left your fingers to form fists.The spirit-like being was gone as fast as it had stumbled upon you. How did you know, you wondered idly for a moment. Its presence was absent, the air feeling more desolate and empty than it had moments before. It could very well be a trick, a way to lure you into its very trap and do exactly as it said.

You continued on to the river and went left, just as the being had told you to, as it had cooed into the shell of your ear. It was only about a mile later and you were coming into a dark clearing where animals lay sleeping along large acres of land. There were cows and sheeps first, then you saw pens of pigs and chicken coops further. Looking back, you saw how truly terrifying the forest was in comparison to the moonlit field.There were a set of yellow eyes staring out at you, but as soon as you blinked they were gone as if they were never there to begin with. While you knew you would never know, you threw a prayer up to the Mother regardless and hoped that the breeze-like thing that had most likely saved your life was at peace.

There was very little you could do besides walk along the outskirts of the land and hope to find some inclination of where to locate your court. Your court. The Dawn Court was filled with your people, people who had not seen you in five decades. The memories of your childhood were like knives in your gut, twisting and turning until finally you expelled them from your mind and breathed in deeply. The trek was long and you walked all through the night with no direction of where to go or what to do with yourself. There were not exactly any signs pointing you towards your home, or once home. Now you had no home, the camp was much more like a prison than a home to you. 

“Are you lost?” A little Fae girl spoke, taking in your appearance as she found you still walking along the countryside that next morning. She did not appear to be scared, however she was very young and held a basket of wildflowers in her hand.

“Yes,” you almost cried at the sight of her, another human and a female at that. It had been fifty three years since you had encountered someone of the same sex. “Where am I?”

“I live just beyond that hill. You are in the Dawn Court,” she said wearily, pointing over and beyond the hill that sat a few hundred yards away. “Should I fetch my father to help you?”

“No,” you said, knowing well what you had done the night prior and how you appeared. “I am looking to get to the Dawn Court Palace, do you know where I might be able to find it?”

The girl, no more than nine, looked over you once again and it was as if she was assessing your soul. She drew her lips into a fine line and set the basket down to begin spouting off some directions. You nodded, taking in all of them with careful consideration and noting that the spirit had led you onto the right track for some odd reason. Once the girl had finished, she merely bowed her head and turned back towards her house. 

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

The Palace was nothing like you had remembered it. It was so much brighter and broader than you recalled within the narrow escape of your child-mind. The Dawn Court Palace gleamed under the beaming sun that had been burning your skin for hours as you followed the little girl’s instructions. 

It was so vast and yet it seemed to call out to you, there was a long way to get to even one of the many stairs leading up to the Palace and so many guards standing tall at every entrance you could see. There was no way in, you thought. Not when you look as you do. Would any of these men even know who you are, you wondered. 

“Who goes there?” A loud voice bellowed, bringing you away from your thoughts.

Who says who goes there, you thought. Prick.

Well it looks like Cousin Thesan spared no expense in making sure no one went in unnoticed, you rolled your eyes internally and spun on your heels to meet the look of the brooding male who wielded his weapon against you. He did not recognize you, as you had expected. His eyebrow had a long scar going through it and he held a blade in his hand, waiting for an explanation.

“Stand down!” You matched his tone, standing tall while the male practically laughed in your face.

“You are lucky that I have not already gutted you for crossing into our territory–”

The sound of you swallowing hard could be heard from even where he stood. You planted your feet and let all of those lessons on looking the part of royalty run over you. The guard was cut off by your sharp and fierce voice, “I am Y/N, Princess of Dawn! Stand down or don’t. I can’t say that I really care either way, but you very well might when I cut out your tongue and feed it back down your throat.”

The man went rigid for a moment and he took in a sharp breath. He seemed to be assessing you, his eyes scanned your frame while his weapon remained as it was. A part of you wondered if he thought you were bluffing, however the dried blood seemed to tell him everything he needed to know. He maintained his authoritative stance, only drawing back to call over some of his men. He whispered something into one male’s ear and his face went blanche. He looked over you with such careful consideration and shock, his eyes wide open and doe-like from where you stood.

“You claim to be the Lost Princess?” He finally spoke, tilting his head to the side to expose a long, fleshy scar across his neck.

“Well the last that I checked–I am the only Princess of the Dawn Court, however I am most certainly not lost, sir. I do wish to speak to my cousin, though,” you requested, earnestly. “As soon as possible.”

The Lost Fucking Princess. Who even comes up with this bullshit?

One of the males who adorned guard-like clothing brought you into the Palace wearily. He did not lay a hand on you, but motioned you to walk in front of him as if you posed some sort of threat. Perhaps you did, killing Thesan had crossed your mind once or twice. The idea of watching him writhe excited you quite a bit. The thought nearly brought a smile to your lips, only managing to suppress it when you began climbing the steps.

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

The male brought you to a throne room, sunlight dancing along the walls and spilling onto the floors. Everything was so magnificent, the aura of the room was nothing short of golden. Blood boiled within you as you recalled all of the years you had wasted away to nothing, hidden in that rotting, despicable camp where all you ate was leftover meat scraps and watered-down soup for over fifty years. 

Thesan sat at the forefront of the room, he wore a crown and spoke to the male at his right in a hushed whisper. It was almost as if he did not know you were here, like he was uninformed of your arrival in his court. When the male who brought you in nearly tripped over his feet to murmur into Thesan’s ear, you had your answer. Your cousin’s eyes snapped towards you in an instant, he rose to his feet immediately and you swore you could feel the blood pumping in your ears. With a hot face and white knuckles, you barreled towards him with the intent to kill.

“You promised me! You promised me!” Your magic rippled across the room as you shouted, pure rage causing the ground to shake. “You left me there to rot like vermin! How could you?”

With tunnel vision, the two men who had been holding you back were nearly invisible as the ground continued to shake violently. Thesan was silent, his eyes were wide with genuine revelation and disbelief. Thrashing and clawing and screaming was all you could do. He had taken years from you, good years that had been ripped away and stolen from you as a child.

“You’re nothing but a fucking liar, Thesan. We share blood! I am your family and you threw me out to the wolves. I was twelve years old and you abandoned me. I trusted you with my life. My life!” you cried and flinched at the guards’ hands. “Get your fucking hands off of me!”

The two men who held you were sent flying backwards by an invisible force, your magic had been provoked and was now rippling off of you in waves. Thesan approached with his hands out, he still had not spoken a word. With a wave, he cleared the room and it was only the two of you left standing.

“Y/N,” he said in a soft hush. “Please just allow me to explain–”

“Explain? Explain how you brought me to your sick fucking camp when I was a girl and lied to everyone under the guise of my protection? Explain how after three months, your letters and visits stopped? Oh, perhaps you plan to explain how you left me to live with ten cursed warriors for over five decades and I have to find out six days ago that Amarantha was defeated by a human girl years ago as I still sat by idly waiting for my dear Cousin Thesan to retrieve me from my own personal living hell?” The words were like knives, piercing Thesan one after another as you resisted the urge to rip out his throat. “Explain, go ahead.”

Thesan could not believe his eyes, nor the venom spewing from your lips. He surveyed your too-thin figure and cold eyes, how they had changed so much since he had last seen you as a small girl. Everything you said was true, to some degree. He could not deny any of it, however he had not realized how the camp had treated you. He had not banished you, but relocated you for reasons of his own before Amarantha could rise to full power. When Thesan caught word of what had begun under the mountain, he made rash decisions and sacrifices that he was not proud of and would have to live with for the rest of his immortal life.

“Y/N, I did send you away for your protection. Do you believe that my brother would have let me live if I sent his only child away to live in squalor while we all reside in a palace? I sent you away because my people were being ripped from their homes and your mere existence puts a target on your back,” he said, steadily. “A Princess, the sole heir to the Dawn Court. It is unheard of. When my brother’s mate–your mother–birthed a girl, our people were ecstatic. As years passed and Amarantha began her show of power, everyone grew antsy for my heir. I tried, I remain trying to produce an heir to this court.”

You shook your head, hot tears running down your dirt-crusted cheeks. “Not good enough,” your voice cracked.

“Please, just hear my words,” he begged you. “When you were twelve years old, I assumed tensions were at their height and our people grew restless. Amarantha had begun slaughtering innocent Fae across Prythian and with no heir, whispers surfaced of the Princess of the Dawn Court. A female heir, one who reeked of power at that. Males who would never kneel before a female began to place bounties on your head, terrified that I would be slayed and there would be no one but you to resume my place.”

Thesan breathed deep, but continued. “I told my brother that the safest option would be to make you disappear. We would claim that you were hunted by Amarantha’s loyal subjects, nowhere to be found. I gathered some of my strongest men who had committed wrongdoings within my court and banished them to the camp where they would be tied until I liberated you.”

“You locked me away with criminals!” You seethed, already knowing but surprised at his willingness to utter the words freely. “How do you think your filthy, touch-starved, vile men acted once I had first bled?”

“This is where I have committed wrong,” he whispered. “It was only supposed to be a year, maybe two while I gained footing and figured out a way to take back what Amarantha had stolen from me. Three months after I sent you away, she captured the entirety of this court. Every court, save for Spring, went Under the Mountain. You were concealed, hidden so well by my wards, that she never even bothered to go looking for you. She believed that her own subjects had killed and discarded you. That was the extent at which things had gotten, she merely trusted the death of the Princess of the Dawn Court was another insignificant casualty to her reign. Everyone believed you to be dead. My letters stopped because I was trapped, my power basically nothing compared to what it once was.”

The truth washed over you slowly, blinking away tears but staying put and shaking your head at him. It was still not good enough, it would never be good enough. For fifty-three years you had known nothing but scraps and gangly men and the dirt underneath your bleeding fingernails. 

“It has been years since Amarantha was defeated,” you gritted out. “Defeated by a human girl–”

“Feyre Cursebreaker, High Lady of the Night Court and human no longer. Myself and the other High Lords used our power to bring her back from death as High Fae,” he told you. “I know you will never forgive me for not retrieving you immediately, however we entered a gruesome war against Hybern and have only just begun to recover and rehabilitate. It is no excuse, I know this. I hoped by now that I would have an heir, nothing has changed in regards to how your existence might be received by this court.”

He had left you there while everyone rejoiced in their freedoms, fought on the frontlines of battle, and then even still once we had won. Nothing but pure, unadulterated rage consumed you and yet all you could muster up was a pathetic noise straight from your throat. He had done all of this because he simply was not capable of bearing a child and assumed that you’re suffering was all the more worth it if he could fuck his way to the ideal future High Lord of Dawn. All men are the same, you thought with a sickness churning within you.

“You are a sick excuse for a man,” was all you spat. “Where are my parents?”

“Dead,” he lowered his head. “They died swiftly, soon after we arrived Under the Mountain.”

The gift that just keeps on giving, you thought whilst holding back a near sob. He gazed upon you with pity, finally taking you in wholly. The blood. There was so much blood and he could tell from the scent that it did not belong solely to you.

“What of the men at the camp?” 

“Dead,” you replied, just as he had. “I cannot say they went swiftly, as I slaughtered them all.”

The images of blood spewing and spilled flashed across the forefront of your mind, the way that some of them went quick and others went begging for a semblance of mercy. You looked down at your palms, flexing your fingers and feeling the energy throughout your entire body. It pulsed at the tips of your fingers, throbbed in the heels of your feet, and thrummed at the backs of your eyes. Over the years, there had been no one to teach you to manage it so more often than not it consumed you whole. 

You could kill him, you let the idea wash over you. Or at least you could try. In his home with all of his warriors, it would prove difficult. He was the High Lord, your High Lord–no, death was too swift and simple. You would need time to plan out your next steps, you pondered whilst maintaining a stone cold facade. You would have to play your cards right, he would deal with you based on how you acted as you stood before him. Truthfully, the idea of living with him puts you on the brink of physical sickness. You would rather die than be forced to stay under the same roof, lips curling slightly with disgust as he gave you another look filled with shame and guilt.

“I will not stay here,” was all you spat at him. “Not here, not in this court with you, I wish to be sent elsewhere.”

“Elsewhere? Do you understand what will come of your sudden return to our lands?” Thesan’s eyes were fixed on you, his voice near hoarse. “Y/N, I know that–”

“I will not stay here. I ask this one thing of you. I will not spread word of your pathetic sterileness, nor my title to the Dawn Court if you will simply offer me this one thing. Do you not owe it to me?” 

While the immense grief and pain in your voice was authentic, you made sure to create the illusion of your complete and utter wreckage. Mustering up tears, you had to get out of this place. There was no possibility of your survival if not, not even at the hands of these so-called people out for your blood–but at the hands of yourself. Every bit of you was exhausted, conveying complete and utter devastation into your eyes as he debated your request. 

Do you not owe it to me?

Thesan rubbed violently at the bridge of his nose and nodded to himself, he squeezed his eyes shut and for a moment you remembered the admiration you once felt for him. Admiration turned into blazing resentment and rage that had nearly created an earthquake. He wouldn’t force you to reside here under him, would he?

“I will do my best at making other… arrangements,” said Thesan after a few moments of tense silence. “I make no promises, as we may very well be approaching the brink of another war, however in the meantime you should wash up.” 

A breath of relief escaped you, “what of the guards who know who I am? I told them.”

“I should like to call in a favor from Rhysand,” he murmured, almost as if he was speaking to himself.

.·:*¨☆◦✦◦☆¨*:·.

“Leave me, please” you said to the servants gently, thanking them for the filled tub and fresh gown that was laid out for you within the spare bedroom and adjacent bathing room.

Everything was so prim and proper and doused in sunlight, it made you nostalgic for a life that once was. The water was steaming, layers of blood and grime covering you as you sunk down into the tub. The magic of the tub was forced to refresh itself almost as soon as you sat, growing murky immediately as you began to scrub your skin raw. 

Would it be easier to drown yourself, you breathed a shallow breath. No, someone was posted outside of the bedroom door listening in. A guard, most likely. He would hear, putting an end to your pathetic excuse of a suicide attempt and then Thesan would never let you leave. Or maybe he would, perhaps your untimely death was just what he hoped for in order to rid himself of the problems you presented him with.

Getting clean felt impossible, even with the tub enchanted to replace its filthy water. Your hair was oily and your skin remained covered in a film of grease. It took over an hour just for you to feel somewhat clean. At the camp, there had thankfully been a tub with running water and an enchantment of certain supplies so you never went without. Food, however, was hunted for you and everyone else. As the only female, every night you received what was left on the bone of whatever animal they had slaughtered in the nearby woods, eating last time and time again. 

One of the servants came in to help you dress in the gown custom to the Dawn Court, it fell to your ankles and glistened with what you could have sworn was pure sunlight. The tall woman braided your hair back and applied rogue to your cheeks and an oil to your lips. As you gazed into the mirror before you, you could hardly recognize yourself for the first time in five decades. There was something so regal about you, a light cascading off of you like an aura of gold. Thesan possessed the same coloring, the light pouring out from him in bouts of power. 

The woman knew who you were, you could tell that much from the way her eyes danced across your reflection. She said nothing, though. You thanked her, smiling softly as if she had not just seen you covered in days old blood and filth. The Lost Princess, you recalled what the male had referred to you as outside. She has no idea what to think of you, it seems. Maybe that was for the best, perhaps you were better as the shadow of a girl who once was but no longer existed. Instead, some sort of killer prowled beneath your now eternally crimson stained skin. 

“The High Lord has called for you,” the woman said softly, pulling you from your thoughts and causing your eyes to drift to meet her gaze in the reflection of the mirror. 

Once you had begun your trek back to the same room as earlier, the sun had begun to fall and the sky was painted endless shades of pink and orange. There was so much open space, all of the windows gaping to allow for as much sunlight as possible during the daytime. You had never felt so exhausted, eyes burning from the lack of sleep you had acquired on your journey and the use of power earlier on in the day. 

When you entered the room, Thesan was in conversation with a man that you could only assume was Rhysand. He was attractive in an almost inconceivable way, like one of the Gods. None of the males at the camp had resembled anything like him, no one in the Dawn Court resembled anything like him. Lucky High Lady, you thought mindlessly. Rhysand seemed to chuckle at nothing, turning to meet your gaze.

“Princess,” he greeted you with the friendly upturning of his lips. “Welcome back from the dead is in order, I suppose. I’m Rhys.”

“Funny,” you huffed a stiff laugh at him and extended a hand for him to grasp. Power ricocheted off of Rhysand in a way that caused your stomach to flip. “Y/N.”

His eyes simmered with something like pity mixed with amusement, he was not blind to the fact that you still had not looked Thesan in his eyes. Rhysand had been steadfast in arriving at the Dawn Court, his solemn look told you that he had been briefed on some of what was going on. How much, though? What had Thesan deemed important enough to share and what was determined as insignificant. Clearly as you had been cast away as insignificant, he could not be trusted to relay information.

“Rhysand has consulted with his High Lady and they have agreed to offer you a place to stay in the Night Court for as long as you should require it,” Thesan informed you. 

“At what cost?” 

“No cost,” Rhysand assured you at once. “Thesan has… told me of your circumstances–”

“What circumstances?” You demanded, cutting him off. “What did he tell you?”

There was a tense silence as you grew flustered and aggravated by your cousin. Thesan knew nothing of your circumstances, he knew absolutely nothing of what you had endured. Rhysand had strangely given you a look of understanding, it was as if he knew exactly what you were thinking. Like he had been inside of your mind, reliving the experiences with you.

“He told me of your power, he told me you have yet to learn how to wield it as well. He says that he senses you may have inherited more than just his healing gifts, but that the nature of your identity is sensitive. I admit that I do have to agree with him in concealing your return, Princess–for now, at least,” Rhyand only looked to you, his words carefully chosen so as not to upset you. “I have a house in Velaris, the city where I live, it houses three people as of late. My two brothers, Azriel and Cassian, and my mate’s sister Nesta. You would stay there, it is secluded enough that you will have as much privacy as you desire. I spoke with my healer Madja, she has agreed to allow you to work under her in an apprenticeship of sorts. She’s one of the best, not just in Velaris but anywhere in Prythian. I feel you both may be able to benefit from each other, her experience and your magic. My cousin Mor has offered to train with you once she arrives home from Vallahan on business, until then one of my brothers–”

You cut him off again, “Training? I do not wish to offend you, but why should I need your family to train me?”

“Y/N,” he began, assessing how honest he should be. “You have no muscle built up whatsoever and considering the fact that you have no hold on your own power–I suspect that your ‘training’ consists of the intent to kill and luck. In Velaris you would learn to fight and hopefully hone some of that power.”

It was this or nothing, you knew that. Either you would remain in the Dawn Court, or you would go with Rhysand and figure it out from there. Thesan’s face was now unreadable as you looked between both of the High Lords. 

“All the while I hide away so that no one knows my true identity?”

“No,” Rhysand responded. “You have matured, when you left this court you were only a girl. No one in Velaris will question you once I dim some of that power coming off of you. My inner circle knows your true identity, however to everyone else you will be ordinary High Fae. This is partially why you’ll work under Madja.”

Nodding slowly, you consider your options or lack thereof. Rhysand seemed genuine enough, you thought to yourself and could have swore he smiled slightly. Giving Thesan a once over, you met those violet eyes and nodded slowly.

“Alright, I’ll go to Velaris.” 

#azriel x you #azriel x y/n #azriel shadowsinger #azriel x reader #azriel shadowsinger x reader #azriel #acotar #acotar x reader

[peeterparkr]

thus, with a kiss, i die| tom holland| 1.

chapter 1: strangers.

romeo & juliet modern au.

summary: the well known story of star-crossed lovers. Your local bar has two spots for bands, but only one spot for an opportunity to get a record deal. Your band, the Capulets and his band, the Montagues have been rivals long enough. But what happens after a night when you get to know their lead singer?

chapter summary: two strangers who have no expectations.

pairing: singer!tom holland x guitarrist!reder

warnings: swearing, alcohol mention

word count: 3.8k

this is literally romeo and juliet, it's one of my favorite stories, if you've read my other works you KNOW I love to quote it, and reference and eveyrhting. Anyway, this is my take on it. Modern world, hope you like it. I haven't written anything in ages so here goes.

character glossary prologue next chapter masterlist

wanna be tagged?

so, first chapter is finally here! I highly thank everyone who's been supportive of this :) i'm really happy to be writing again and to see people actually reading is making me go insane. Well, I hope you like it, I highly encourage to read the prologue to understand a bit more of the capulets and the montagues. This chapter is heavily focused on Tom and y/n separately. Again, this is my take on Romeo and Juliet, it's literally based on it with my modern twist but yes :) hope you like it, send feedback. Also, I have a playlist on apple music, I'm going to get it on spotify as well so I'll share that later.

The night seemed either too old or the light too young. Blurry, and messy seemed the evening before, a couple of drinks, two songs too many, and a gathering crowd that was too delighted. For his own good. 

Tom couldn’t recall what had been said, or done. Last thing he knew was he’d shown up, his bleeding heart puffing out of his chest as he continued to stab it under the spotlight. Making a show out of his broken heart.

Only Ben had asked if he could do it. 

“Yeah, yeah, I can do it with a broken heart,” he had pleaded. But could he? 

“Enjoy the spotlight,” had been the advice he had received from Monty. And although he wasn’t referring to the light, Tom later understood it meant the several attempts that were made to flirt with him.

He had given in, eventually. What else can you do with a broken heart? 

And as he woke up early from a cold bed, slightly too crowded, with a hand up on his chest he growled, leaving an empty trail behind him and a headache that would last. 

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t have to. The poor girl had probably just been a victim of his attempt to forget a broken heart. 

He’d left his motorbike at the bar so he had to clumsily and shamefully walk back to Verona. Thankfully he was now alone with his melancholic thoughts, an endless path full of misery and tears that were waiting to trace a map back to his pain. An unfurnished heart and his sudden questioning of what love was and if he’d truly felt it was going to keep him busy all day. If it hurt this much then he guessed he had felt it. But had he? 

He felt like he’d walked for hours. He wondered why it wasn’t raining yet he felt like it was pouring down on him. 

He’d heard much about love. How wonderful, a very splendid thing. Butterflies and unusual symphonies. He’d heard about love. But he didn’t know much about it. 

He’d heard little about love. 

Falling in and and falling out. He’d heard about hate, too. And how it was the absence of love. He disagreed much with it. For what he was feeling right now wasn’t hate. He felt empty. 

Falling out of love hadn’t made him turn towards hatred. Falling out of love was like losing air, like the sun wasn’t coming out, life didn’t continue and the whole world was meant to stop.  And the worst part of it was it didn’t. The sun came out, the birds were chirping and no one saw or cared he hurt. How dare the world continue when it had stopped for him? 

Maybe it was hate. Though, he didn’t know much about hate either.

 He’d searched for more love the night before or whatever was similar to it, perhaps that’s why he’d searched for some other lips for him. 

“Tom,” someone had interrupted his current inner monologue. His mind wandering had been brought back to reality all of sudden. Tom turned around to find Ben. 

Tom only raised his eyebrows  as he walked to his helmet. “Ben.” 

“You’re here early.” Ben commented. 

“It’s not early.” But it probably was. 

“It’s barely 9,” Ben declared as he stared at his watch. Ben worked the early shift at Verona, cleaning tables and getting ready for the day, so it was early. 

Tom groaned , “fuck.” Barely 9 and he had already died 7 times. 

He looked back at Verona that kindly had a sign which read ‘NO MONTAGUES ALLOWED TONIGHT.’ 

“What?” Ben questioned. “A few days ago you were in pain because you were falling in love.” 

“Out of love,” Tom corrected. “What happened last night?” He asked. 

Ben amused, chuckled. “Oh, darling,” he mocked his accent.. “You don’t remember?”

Tom rolled his eyes. “I know, I meant before,” he pointed at the sign. “Where the fuck am I supposed to drown this sorrow in alcohol instead?” 

“Ah,” Ben pressed his lips in a thin, thin line. “Well, the Capulets—“

“Piss off, I’m tired of that,” Tom rolled his eyes. “I have enough problems trying to understand why Rosie dumped me.” 

“And why did she?”

“Beats me,” Tom said. “She said I was too romantic. What the fuck does that mean? She said she didn’t want anything serious and that she wanted to have fun. Am I not fun?” 

Ben watched his friend with pity. “You know what?” He sighed, “I’ll take the day off, I’ll cheer you up.” 

Tom didn’t want that. 

But it didn’t matter. Not far from them Billie was cheering herself up, knowing that the night would be grand. It held the promise of the sun finally coming out for them. 

Billie had been waiting for a chance like this, and she knew her new friend Paris would help out. 

Paris, Billie thought his name to be ridiculous. For him only, ironically. Though it worked, she guessed. Cap had always thought they were meant for something greater than this. 

She often wondered what it could’ve been. 

She knew what they had set each other up, Capulets and Montagues. But she had her reasons. And her falling with Monty was something she often ignored and blamed him for. Monty was definitely at fault. He’d been the one to play with fire, he’d been the one to absolutely ruin everything. Which was a story for another time. Cap didn’t like to think about it so the reason will be kept secret. Let’s not get ahead. 

However Cap did like to think about how she’d ruined it herself. She had a marvelous time. 

People often called Cap a no brain woman. She took pride in that, although she didn’t agree. Although her last night with their initial band with Monty, “Shaken Spears”, was ine ti remember, she’d destroyed the whole place and humiliated him.  

It was fun. 

But now they were struggling because often bands are followed by popularity and Tom had given them just that. 

However she knew she was technically cheating. 

“So tonight’s your big night,” said Paris. Paris was more than just a bartender. His father owned Verona. And although Skylar owned the place she didn’t actually own it, and it was always Paris’ last call. 

So it did help that Paris had an infatuation with y/n, Cap’s younger sister, an incredible guitarist and a poet in her free time. Author of their best songs.

Or not really a poet, but someone who loved to poetize her sorrow. Same shit. 

“Yes, it is,” Cap smiled, “I’m glad we can prove we are better than the Montageeses.” 

Paris chuckled. “You are,” he agreed. “But they’ve got something.” 

“Yes, I know that British brainless brute,” she hissed. 

Paris nodded. “And he’s single now.” 

“Single now? Fuck,” Cap sighed. She thought Monty had probably something to do with it. Making the stupid hunk available would make them more appealing. 

“Yeah, and he already went home with someone,” Paris continued. 

Shit. This was even worse. 

“But I’m sure y/n will bring a lot of attention as well,” he cleared his throat. “I mean she’s incredibly talented.” 

“She is.” 

“Hope I get to—talk to her tonight.”

Although Cap was thrilled they’d be able to get more Saturday nights she wasn’t as fond for it to be at her sister’s expense. Although she knew she didn’t dislike Paris. 

Paris was a tall, handsome young guy. He had the brightest, bluest eyes. Y/N was fond of kind eyes. He was kinda cute, she guessed.

“Yeah,” Cap said. “I’m glad you want to befriend her.” 

Paris blushed. “I may—I may want more than befriending her.” 

Cap coughed, “you know, I’m not the one to make that decision for her. And if you want her to fall in love with you that’s your problem. You have to… woo her."

And she knew y/n to be sort of new to matters of love. Y/N was naive and stupid when it came to it. Her heart was an empty room ready to be filled. An open window letting the warm air in. Walls waiting to be painted. Her closet was full of dresses that were thrilled to be worn.  Y/N barely knew anything about it. She’d heard a lot about it, and spoke of it like a grand connoisseur. Words of someone who could imagine what it felt like. Romanticizing her lack of knowledge of love. 

“I know,” Paris said, “hopefully tonight I’ll get to talk to her, it’s the perfect setup.” He grinned to himself. “Besides, your idea to make it a theme night—“

“Shit!” Cap interrupted. “I haven’t given out these!” She took out a bunch of pink, blue and purple sheets, covered in constellations, stars, moons and suns which read: 

✨We are made of stardust✨ The Capulets invite you to celebrate the arrival of a new angel in their team.  Heaven, skies, signs and stars  mask themed party.  Greek goddesses, and mythic galaxies welcomed.   Costumes are encouraged. (Plus, you won’t have to pay cover if you’re dressed up )  Saturday 8 o’clock NO MONTAGUES ALLOWED.

Paris watched her. “I can get someone to hand them out.” 

And so he did, and before they knew it, a young boy was handing out the printed pamphlets. Nearby, some Montagues were sitting by. Getting a well deserved break. 

“You know the best cure for an old love is a new one,” Ben assured Tom, watching as the younger teenager who would earn a few bucks struggled to hand out the pamphlets. 

“I’d rather cut my own leg,” Tom rolled his eyes. “You know I just feel trapped it’s like this fucking emptiness is just spreading—Hello?” He turned to the kid who’d just interrupted them by approaching them. 

“Hi. Good heavens.” 

Ben and Tom shared a glance. 

“Can we help you?” Tom questioned. 

“Are you Montagues?” The kid questioned. 

“Who asks?” Tom raised his eyebrow, trying to get a glimpse of the pamphlet. 

“Ah, then you are,” the kid sighed and tried to keep his way. 

“No, we aren’t,” Tom grinned and then shot a death glare at Ben who frowned. “We aren’t, what’s that?” 

“The Capulets.” He handed it over so Tom could finally take a look. 

Tom smirked, “ah, their gig.” 

“You knew about it?” The kid asked. “You need the pamphlet thing to get in.” 

Tom glanced up. “If you didn’t want me to be a Montague I could only guess.” 

Ben glanced at Tom. “We can’t go.” 

“Sure we can!” Tom smirked. 

“I was told to encourage guys like you,” the kid admitted. He looked between them. “Apparently there will be a lot of pretty girls.”

“See? Didn’t you want me to get a new love?” Tom mocked his friend. “C’mon, let’s call Maverick, I’m sure he’ll be down.” 

“Didn’t you want to cut your leg?”

And someone else wanted to cut their own leg. Not too far from them, in an old apartment, full of vinyls, lipsticks, old bookds, half-written songs and stars, y/n was getting ready with her best friend, Nina, and Clara, Cap’s girlfriend. 

Nina was excellent at makeup and hair, even though she was just your usual case of a gril who dreamed with having her salon. Although, to be fair she mostly wanted it because she said it was the perfect place for other people’s gossip. 

“Can’t believe you’re finally joining the Capulets,” Nina commented as she was placing small stars and sparkles around y/n’s eyes. “Seems like only yesterday when you started playing guitar, and writing songs about books you read. ” 

“Why the hell are you being so emotional?” Laughed Clara, watching them, “you sound like a mom.” 

Y/N had always stayed far from the spotlight, she didn't like it. She didn't think she needed it for that matter. For her, she was just a wallflower, nothing too exceptional. No one really paid any attention to her so she didn't bother trying to get it.

“I am proud of my baby, that’s all, finally showing the world her talent!" Nina smirked, “you know she’s been begging Cap to join them since they were the Shaken Spears? And I was so sad when they split up.” 

“Why?” Clara frowned. 

“She had a crush on Monty,” explained y/n, and then nodded in agreement at Clara’s disgusted grin. “Uh-huh.” 

“We all have questionable crushes,” Nina defended herself. 

“Not me.” Y/N chuckled. But she'd never really liked anyone. Not that anyone fancied her.

Nina motioned a vomiting face. “Except y/n it seems, because she’s perfect,” she mocked, bringing her hands close to her heart. “She’s never dated someone who’s trouble.” 

“And I never will,” y/n laughed. 

“You’ve never had a boyfriend or girlfriend, have you?” Clara questioned. “At least I haven’t met anyone.” 

“Nope, not one!” Nina said. “Hopefully, someone will catch her eye and she can bring them home.” 

“I haven’t had the honor, or misfortune,” y/n answered Clara.. “However I don’t think bringing someone home implies a boyfriend.” 

“You know Paris likes you right?” Nina smirked. , blushing.

“I am aware,” y/n admitted. She knew partly his infatuation had given them the Saturday night gig. She smiled, for the first time she wasn't invisible as usual.

Clara laughed, “Oh, and do you like him?” 

“He’s easy on the eye,” y/n rolled her eyes, her cheeks were flustered. “But in all honesty, I don’t want to… I’m not looking for anything, you know, Nina here is the love of my life so I don’t need anyone else.” 

Nina grinned. “I am her soulmate, that’s true.” 

“Besides, I’m more worried about music, and music is my one true other love, I can’t focus on anything else.” 

And she really didn’t want to focus on anything else. Perhaps, it may have been because she’d never yearned for love. She’d never suffered a broken heart, and she’d never felt that spark. 

That was a lie. 

She could only imagine it. But she didn’t know how it felt. She had always wondered how it would feel, if there truly were butterflies and a tickle in your skin. She wondered if love sounded like a gentle guitar weeping. She wondered if the world actually stopped, all of sudden only with a smile. She wondered if time really stopped ticking when it was felt. Did it taste as sweet as honey? Did it taste bitter? What did love smell like? Was it soft? Was it rough? 

Y/N always questioned why love had always hidden from her. She wondered how long love would take, because it seemed late enough. She’d been asleep for too long. 

She always wanted to love, without thinking, that never ending, the kind of love that is brainless, that makes you foolish. Y/N wanted to laugh, to cry and to feel. 

She knew her heart was special enough. Did no one want it?

And she knew Paris liked her, but she knew he wasn’t love. And she wanted to have it, she didn’t want to imagine it anymore. She wanted to be proven wrong, or proven right. 

To feel naked and yet warmed with the sun. Y/N always thought love would feel like a sunset. To love so passionately. To feel like you might die if you’re not around. She wanted to give her heart, to wake up with the stars wrapping you around in a haze. 

She could only wish. But right now, she was no one. And she knew she'd stay like that.

Or would she? 

Later, when the shadows can no longer be seen as the moon is your only companion, Maverick, Ben and Tom waited outside Verona. A lavender smoke surrounded the air and it held a promise for luck. The gig was about to start, and it was a full house. 

Stardust was the correct theme for the night. People dressed in bright, nightly gowns, girls with stars around their eyes. Moons, stars, angels, devil and gods. Greek goddesses, euphoric galaxies. 

The three of them, dressed to the nines, with masks around their eyes, giving imagination a go. Maverick, one of Tom’s oldest friends, stood right beside him. A sturdy man, tall, and handsome. Blue eyed knight, some liked to call him. He’d dressed as a galaxy, a starry, blue, litmus shirt, and a black mask to accentuate the oceans in his eyes. 

Ben, on the other side, only wore a white blanket around, a greek god had been his inspiration. A golden mask posed on his nose. 

And then, Tom, who had decided to go for something completely different. He’d worn a black, satin buttoned up just halfway the chest. A black mask, with golden feathers on the corners, to combine with the golden, covered in dark ashed pair of wings on his back. 

He’d learned from Maverick that Rosie would be there, so eventually he had to show off. Icarus, he’d gone as Icarus. 

They’d blended in with another group, and were astounded by the transformation of the place. Stars and suns hanging from the city, glitter and stars on the floor. Pink, lavender and blue lights, as if stardust had really covered the place. 

A fortune teller on one corner, with a bright neon sign behind her. Wings, feathers, and fabrics. 

“Jesus,” Maverick said. “If they keep going like this, you guys are going to actually strip on stage next time to stay relevant.” 

Tom only glanced around. “This feels like a dream.” 

Maverick scrunched his nose at his comment and Ben only chuckled as he arrived with the drinks. Unfortunately they hadn’t recognized them so he could get a bucket of beer. 

“Just drink, buddy,” Maverick handed a beer. 

There was something in the air, Tom could feel it. “I’m serious,” he said 

“Oh yes, yes, the old dream fairy visited you and gave you a glimpse of your future.” 

“Fuck off.” 

Before he continued, they were interrupted. “Well, hello, hello! What a lovely scene!” Billie said into her mic,  her stand was covered with flowers. Everyone turned to the stage, a projection of stars fell on her face. She had a glass in her hand. “I’m so fucking happy everyone could make it, and y’all look so hot.” 

A few laughs, cheers, whistles and clapping. Tom watched her, she was dressed with a dark blue dress, covered in small, silver moons combining with her silver mask, with stars coming out of it, surrounding her head. 

“I’m so glad everyone stayed on theme, but I do see someone dressed as a ghost, not sure if it’s the right vibe, but you do you buddy,” she smirked. “Anyway, I’m so happy that you joined us tonight. So, some of you may already know us, you know the gist,  we will play fun tunes for you, while y’all enjoy a drink, and you can sing and dance along. Are y’all with a drink already?” 

A loud cheer. 

“Amazing, I have a drink here myself, so cheers,” she took a sip. “I’ll be joined by my beautiful comrades over here.” 

Louder cheer, claps and a room full of noise. Tom had never been to one of their gigs, and the vibe was different from theirs. Cap was better at crowd work than he was. Monty usually talked and turned on the audience, promising Tom would take off his clothes. He never did. 

Seemed, however, the Capulet’s fanbase was more intense and devoted, rather than thirsting for them. Although he could see some people in the crowd were certainly not complaining about Cap. 

“Alright, I’m so I see a few new faces over here, I’m glad to see you so I’ll introduce these beautiful ladies,” she smirked. “And tonight’s the first night one of them is joining so make sure y’all clap and have this loud ass cheer, okay? We want her to feel welcome, so I want you to fucking scream and lose your minds for her, okay? or else I’ll beat your asses.” Laughs. 

“So first, let’s welcome the love of my life, Clara, who’s on the bass,” Clara walked in to say hello. Cheers, claps. 

Maverick, Ben and Tom all stared at each other. They’d never seen this kind of crowd. 

The girls kept walking in, as the cheers got louder each time. “Amazing, then we have our sexy Georgia on the drums, our lovely cute Sam on the keyboard. We have this hot badass on the guitar, bass, and fuckin’ ell everything that we need her on, please welcome Theodora.” 

Tom bit his lip, expectant. Why were they leaving the last one for the end? 

The place was moving. 

“But we know why you all are here, tonight all of this is for our newest member. Who isn’t exactly new. She’s been behind the scenes this whole time, she’s written some of your favorites like… Milky Twilight,” Billie smirked. “Flowers for two… Table for one… Yeah, yeah I know, and so many more, like our fan favorite Star shaped heart.” 

Ben and Tom were panicking. They had efinitely heard those songs. One of them was even  recorded already, and they had heard a rumour that it would be on the radio. Star shaped heart was the Capulet’s song. They’d always believed that Cap had written them so to hear the actual mastermind behind those, was terrifying for them. 

“and I’m so fucking happy she finally is on stage,” Billie said. “Please, welcome my younger sister, the talented, beautiful and brilliant y/n!” 

And Tom felt like he had been hit by a car. The girl had walked into the stage to the warmest, loudest crowd. The entire room had gone absolutely crazy. 

Yet, Tom felt the most calm, as he laid eyes on her. The whole world had stopped. Like an angel had flown over. A golden, long gown, folded, falling down all the way. As if sun rays were coming out of her, she was the purest light,  brighter than the sun, prettier than any of the skies above. Like she was floating above them all, flying. She was the sun.

Tom held in his breath as he watched her. It was a dream, it had to be, what else could it be instead? Maybe a wish, of one of those you wish upon a star.

“Okay, okay, so you guys all know us,” Cap said. “I’m Billie, but y’all can call me Cap. We’re The Capulets!” 

And they started to play. And Tom’s eyes could only be on her, her. And her name was roaming in his mind, the sweetest melody. A diamond. With a guitar covered in star stickers

The played a few songs and Tom finally tried to approach the stage as soon as Billie announced they’d get a break. He had actively avoided and ignored Ben’s and Mavericks comments. They continued to drink. 

Tom was in awe,and he couldn’t even hide it. 

Someone had noticed it. 

Theodora approached Billie. “We seem to have a stowaway,” she warned Cap, motioning to the stupid kid. 

Cap turned and saw him, lost and confused, watching them with veneration. 

“I’ll beat the shit out of him if you need me to,” Theodora said.

“Is that Tom?” Cap questioned, she’d never seen him here before, and honestly, she was too happy to care. “Ah, don’t bother, he is no trouble.” 

“But--” 

“We can’t have trouble, Theo,” she warned. “If we cause any mess Skylar will kick us out, alright?” 

Theo wasn’t pleased with that answer. They both were left too busy to see Tom had finally approached the sunlight herself. Who was currently by the bar, attempting to get a drink.

And so Icarus made his way to the sun. 

He only knew he wanted something, one kiss. That’s all he needed. But he couldn’t start with that. But there she was, alone with what seemed all the spotlights and yet no one approached her. How could they not?

He followed after her, as she was making her way out the backdoor. He guessed she thought no one was following her.

“Hey," his voice was soft.

The girl turned around, slightly startled, and it had been as if she’d been hit by the same bus as him. “Oh, hi.”  

-

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tags: @lnmp89 @blondygwendy @dangerousluv1 @love-granger @kikiwritesfanfics @astoldbydanid @erodasghosts @peterdarlingg @hollandweather @annathesillyfriend @mannien @sukunababe @adoredire @whosyourgnomie4

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prologue

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masterlist

#tom holland #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland imagine #tom holland fluff #tom holland smut #tom holland au #twakid #romeo and juliet #romeo and juliet au #peter parker x reader

[n30nwrites]

Bring Me To Life (Prologue)

Summary: Against all odds, you've survived. Having graduated high school and moved out of your Parent's place, your sibling decides to join you for the summer, and your first stop is Santa Cruz in California, you had always wanted to live there anyways so why not now that you're experiencing freedom? One problem: This doesn't look like the 21st century, instead it looks like a scene from your favorite movie, in fact it looks exactly like your favorite movie.

How are you meant to survive in the murder capital of the world? With vampires of all things, and your sibling hates this movie.

a/n: prologue for this fanfic, this will also be on AO3 and wattpad. Preface for this, fuck Max :}

Reader: Male Reader, uses Y/N, third person.

Oc uses they/she pronouns. Will be using both, Y/n refers to them as both sibling and sister, which is okay

Fandom: The Lost Boys

Pairing(s): Michael Emerson x Reader, Paul x Reader, Dwayne x Reader, Marko x Reader, David x Reader, Sam Emerson x Nonbinary! Oc, Edgar Frog x Nonbinary! Oc, Alan Frog x Nonbinary! Oc,

It was one thing moving the United States to California by yourself, it was another thing bringing your 15-year-old sibling with you, not to live with you, but to stay just until summer was over and school was starting again, your parents believed it would help with their 'rebellious streak'. That streak being that they just don't care enough to do class work and keep staying up all night playing video games, therefore they fall asleep in class.

Nik had a firm belief in changing the radio whenever any song that they didn't like came on, and you had a firm belief that your sibling needed to shut up because you liked your music and if you had to drive without some good tunes you would probably turn into the next psycho on the news.

You two did listen to similar music, but for this trip it was specifically 80s and 90s songs that you shouted loudly, windows were rolled down because the air conditioner in your car didn't work. It was small and shitty and cost a year of pay, thankfully your parents were there to let you live rent free. One of the few things you could be thankful for.

"Do you know how to be quiet?" Your sibling groaned, their jacket wrapped around their body despite how hot it was, "Put on Hozier, or Doja, hell I'll even take Taylor Swift over this... What is this shit?"

'Cry little sister'

"I know damn well you aren't talking to me about my music taste-"

'Thou shall not fall'

"What's wrong with mine?"

Come, come to your brother

"It's literally only tiktok songs, half of them aren't even good."

'Thou shall not die'

"At least I don't say 'They sung this on Glee'"

'Unchain me, sister'

"Every hot, mentally ill, gay person went through a Glee faze."

Thou shall not fear

"I didn't"

'Love is with your brother'

"That's why I said hot."

'Thou shall not kill'

You quickly stuck your tongue out in a childish way, before looking back into the road, ignoring your sibling who mumbled and repeated your words. "Theres a reason we're heading to Santa Cruz. Found a nice place right near the beach so we can-"

"Sleep all day, and party all night. I know, you've said it hundreds of times." Nik had heard the phrase from you so many times, you had tried to show them your favorite movie, even almost tricked them into it, but they were quick to leave the room. They simply hated it because you loved it, something you were forced to accept about them.

The car ride became silent as you got closer, to fill it, Nik had turned up the radio as it switched to a different song.

"Finally some MJ." The beat of Billie Jean came in, causing you to start tapping your hands to it as your merged.

"She was more like a beauty queen from a movie scene" The two of you belted the lyrics, switching over the 80s playlist to one consistently of Michael Jackson. "I said don't mind, but what do you mean, I am the one" you shook your head, "Who will dance" you turned to your sibling and sung the words to them before turning back, repeating it each time you sung, "on the floor" again "in the round?" and then turned back, "She said I am the one, who will dance on the floor in the round"

The house that you bought with a loan wasn't the biggest, at least not compared to your parents house. Two bedrooms, One master and One guest, and 1 in a half bathrooms. The half bathroom was connected to the master bedroom, which Nik tried to get but was quickly locked out. They would be staying in the guest room, while you set it up they would help. They were also supposed to attempt to find a job this summer, as their parents wanted Nik to learn some responsibility. 

"Okay, change outfits, shower if you need to! We are going to the beach!" You were excited, thrumming almost. You felt as if you belonged.

"I'm tired."

"Party all night!" You yelled, grabbing a suit case filled with your clothes. The two of you didn't have a lot. A few suitcases filled with clothes, and then a few boxes for the rooms. You didn't even have mattresses yet.

"Let's just sleep a bit." A nap did sound good, you didn't have the best sleep due to the anxiety about the drive.

"Fine, a nap! I'm setting an alarm." Nik went into your room, both of you grabbing the blankets and laying them on the floor, setting up some pillows and collapsing as soon as you could.

Instead of waking up to your alarm, you woke up to Nik shaking your shoulder, harsh rain hitting the window and the house was shaking.

"The doors are opening."

You stood up quick, running out of the bedroom to the backdoor refusing to close. You pushed against it but it quickly fell open, so you held the door. "Grab the heavy boxes." Nik followed through, pushing against the doors as lightning flashed. "It wasn't supposed to storm."

"Don't they get Hurricanes here." A siren went off, "Well-"

"Not another tornado." You groaned. You had your fair shair of them, being where your from. "We need to grab our shit, head to the basement."

The house shook again, you two grabbed your phones and chargers, rushing down into the basement that still had cobwebs. Nik almost ran upstairs at the sight of them, claiming they would rather take their chance with the tornado. You had to basically pulled them down as you two sat in the basement, the house shook as you two fell to the ground, hitting your heads.

Your eyes rolled back, your vision turns black as your body hits the ground. Your siblings hand lays against yours as their body falls onto you, and in that moment, you had gone through the impossible.

#the lost boys #the lost boys x reader #dwayne x reader #poly lost boys #david x reader #gay #marko x reader #paul x reader #david the lost boys #paul x male reader #tlb paul #paul the lost boys #marko x male reader #tlb marko #marko the lost boys #marko #tlb david x reader #tlb david #david #dwayne x male reader #tlb dwayne #dwayne the lost boys #david powers #Marko thompson #Dwayne Stephans #Paul Harris #Michael Emerson x reader #Michael Emerson x Male reader #Michael Emerson #TLB michael

[sinspark4]

Roddy's Ghost Adventures

The Rake: This is the first video Rewind stumbled across after finding something called "The Dark Web" when searching for media for his crew mates. The video is distorted, corrupted, everything inside it is hard to make out or understand. All Rewind can gather from the feed is the panicked screaming of a human and glowing, yellow eyes. He does his best to clean up some of the feed but there are strange viruses lurking in the coding Rewind doesn't want to get anywhere near. He thinks he sees a forest, a house in the background, and a sign reading "Warren Park Trail, Montana." Then the video just ends. Abruptly. He took a moment to contemplate the recording before reading the caption.

Locals spoke of a creature known as "The Rake," a nightmarish being with sunken eyes, elongated limbs, and razor-sharp claws.

Legend had it that "The Rake" was once human, transformed by dark experiments or supernatural forces. Its first recorded appearance was in the late 1800s when it stared hauntingly at a family before vanishing into the night.

As years passed, more encounters were reported, each describing the creature's ability to appear and disappear, leaving behind an aura of dread. Witnesses spoke of its featureless face and guttural noises, claiming that even a brief encounter could plunge a person into madness.

Rewind snickered. This was ridiculous. They'd been on and off earth enough times they would have known if there were any humanoids outside of humanity by now. Some sparkling humans must have just gotten bored.

He ignores the twinge of discomfort ringing in the back of his processor and shuts his vocalizer off just in time to stifle the high-pitched yelp clawing up his intake when a bright yellow hand lands on his shoulder.

"Hey Rewind, whatcha got there?" Rewind turns his helm to stare up at his captain. Slowly, a smile spreads his lips behind his facemark. Oh this.....this will be good.

Log 1

Bots along for the ride: Rewind, Rodimus, Drift

Location: Warren Park Trail, Montana

Subject of interest: Urban Legend - The Rake

Notable Mentions: The air here seems....heavier. Shadows seem to somewhat defy sources of light. Rodimus has taken it upon himself to "Flame up" so everyone can see where they place their pedes. Drift's headlights help but they don't seem to penetrate the strange blanket of darkness. Walking around tonight in search of this legend has proven fruitless. Perhaps this is the first he can strike off the list? He will have to wait till they were back on ship and he had a moment to himself before he can review the feed. He's going to have to do a lot of tweaking before the video is comprehensible.

Here is the rendered photo without the drawn on Video Cam.

This is the first installment of my new mini-series. I am so excited to finally post this, I've had the rendered photo done for a while now and was just waiting on myself to finish up the companion comics.

This literally was entirely inspired from solely two things.

1.) As I was sketching Roddy for practice, the song "Dumb Ways to Die" came up on my for you playlist on Spotify. This kinda put in a little seed of sorts.

2.) My brother is starting to get into art and we often go to the cafe together to practice. It's great being able to have a critique buddy right there as you're working together. On the day after scenario 1, him and I went to the cafe and I had been practicing landscapes. My intent had been to make a fairytale like environment. I showed him, we looked at each other, and both stated. "Yeah that's haunted." It's like a light bulb went off in my head. A very very insistent light bulb.

And thus, "Roddy's Ghost Adventures" has been born! Stay tuned for future installments~

#transformers #transformers fanart #ao3 #transformers fandom #maccadam #transformers memes #maccadams #rodimus #drift #rewind #transformers mtmte #transformers art #digital art #I may or may not also make one-shots for these drawings? Let me know if that interests you. #Some companion comics may be released randomly as interludes. #I whole-heartedly believe Rodimus is def a coward towards things that go bump in the night #Poor Drift. Always getting dragged into Rodimus' shit. #Sin's mini-series: Roddy's Ghost Adventures #Sin’s TF Art

[goldengirlls]

Hot off the press from “possessive” (TO FUCKING DIE FOR BTW) and ya girl is already in your asks 5 seconds later quite literally down on my hands and knees like the filthy slut I am begging you and your brilliant filthy mind of edging content 😇

permanent

warning: 18+!!!! + edging + age gap (readers in her 20’s, rafe’s in his 40’s!!) + daddy kink + sir kink

summary: bad girls don’t get rewards

a/n: if any errors ignore them !! okay !!! so !! i usually don’t do requests but since everyone loved possessive + since im in such a happy mood i thought id quench y’alls thirst !!! angel baby i love you and your support now & forever so i hope this satisfies your need <3333 I HOPE I DID YOU JUSTICE @r0und3bitch

series masterlist

playlist

“Please let me cum, I — fuck, I wont do it again.” You yanked ficiously on his hair pulling, scratching, begging him to let you have a release. He refused to budge. All he saw was red the moment he figured you out. 

“Please let me cum, I — fuck, I wont do it again.” You yanked ficiously on his hair pulling, scratching, begging him to let you have a release. He refused to budge. All he saw was red the moment he figured you out. 

“Please let me cum, I — fuck, I wont do it again.” You yanked ficiously on his hair pulling, scratching, begging him to let you have a release. He refused to budge. All he saw was red the moment he figured you out. 

His mood instantly perked up when you strutted through his door. One foot in front of the other, his smile never leaving as he pushed his chair back, arms in front of him — inviting you into him. His lips not wanting to leave yours the moment he found them. He was lovestruck. Never did he care about you showing up, he was proud to have you on his arm, to call you his, to know that he had something everyone wanted. His neutral colored office with a dark wooden desk stood firm in his spacious, forty fifth floor floor to ceiling window office. A picture of the two of you at a polo event to the left of his computer, two chairs in front of his desk, and to the far left a cream colored couch and glass table — that you demanded he had when you came to visit. 

Your blue Dior Saddle bag hung over your shoulder, Bottega heels, light makeup and a contagious smile. What he didn’t know was that you were only in a coat. So when his hands found the belt that hid his treasure he completely lost it. 

Coat discarded, papers scattered l over the floor, your body sprawled in front of him on his desk, wrists bound above your head —with his tie. Never failing to ask if he could demolish his favorite meal. 

“Tsk — such a naughty girl.” He hummed into your over worked clit. He had picked up the phone, immediately telling Annabelle (his assistant) to cancel his meetings for the rest of the day that he was busy handling something that needed his attention. “Walking in here, wearing everything I bought you. You know what that does to me.” His cerulean eyes now the color of the sky at night, “You wanna know somethin?” His eyes hid the internal inferno that was currently taking place, a whine leaving your jumbled mind. Adding another finger, his thumb tracing his favorite words while his free hand held down your hips. “I get off, crave, need to see you in the things that I buy for you. Fuck you’re so tight. Knowing that you wear these things because I bought them for you. In a fucked up way pretty girl it’s me marking my territory.” His smirk is heard through every single letter. You clenched around his fingers, working your hips, rutting into him. His hungry eyes never leave your glazed eyes as he spoke to you, removing his fingers, denying you once again from another orgasm. 

“Please, please, please I promise it won’t happen again.” Lie. You said something very similar to that last time when you walked in here in nothing but a light blue button up of his. It came out as a whine, a plea — you were begging desperately for him. It would always be him. It was the fourth time his fingers and mouth had denied you from your mind blowing orgasm and you only had yourself to blame. “Daddy — I — please. Fuck I’ll do anything. Just. Please daddy.” Your arms holding you up to make eye contact with him.

“Please.”

His hand wrapping around the back of your head to bring you closer to him “Have you learned your lesson baby?” His thumb brushing against your warm, rosey cheek. His lips slotting onto yours, his tongue running on your bottom lip, teasing you before pulling away as you chased his swollen lips that lingered you on them. That matched your overworked clit and swollen lips. 

“Yes. Yes sir — daddy. It won’t happen again. Just please, I'll do anything.” Glazy doe eyed and your soul leaving your body when his tongue met your over sensitive clit. 

He hummed into you knowing this is exactly what he wanted. Begging. Desperate. All for him. Now you know how he felt. He was always desperate for you. Always needing you breakfast, lunch and dinner. His free hand, no longer on your hips but wrapped around your neck, tangling it around your neck and necklaces. 

His fingers curl to brush your g’spot over and over again. His lips move down, teasing your hole before shoving his tongue into you. He didn’t care who heard you. He wanted people to hear the things leaving your body. He got off knowing he had a twenty something year old getting off because of him and he wanted people to know. His tongue swirling anywhere and everywhere, his fingers working furiously on your clit Cameron being traced. 

“Shit — angel baby, show me.”

With every bit of strength and willpower you unwrapped your hand , slid it slowly down your body and placed your left hand in front of his face. 

You were now on your way to being a Cameron. And fuck — when he got down on his knee, to ask you those four words, something he swore he’d never do. His heart beating astronomically fast, the sun kissing you in the most angelic way. So when you muttered the letter word he was sent to space. The one thing that promised him you forever. His new favorite accessory on you. You had his heart from the moment he saw you on his computer screen, legs spread, head thrown back as your vibrator worked itself on your clit. 

You clenched around his tongue? His fingers? You weren’t sure what it was but it was sending you into Euphoria. “I — Can I? Please?” Out of breath and on the verge of a tantrum. 

“Hold it.” His voice deep and powerful just like his presence. His fingers now working you impossibly faster, his pants tighter and he knew his cock was red and purple, veins piercing, painfully hard and he could see the wet spot on his pants from the pre cum. His mouth everywhere on your clit, your hands grasping his hair, legs squeezing around his head and your back arched begging the devil to release the demon that was begging to be set free. 

“Cum now.” Earth shattering scream, nails puncturing his scalp, his face covered with you and your favorite his cold rings now soaked in your cum, all from him. A moment passes as he kisses your thighs and places you straddling him in his lap.

“You okay?” His lips meeting your head, fingers dancing through your hair and your breath trying to find a steady pace. A small hum in response to him “Yes.” Picking your head up to look at him with blow pupils and dry lips. A meaningful kiss on his lips, then his hand reaching for your ring adorned hand, kissing your palm, then each knuckle and then finally the peace of him that laid on you. 

"I love you."

The moment that would permanently live forever in his mind. 

#rc #rafe cameron #outer banks #outerbanks #obx #rafe cameron smut #rafe cameron x fem!reader

[caluski]

@moldavite tagged me to post my current music faves (thank u kalli a big fucking MWAH goes out to u in this gloomy april evening) so yay!!! i love posting spotify links of course... more belowww. trying so hard for everyone to only post things i havent shared before... trying!!

obviously justice is on repeat - both incognito and saturnine, but im putting here incognito bc it does have the coolest intro and outro everrr like ouuughhhh like justice goes so fucking hard when they choose to have some retro synths................ actually have you listened to planisphere today? you should (talking to everyone)

i havent actually talked about my thoughts on khruangbins new album... which is obviously good but i simply didnt have the time to get into it :/ ive been hoping to give it a good listen, no skips no nothing, on a day off but work has been kicking my ass a bittt... anyway! Pon pón is fun. it came out as a single few weeks back and ive gotten really into it.... sooooo groovy

vampire by sholto is what some of you might recognize from love and food playlist? but ohhhhhh fuckkkkkkk its so good. i dont even know this guy and i didnt think much of it other than "yeah its cool" when i added it to my library. such a great and sinister feeling jazzy number.... AND WHEN THE SAX HITS!!!!!!!!! thats so good. please listen to vampire.

more radio pop!!!!! MORE MAINSTREAM KEVIN PARKER!!!!!!!! i do love tame impala's older/more niche sound just as much as i love him "selling out" (whatever, i will defend his minions and elvis tracks until i die and i will MEAN it) so i am STILL excited for this album even though the roll-out of singles has been consistently awful. but i guess dua lipa is a slow riser always (however long did it take her to peak on charts with 'dont start now'???). plus obviously DANNY!!!!!! YAY FOR DANNY!!!!!

its been a really good spring so far, with so many of my faves releasing music, and obviously that includes sebastian. i remember watching the runway show this was made for, but for some reason i didnt hear the whole track - maybe it was just highlights or something? i really love the synths in this one. its unusual for him to bring the choral singing in the start instead of the climax of the track, but its really well done (as always)! i wish, i wiiiiiiiiish there was something happening about the new album, too.

charli's really being weird recently about everything but goddddddd this slaps so good. im usually not that big on gesaffelstein but i do love ag cook so much. its going to be such a good clubbing record like literally.... its crazy she STILL gets labeled hyperpop. i also like club classics, but b2b is TRULY superior out of this double drop....

the beat of this one is just stuck in my head at all times. its cute! fun! perfect for spring. theyre soon to release their debut album, i need to remember to check it out. while its not SOTY material so far, its just cool and pleasant.

more dance sounds - i like this one a lot! really catchy. ive never really been into 1tbsp but yeahhhhh with this one, i get it.

ok i for sure posted this one before, but its ok bc it got like 0 or 1 likes or something. starwolf is a band im really hopeful for!!!! their 2020 album was pretty interesting, but its their three last singles that got my ears all perked up. some daytime disco vibes in them, and its really cool considering i was somewhat.... underwhelmed by poolside's last album. so, i feel good about starwolf now! fingers crossed for summer, as it would be a perrrrrrrfect record to replay over and over during hot sunny days.

and SUUUUUUUUUUUCHHHHHHHHH a spring favorite for the end. kind of getting lost in this one.... number one song i keep thinking of during sweet sunny walks recently. unbelievably cute. 10000% recommend.

#pogaduchy #not tagging anyone bc idw look like a fucking idiot when no one responds anyway 😭😭😭 #Spotify

[fallow-foot]

Hey would you like a fully story smp that rips your heart out every step of the way with amazing storytelling and role play? Well I have just the perfect smp for you!

Outsiders smp!

Outsiders smp is an amazing role play smp with a amazing story line and characters. The smp is inspired by maze runners and is set in a giant maze with the goal to be to escape and survive! Throughout the smp the players must work together and figure out the secrets of the maze to survive while avoiding the dangers the maze holds.

And if you look for an smp with a complete end layer out in story this is perfect for you to become Outsiders has that to! As of today (jun 12th 2022) outsiders has just finished the first part to its finale and the second part is scheduled for a release date of late July! So it’s an amazing time to come watch all the different povs and story each character has to offer!

Now you may be wondering now hey we’re could I watch this smp? And here’s a few!

Owengejuice:

(Owens pov is on the YouTube side one of the most complete will all his stream being made into YouTube videos! He’s the one I’d very much recommend starting with because he’s the most up to date and is a good jump point into other povs)

YouTube playlist (note if their are a few not in the playlist they are his most recent videos. He just didn’t put them in yet most likely) https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLCdB6oYO2Mw33gTlhut4zKOtqVyf4AY27

Bek:

(Like Owen bek’s stream are made into videos and are all on her YouTube channel! Though she came into play later in the series and isn’t their much after a certain point but a very good pov and very different from Owen!)

YouTube playlist: https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLN_FkhBTuPmsi_H2ywM_IHVTVBXT7ZYUw

Magic

(Magic while not having any streams made into videos has all her streams on her twitch! She’s a very fun pov with a mystery still not revealed! She like Bek is a later character to apear! She also makes music and has them all on her channel!)

Twitch (find streams in her highlights!) https://twitch.tv/magicsings

YouTube (don’t lisen to a hopeful melody until you have watched the finale! It spoils something! All the other should be fine to watch because they don’t really spoil stuff!) https://youtube.com/channel/UC0mkxdp2V4QOr3lxes0cUYg

Also here’s a very helpful vod finder of other members I didn’t mention!

Theirs also a wiki!

(Do note tho that the wiki in some areas isn’t up to date completely! It also has massive spoilers for events and the deaths of characters in the card with their description! (A characters card changes when they die and gets grayed out))

It is such a good and well done series with amazing storytelling and it’s just so well made. It’s so so SO good and I literally cannot recommend it enough! PLEASE WATCH. You won’t regret it!

#outsiders smp

[sergeantjessi]

HEY JESS!! I HAVENT YAPPED W YOU IN A WHILE!!

I BRING YOU A NEW ASK GAME!!

i ask you numbers 23, 5, 19, 7, and 11 <3333

OMGGGG IS THAT MY BELOVED MUTUAL SAM??? <33333

(^ literally my reaction)

HI HOW YOU'RE DOING? THANK YOU FOR STOPPING BY <333

23. Last song you listened to Oh noooo you activated my trap carddd (it's a German song) Wie Es Geht - Die Ärzte <3 (For some reason this is like THE live song for me. Impossible to not feel like I'm dancing in a crowd when this song plays. But I also love it in general. Overall perfect vibes love ittt) But I'll once again cheat the system and also tell you the last English song I listened to >:3 Which would be Wicked Game - HIM

05. Good song for road trips This is a funny question bc I'm currently working on something like a road trip playlist But out of the [checks playlist] already over 1.3k songs in there, the first one that came to my mind was Loser - Beck.

19. Song you just found I didn't technically find it buuuut Mother Mother released a new album a few days ago, and those are the like, the newest songs I've listened to... One of my faves might be Days - Mother Mother

07. Song that you used to like Oooohhh interesting question... I can't really think of any specific songs? Especially bc I'm not immune to nostalgia, so even if I didn't listen to a song for like, 10 years I'll still be like omggg that song.... yeah I love that.... But I think generally speaking... There were some like, ~emotional~ German rap songs that I liked when I was like. 8. And while they do feel nostalgic, I think I've outgrown them.

11. Song from the 70s Noooo the first song I checked was actually from the 80s FRICK Going with 10:15 Saturday Night - The Cure for this one <3

#THANK YOUSO MUCH <3333333 #I HOPE YOU HAVE A FANTASTIC DAY <333333333333 #THIS MADE ME VERY HAPPY <3333333333333 #jester answers #samuels0art #<333333 #own

[fae-renjun]

let down your hair ; pjs

part of the happily never after collab hosted by @soobisms and @karsohn ! happy halloween !!

pairing: flynn rider!jisung x fem!rapunzel!reader

genre: rapunzel!au, dark-ish!au, y/n is highkey evil but has her reasons, jisung may or may not be evil but he's also pretty in love, honestly more fluffy than i'd intended

warnings: swords, dark magic, princesses kidnapped and kept in towers, reader and jisung kill lots of ppl together

wc: 2.4k+

a/n: the pitch perfect version of toxic by britney spears was on my playlist for this fic, do what you will with that information + this isnt proofread sorry for mistakes and stuff

i. when will my life begin?

When Y/N was 10 she found out who Mother really was. She really shouldn’t have been in Mother’s room while she was out. She shouldn’t have been a curious little nuisance like Mother said she was. She shouldn’t have opened the box of books. She shouldn’t have looked at the books. Or what Mother had written in the columns. But she did.

That was how it began. That was when the girl stuck in the tower found out she was the lost princess and the lost princess decided she had to save herself. She spent years figuring out how to use the magic in her hair against Mother Gothel. For 8 years, every day when Gothel left the tower for..work (or whatever she was really doing when she told Y/N she was working) - Y/N would get the books out and practice. She spent nearly a decade memorising incantations, making her hair glow, not gold like it did when she healed people, but dark purple. Healing wasn’t going to get her out of the tower, but dark magic would.

She’s finally learnt it all. She’s prepared for this moment. Nearly half her life had been preparation for this day - her 18th birthday - the day Mother Gothel would die. Or so she had planned. Until a hand clutched the edge of the window - the only way to leave or enter the tower. Mother Gothel had already left. From all she had told the girl, the tower was well hidden from the outside world. Out of fright Y/N grabbed the object closest to her - a frying pan.

With a loud groan an individual pulled himself up into the tower. Y/N, hiding near the window, smacked him with the pan she held. After he was knocked out she inspected the boy. He looked about the same age as her, except he was incredibly tall.

Whispering to herself she said, “Huh. He has pretty lips- What am I doing?” Y/N sighed, tearing her eyes away from the boy. 

She looked at the satchel he wore instead. Carefully opening it while trying not to wake him, she saw a tiara. She pulled it out and facing a mirror, tried it on.

The boy began to stir suddenly and Y/N panicked and tossed the tiara and the satchel in a cupboard. Before he could gain full consciousness she grabbed his hands and tied them together using her hair, then did the same for his legs. The boy, still lying on the ground, opened his eyes to Y/N standing directly above him and glaring. He screamed, causing her to scream back.

“Who are you?!?”

“Who am I? Who are you? You’re in my house!” Then, straightening herself up and dragging him to sit against the wall she continued, “And I’m not scared of you.”

“What is this- hair? Yeah you don’t have to be scared of me, just untie me.”

“You still haven’t answered my question.”

 “In my defence I asked first but you know what, I’ll oblige. I’m Park Jisung,” He replied with a smirk, “How’s your day going gorgeous?”

Y/N groaned, was he seriously trying to flirt with her? “My name is Y/N. Why did you climb into my home Park Jisung?”

“​​Here's the thing. I was in a situation, Gallivanting through the forest. I came across your tower and...Ho, ho no, where is my satchel?”

“I've hidden it, somewhere you'll never find it.”

“It’s in the cupboard isn’t it.”

“Why would it be in the cupboard?”

“It feels kinda obvious.”

“We are diverting from the point. What do you want? My hair? You want to cut it? Sell it?”

“No! Listen, the only thing I want to do with your hair, is to get out of it. Literally!”

Y/N backed away from Jisung. “Wait, what?”

“Why on earth would I want your hair? Look, I was being chased, I saw a tower, I climbed it, end of story.”

Y/N let out a quiet “Oh.”

Then she had an idea. He did climb in her home uninvited. Maybe he should pay. Maybe he could be her direct ticket out. She agreed to untie him, and eventually give him back the tiara (that part of the deal may have been a little bit subjective), as long as he took her to see the lights. The floating lanterns that she saw from her window on her birthday every year. She knew they were for her - the princess - but she wouldn’t be telling him that. Not when the tiara he had seemed to compliment her hair colour a little too perfectly.

When he finally agreed after 15 whole minutes of negotiation that involved a lot of constricted movement and whining on his part and the waving of a frying pan on her part, Y/N united her hair and he jumped to his feet. 

Jisung let out a sigh of disbelief and muttered something she probably didn’t want to hear. They both used her hair to get out of the tower and made their way to the more populated parts of the kingdom.

“Okay let’s go! Where’s my satchel?”

Dragging said satchel out of the cupboard and swinging it across her body, Y/N replied, “I’ll be holding onto it until you uphold my end of the deal.”

Y/N now recounted her plan in her head. Mother Gothel had gone to get her oil paints she’d asked for. Now she just had to play dumb until after they’d seen the lanterns and she’d be able to slip away to find Mother Gothel with the map she’d stolen from her room earlier. She continued following Jisung until they reached a pub, the snuggly duckling.

“Oh look Park! It’s named after you!”

“Oh how very funny. I am simply bursting with laughter,” Jisung deadpanned. “You want something to drink?”

ii. flower gleam and glow

Y/N thought for a moment. She needed him to trust her, maybe this would help.

“Sure.”

Big mistake. Very big mistake. The pub, contrary to its inviting name, was filled with very uninviting people - well at least uninviting towards Jisung. Nearly everyone there was a criminal of sorts, and nearly everyone also happened to know Jisung. They did not like him (and that would be an understatement).

Jeno and Jaemin - the muscular guys that were the most intimidating people Y/N had seen in her life and also happened to have some of the best smiles she’d ever seen - were a duo that had once agreed to work with Jisung and been double crossed by him (although they got their revenge ages ago, they were still a little bitter). Then there was Chenle, who’d learnt how to steal alongside Jisung as a kid but had been abandoned by his partner in crime when Jisung found bigger money-making solo jobs to do. There were many others as well, all of whom seemed to adore Y/N, and as they narrated their stories to her, their histories and their dreams, Jisung sat in a corner frowning. She laughed and made her way over to him. 

“What? You don’t have a story? A dream?”

Jisung sat up and said, “I want to be a king. Or just really rich. I think being a king would be too much pressure. I just want the money.”

“Ah. A man of great virtue, I see.”

Doing a tiny fake bow he replied, “Of course, and you should expect nothing less.”

Suddenly, pulling them away from the moment they were having, they heard a shout. Looking out the window, Jeno exclaimed, “The Royal Guard! Park, hide! You’re wanted! Y/N you better hide with him.” 

Mark, the bartender pulled one of the levers and hurried the 2 of them under the counter into a secret passage. 

“It leads outside, they won’t find you there.”

After hurriedly thanking the blue-haired man, Jisung grabbed Y/N’s hand and pulled her down the passage with him. They walked for what felt like nearly half an hour to Y/N (and her exhausted legs), until they saw daylight at the end of the tunnel. They reached a clearing and Y/N settled herself there on some logs lying around. He had long let go of her hand, but it still felt strange where he had held her. She still felt the warmth of his palm. She didn’t know if she liked the feeling or hated it, but either way she still didn’t trust him.

Jisung turned so his back was facing her as he dusted his clothes off and said, “You’re a pretty bad actress, you know.”

“What?” she replied, startled.

He turned back to face her, “I can tell you have a plan of some sort. It’s obvious everytime you switch moods to act dumb in front of me. I don’t mind it, but if your plan happens to include not giving back my satchel or the tiara inside it, I’d rather know now.”

Y/N smirked, “I have no idea what you could possibly mean.”

Jisung pulled a knife from the inside of his jacket, “Oh yeah? Well maybe this will help you understand gorgeous.”

She gasped as she backed away. Ripping the satchel off her body she threw down in the space between them, “Fine! You can have it.”

Pleased, he picked up the satchel and opened it to check the contents were all there. While he looked away, Y/N began combing her hair with her fingers.

“You should know though, it does belong to me.”

By the time Jisung looked up it was too late, her hair was already glowing purple, her lips mouthing an incantation. She put her hands out and fired purple flames at a spot on the ground near his feet as she walked closer to him. Jisung panicked and pulled the knife back out but she just melted it. He stumbled to the ground as she stepped forward once again. Finally he held the satchel out to her.

Her powers calming down she grabbed it and draped it over her body once again. 

“You-you’re the princess. The lost princess.”

“Indeed I am.”

“Okay. Princess. I’m sure we can come to some sort of arrangement.”

“What kind?”

“Well, you clearly have a plan, something you need to do. What is it?”

“I need to kill my mother.”

“The queen?!”

“No! The woman that kidnapped me and kept me in a tower for 18 years! Idiot.”

“That wasn’t obvious when you said your mother! Anyway, I help you get to your ‘mother’ so you can kill her, and you give me the tiara in return? Or money. I take cash as well.” 

Y/N thought about it. In fact she thought for so long Jisung started getting tired of waiting for an answer. Honestly, she’d already made up her mind. She just wanted to agonise him more. She didn’t have to trust him as long as they both kept up their ends of the deal. They both had their motives. She cared far less about being princess than she did about 

“Okay.”

Jisung jumped to his feet, “Okay then! Let’s be on our way! Where’s your evil mother?”

 As they walked to the location Y/N described to him, she explained her plan to him, and how she’d trained herself to use her power over time. Jisung was in awe of her - the girl that had spent her whole life locked in a tower and taught herself to save herself. He wasn’t going to lie about being attracted to her. He could tell she was just as conniving as he was, just a lot smarter when she made her plans. Her acting could still use work though. He could help her with that, he thought to himself, before realising he was thinking about someone who, as far as he knew, very well planned to never see him again after he held up his end of the deal. 

“You don’t care about being princess do you?”

“Does a princess use her powers to kill people?”

“I wouldn’t think so. Then again, you’re the first princess I’ve met. I think the cool princesses would kill people anyway.”

iii. let your power shine

They were ambushed. Mother Gothel was working with the twins Jisung had been running from and they’d called for the Royal Guard. Gothel somehow found out she was working with Jisung, and Y/N’s blood was boiling. Not just that - her hair was glowing darker than it ever had. Gothel’s shock when she began the incantation made the 8 years of waiting truly worth it, and before she could lift a finger, Y/N was firing curses at her while Jisung fought the twins. The witch was helpless against the determination Y/N had bottled up all those years.

“You took my real life away from me, mother. Now you will pay.”

“Y/N, my beautiful child, how could you do this? All I ever did was care for you.”

“Care for me? You used me!” Y/N began the spell she’d worked the hardest on, the one that would kill Gothel for good as she said, “And for the last time - You’re. Not. My. Mom.”

One minute Mother Gothel was crouched on the ground in front of her, the next she was ashes. Y/N turned to see Jisung staring at her, not with fear, but with awe, and maybe even pride. He’d knocked the twins out a while ago but they knew they weren’t done yet. They could hear the Royal Guard’s horses not far off. Using an easier incantation she’d learnt she conjured a sword for Jisung and tossed it to him. 

They fought their way through the Royal Guard with ease. They were a team now. They’d both realised that. The guards kept coming, but they fought their way up to the centre of the city, to the front of the castle. As the last of the guards dropped to the ground, she heard Jisung’s sword clatter and watched him walk over the bodies to her. He cupped her face in his hands and before she could let out a word he pulled her in and their lips met. The kiss was everything. Everything they had done together. All the bodies that they’d made fall together. The power they both knew they had ignited that kiss. It was fiery and powerful and they kissed until neither one could breathe. 

When they finally broke apart, his hands in her hair and both their chests heaving, trying to catch their breath - they smiled at each other. 

“I think we could rule this kingdom together princess.” 

“I think so too, Park.”

#park jisung #nct dream #nct dream x reader #nct x reader #nct fanfic #jisung x reader #park jisung x reader #park jisung fic #renjun #jaemin #mark lee #jeno #haechan #chenle #nct fluff #collab

[xrosegorex]

NRC listening to Mitski

I didn't mean for it to be this long and I apologize

Riddle:

• didn't like her at first. said she was overrated. a decision that would later bite him in the ass

• after a particularly rough day, he was sitting on his bed around midnight listening to a random spotify playlist trying not to cry

• i want you came on and he just fucking broke lmao

• trey had to knock on his door like 🗿 "you good???"

• now listens to her regularly

• avoids i want you at all costs because it reminds him of that night and he gets embarrassed smh 🙄

Trey:

• this man bakes

• this man wears glasses and a silly little hat

• this man probably has stinky feet

• he listens to whatever the fuck christian moms listen to

• anyways i'm done shitting on trey

• i don't see him enjoying mitski on an emotional level. probably just likes the beat of the songs. does a little dance in the kitchen listening to the only heartbreaker while stirring cake batter 😒

• he just doesn't fucking get it

Cater:

• probably only knows her from tiktok lmaooo

• "mitski? oh, you mean that washing machine girl?"

• what the fuck

• got in a fight in the tiktok comment section about being a fake fan

• proceeded to listen to all of her albums out of spite

Ace:

• pretends he doesn't listen to her but in reality she's 90% of his spotify wrapped

• he won't admit it

• it was a secret until deuce walked in on him dancing to should've been me 💀

Deuce:

• the first song he heard was old friend

• couldn't relate to trying to reconnect with an ex but he heard the pain in her voice and was like "this is emotion!!"

• bro ✨bonds✨ with ace over mitski (they're dating they're just idiots and don't realize it)

• except deuce is the one that cares about the deep lyrics and stories behind them

• favorite song is my body's made of crushed little stars

Leona:

• he likes some of her songs but doesn't know it's her specifically???

• like just "oh i know that song" and that's it

• doesn't pay attention to the lyrics and just falls asleep to the quieter ones

• but once he did pay attention to the lyrics he was like "oh..."

• ma'am what did you mean by "i always wanted to die clean and pretty but i'd be too busy on working days"

Ruggie:

• yes

• definitely

• absolutely

• the lyrics. the stories. the delivery. the instruments.

• he loves it all

• working for the knife is about being trapped in the cruel music industry. though ruggie is absolutely not in the music industry, he can relate to being stuck in a cruel world that's working him to death

Jack:

• probably doesn't listen to music at all

• not even when he's working out

• can he even wear headphones or earbuds??? with those ears???? would the headphones be uncomfy and squish the soft ear tissue??? would the earbuds fall in and get lost in the floof???

• either way, mitski isn't going in there 😭

Azul:

• isn't azul's whole thing literally "retired from sad, new career in business"???

• knows all her songs and goes to all her concerts

• screams with her at the end of drunk walk home

• cries like a fucking baby during the loud part of carry me out

• bro keep it up and you're gonna overblot again 😐

• plays mitski on the speakers in the mostro lounge

• people are getting tired of it

• he's losing customers

• jade might quit

Jade:

• actually started to hate her because of how often azul played her songs 💀

• "if i have to hear nobody one more time i'm leaving"

• no jade doesn't give a shit if the songs are good. no jade doesn't give a shit if the lyrics have a deeper meaning. he's sick and tired of it

• maybe if azul didn't have mitski on repeat at the lounge jade would've had a more positive opinion on her 🙄

Floyd:

• floyd does not need the rollercoaster of emotions that come with mitski

• he's already unstable enough as it is 💀

• good thing he doesn't pay attention to the lounge speakers

• pretends he likes her to annoy jade but in reality he has never actually paid attention to a single song

Kalim:

• loves her

• has met her at one of her concerts

• she's so sweet too!!

• his favorite album is laurel hell mostly because a majority of the songs are danceable 💀

• insists on trying to play her songs during the music club meetings

• some of the songs are sexual??

• "oh good for her"

• smh

Jamil:

• only knows her because he went to the concert with kalim

• otherwise he wouldn't know mitski even existed 💀

• but he does like her

• has his own choreography for geyser

• he loves that mitski's choreography is pretty meaningful in and if itself

• he doesn't really have the time to sit down and read the lyrics

• so he'd be listening to her while cooking or something and he'd be caught off guard by some of the lyrics 😭

• "so he laid me down and i felt happy come inside of me" huh???

Epel:

• i feel like he'd be more into like mcr, evanescence, ptv, etc

• either that or country music 💀

• he doesn't listen to mitski

• can you imagine epel sitting in a tractor

• "chugabeer chugabeer chugabeer hopped in my truck and i hit a deer"

• poor epel

Rook:

• listen

• this man writes poetry

• of course he could appreciate the beauty of mitski

• analyzes everything

• "this verse states, 'my body's made of crushed little stars and I'm not doing anything.' this refers to the scientific belief that almost every element in the human body was once stardust, and mitski feels useless because she thinks her existence means nothing if she isn't living up to the expectations of the stars."

• bro calm down

• probably has notebooks filled with his favorite lyrics

Vil:

• heard neige listening to mitski and swore to never listen to her out of spite

• unfortunately that cannot happen with rook adding her to vil's spotify playlists

• how the fuck did rook get into vil's account 🤨

• didn't even realize it was mitski until it was too late

• he was live doing whatever the fuck beauty influencers do when they're live. spotify was on in the background. mitski came on.

• the comments went wild

• "vil likes mitski vil likes mitski vil likes mitski"

• vil is confused because he didn't add mitski to his playlist???

• tried to explain himself but no one listened

• someone was screen recording it

• neige texted him like "i didn't know you liked mitski"

• "but if i gave up on being pretty i wouldn't know how to be alive; i should mive to a brand new city and teach myself how to die"

• he feels called out

Idia:

• exclusively listens to anime openings and vocaloid

Ortho:

• he was watching cocomelon on youtube and autoplay was on

• it was a lyric video for crack baby

• idia should be lucky it wasn't cupcakke or something why the hell isn't kids mode on

• at least ortho was watching cocomelon so the recommended videos weren't too wild

• anyways 🙄

• ortho doesn't really listen to mitski but he can appreciate that she's doing her own thing and making meaningful songs that a lot of people can connect to

Malleus:

• do me ti why not me 😔💔

• in shame, the "(gasp) ooooooooooh" as the violins build up sends chills down his spine

• in pearl diver, the very last chorus at the end of the song also gives him chills

• "dive dive doooooooowwwwwwwwnnn hohohooooohohohooooooooooh ahhhahahahooooooooohhhwhwhhoooooooo"

• yeah that

• he feels the loneliness in her songs and it doesn't make him feel like there's someone out there who understands him, it just makes him feel even more lonely 💀

Lilia:

• this man's music taste is everywhere

• his spotify has to the grave (a heavy metal band that i've never seen anyone else listen to irl) right next to taylor swift

• he probably has mitski somewhere but she's not very high on his playlist

Silver:

• "i've been trying to lay my head down but i'm writing this at three a.m." 🙄

• he tries to listen to her because kalim likes her but he ends up falling asleep

• can somebody take him to the doctor because he's either cursed or he's narcoleptic

Sebek:

• if waka-sama likes mitski then so does sebek. fucking stalker.

Crowley:

• nah

• i really don't see him listening to and/or appreciating mitski

• why would he 💀

• he probably listens to that funky pop shit that comes on the radio

• his favorite song is probably barbie girl goddamn 🤭

Crewel:

• you know what

• yeah i think he does

• he's probably sewed a dress for her

• he made sure it was extra flowy and moved gracefully when she danced

• mailed it to her and was ecstatic when she wore it aww

Trein:

• you cannot tell me he, as a professor, doesn't like mitski.

• he reads the lyrics and has fun analyzing them. fucking teacher.

• her: "you told me once you were happy to have me but I never gave me away"

• trein: *taking notes*

• probably plays her at very low volume during class 💀

Sam:

• his friends on the other side managed to get a ticket for a random show that was in town

• of course he went because how many shows come to sage island

• that place is like the point nemo of twisted wonderland

• it happened to be mitski

• he loved it

• he loved how loving her fans were, even if some of the crowd was dull

• was not prepared for the crowd to scream at the top of their fucking lungs with her during drunk walk home 😭

• live footage of sam during drunk walk home: 🧍🏿

• ends up playing her in his mystery shop

V*rgas 🤢:

• no he's too busy eating eggs and looking like a fucking predator

#oh god i have to tag everyone #twisted wonderland #twst #twisted wonderland shitpost #riddle rosehearts #trey clover #cater diamond #ace trappola #deuce spade #leona kingscholar #ruggie bucchi #jack howl #azul ashengrotto #jade leech #floyd leech #kalim al asim #jamil viper #vil shoenheit #rook hunt #epel felmier #idia shroud #ortho shroud #malleus draconia #lilia vanrouge #twst silver #sebek zigvolt #mozus trein #dire crowley #divus crewel #twst sam

[thehistorynut19]

1, 2, & 4 for whichever s/i you wanna talk about !!!

......u

uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh

good question....

mmmm, Zero-One spoilers

Boa, my Zero-One self insert bc I love myself. She’s an assassin that is currently hired by ZAIA to like act as Gai’s bodyguard. She meets Naki there and they bond. When Naki ends up killed by Gai, Boa makes it her mission to bring Gai down from the inside. While she’s mostly shipped with Naki, I kinda shove her into a general MBJR ship because uh…I’m literally obsessed with these robots. Mostly Naki and Horobi.

 Boa’s real name is Lien (Vietnamese name for lotus), Boa is simply an alias because of her snake-like theme. A snake that slithers in the shadows to snuff out that sun, that’s what her progrise key is: Shadowy Boa Constrictor. She’s simply known as Kamen Rider Typhon, meant to bring down gods…by any means necessary. Her final upgrade is given to her by Naki, a failsafe before the whole uh MBJR movie happens. Jormungandr, as the name can mean ‘wolf serpent’ is the memento in case Kamen Rider MBJR came after her. And…it’s not pretty. Naki did save a bit of their data inside that key, a lasting moment of love for her. 

I do have other final forms in mind for her if she does end up smooching a diff MBJR member but uh, I’m mostly workshopping em but if you wanna hear, lemme know ;))))

Anyway Boa makes me very emo because Naki considers her their first human friend (and eventual romantic partner) and Naki is actually the first person to learn of Boa’s true name. There’s a moment before Naki gets killed where they are talking to one another in the hallway, “...I want to let you know of my true name.” and they want to know, but knowing that they possibly may die because of Gai when they ask him if HumaGears can live happily with humans… “I would be honored to know, not now, I have work to do.” they regret this moment, not learning her name and hearing the faint sounds of her sobs when she cradled their cold body, plucked from the stars…

post a meme that describes your s/i.

4.) what's a song that describes your s/i? even better if you have a playlist!

Other than the Greek influence, Boa’s main theme is the White Snake tale from Chinese folklore. Not only because of her snake theme but there’s a streak of white hair in her normally black locks that looks like a serpent winding it’s way through her hair. Plus the sense of being "trapped" in her obligation to Gai until she can murk him...or like trapped in her past as an assassin idk.

Anyway this is her song and a in depth translation of it. So many lyrics pertain to Boa specifically such as.

which can be seen as a goodbye to Naki

Ya know fighting the Ark and all that shit. How she refuses to fucking die despite how life wants to fucking destroy her. She actually planned to leave Japan after the series is over but Naki convinces her to stay. Death covets her form, her entire livelihood, happiness was never in the cards for her but she’s going to go out on her own terms. Fighting.

#HELLO BLAIR BOO I JUST WANNA SAY UR SO FUCKING COOOOOOOOOOOOOOOL #shout out to brookie bc i wrote some of this with you in mind-

[late-to-the-magnus-archives]

And Eat It, Too - Chapter Five: An Offer

In which Martin plays peacemaker, Elias is creepy, and Michael makes A Very Interesting Offer that sends Jon into one heck of a tailspin...

>>> NOW ON AO3!

There is monster-wooing afoot.

Also, this is the ONLY time Jon smokes a cigarette in this entire fic. He didn't like it.

(Masterpost including playlist)

*

CHAPTER FIVE

Jon’s charging his phone.

Everyone is hungry. It all smells of smoke. The firefighters are upstairs, and Elias is busy with police and insurance (and, Jon thinks, hopefully not pinning anything on anybody).

The rest sit in his office, staring at each other in the gloom.

His desk is the same—piled with papers, with cassette tapes, with hastily-scribbled notes and a filing system that makes sense only to him.

Tim and Martin sit across from him. Basira, Daisy, and Melanie are all missing, but there’s a reason for that. Nobody asks, so Jon doesn’t tell.

“You,” says Tim, and he’s shaking so hard with rage and bitterness that it practically oozes out of his pores. “You kept this from me.”

“Nobody kept anything from you, Tim. You haven’t been talking to anybody,” Martin tries, placating, gentle.

Jon looks at his phone. Five percent. He wants to get it to ten before he takes it upstairs to listen to his voicemails.

“How dare you do this to me,” says Tim.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jon snaps. “Nothing’s been kept from you. You haven’t spoken two words to me since I came back, and—”

“Oh, right, and you just happened to keep the Circus out of my hearing, is that it?”

What does that matter to you? Jon wants to say, but he doesn’t, oh no, because it isn’t just a question.

He can feel the statement in Tim, a story untold, and the urge to make him say it is so strong that Jon’s mouth tastes strange.

“Nobody’s kept anything,” says Martin. “Tim, talk to us. What’s going on?”

No, Jon thinks. I won’t compel him. He was my friend. No, you big bloody eyeball.

Tim breaths hard. Runs his hand through his hair. Glares at Jon.

Jon throws his hands in the air. “What do you want me to say? I’m sorry?”

“That’d be a start.”

“Well, fine! I’m sorry I didn’t magically know  who killed Gertrude and might be out for me! I’m sorry I had to be sure it wasn’t any of you because I didn’t want to die!”

“I’m sorry, too,” says Tim.

“Oh?” says Jon, allowing the tiniest flutter of stupid hope.

“Sorry I didn’t call the police on you while you were stalking my house!”

“All right, enough, this isn’t helping,” Martin says with more force than usual, and by some miracle, it works.

Or at least, it quiets.

Jon’s face burns. He doesn’t know how to apologize more for his behavior, when he hadn’t realized he was being fed paranoia like air. If he had the words, he’d use them.

He misses Tim. Misses his invasive and unnecessary cheer. Misses his stupid pranks.

He doesn’t know the words.

“Let’s focus, all right?” says Martin. “The Circus. Tim… why does that mean something to you?”

And Jon can feel the story, feel the truth rising up in Tim like volcanic spew, and he wants it, he needs it, he craves it—

Jon literally bites his tongue, locks it down, fights the power that would drag this statement from Tim whether he wanted to speak or not.

“Fine,” says Tim.

Jon exhales in relief. Then Tim starts talking, and Jon forgets to breathe.

#

“I’m sorry, Tim,” he says, very softly.

“Me, too,” says Martin.

Tim isn’t looking at them. He started crying at some point, but nobody called it out; crying as he described his brother, crying as he touched on the last, brief time he saw him alive, crying as he confesses the shame that if he’d known it was the last, he’d never have just left him there on the living room couch.

Then the rage comes back, and the tears stop coming.

(And fear, oh yes, Jon can feel the tremors of old terror eating away at Tim’s nerves as he describes the thing wearing Danny’s skin, tries and fails to excuse his half-mad flight instead of staying, fighting, doing something, dying for brotherly love.)

“It’s why I joined the Institute. I wanted answers,” says Tim, wiping his face with a napkin from Martin’s impromptu tea service.  He wouldn’t accept the tissues Jon offered. (“Oh, for heaven’s sake, they’re not poisoned,” Jon had snapped, and Martin had to calm them both down again.) “I’ve been looking for years. And If you think,” Tim continues, “for one damn second that you can keep me out of this—”

“No one’s going to keep you out of anything,” soothes Martin.

“I am,” says Jon, and they both look at him with equal levels of exasperation—but only one of them is fond.

“Like hell you are,” says Tim.

“This is dangerous! Do you think I want you hurt? Do you think Danny would want you to die for this?” says Jon.

Martin’s face tells Jon that was a bad thing to say.

Tim half-rises from his seat. He’s not as large as Michael, no, but he is a strong, fit man; his fists are clenched, his shoulders tightening.

Breekon and Hope’s handling flashes through Jon’s mind, and he freezes.

“The Stranger is very cruel,” says Michael from the side. “Far worse than me, if you think about it.”

Martin scrambles off his chair and to the opposite wall, trembling.

Tim stands, fist raised. Hesitates.

Jon is so tired. “Hello, Michael. Thank you for getting rid of the book, and… you know.” He makes a snipping motion.

Michael hasn’t decided on its form, apparently—it’s human-like, but too long, too stretched out; the hands are terrifying, and something in its eyes swirls like galaxies. “I can’t have you going mad yet, Archivist. You haven’t stopped the Unknowing.”

“You are working together!” Tim accuses, as if catching Jon red-handed.

“As of two days ago, yes,” snaps Jon, “because no matter what you think, my primary goal is preventing us all being skinned alive without remembering our names!”

“Oh, like they were about to do to you! How clever, Archivist!” Michael claps its hands.

Tim looks confused. “What?”

“Tim,” Martin stage-whispers. “He’s been kidnapped. For a month. By the Circus.”

Tim’s expression hits so many things at once that Jon can’t follow them, and can only hope at least one of them was favorable. “I don’t care!” Tim shouts. “Maybe he was there on purpose! Or maybe he did it to himself, spying on the wrong person!”

Jon can’t do this anymore. Not now, not today. He unplugs his phone and walks out the door.

“Jon!” Martin calls.

Michael laughs.

Jon does not engage.

#

Jon, did you get a new place? You owe me that address, Oh, and the Admiral says you’ve never fed him once in your life. Georgie.

Jon, call me back. We found Melanie, but... it’s not good. Call me. Basira.

Hey—don’t go quiet on me now, Sims. Not after everything. Georgie.

Jon. She’s killed someone. I don’t know if we can do this. Basira.

Hi… Jon? I… I don’t… I’m scared. Melanie.

Jon, just to remind you, I’ve still got your tapes, so you really need to call me back. Georgie.

Jon exhales. The phone is down to seven percent, is still updating itself over cellular data, and will not last if he tries to make calls.

He doesn't need a phone for his next step, though.

There was a statement from New Zealand in 2014—just one. The good news is he doesn’t have to go there; the bad news is, he has to go chase down a traffic warden.

He checks his phone. Six percent.

“Great. A metaphor,” Jon mumbles, and reaches for a cigarette.

He hadn’t smoked in years before all of this started. He’d been so proud of himself, quitting, but here he is, in the back courtyard, staring at dead trees and puffing tar.

So powerful, me, he thinks wryly, blowing carcinogens into the wind. Remarkable specimen.

“Really, Jon?” says Elias, coming up from behind him. “Smoking, after the place has been on fire? That seems rather pointed.”

“At least it’s only a cigarette and not you,” Jon mutters, unthinking, then stiffens.

Elias doesn’t take the bait. “If, in all this research, you ever find out why Gertrude decided to firebomb the place she’d called her own for fifty years, do let me know.”

Jon pushes. “Pity you didn’t bother to learn how she planned to stop the Unknowing before you killed her.”

“Yes, well. I saw her with gasoline and flame and I… overreacted. I don’t do it often, Jon.”

“Oh, I know,” he scowls, studying the lit end of his cancer stick. “Getting a real reaction out of you is almost impossible. Apparently, it’s this,” he gestures at all of Elias, “or murder.”

Elias smiles. “How nice of you to say.”

Jon sighs, puffing out his cheeks. “Why did she do it?”

“I don’t know. As I’ve repeatedly said, I stayed out of her head as much as possible.”

Jon is not sure he believes that. “How do I earn that honor?”

“You don’t. I’m afraid I learned my lesson with her.”

Yet another sin of Gertrude’s that Jon has to pay for. “To hell with Gertrude, then,” says Jon, toasting nothing.

Elias smiles tightly. “Martin is looking for you.”

Jon flinches. “And Tim?”

“Hiding in the archives. You won’t see him if you go before closing.”

Jon looks at him sidelong. “Go?”

“To Piccadilly. A traffic warden, isn’t it? Don’t worry about any of the forms. I’ll count this as work hours.”

Jon rubs his face. “You know, you could make yourself useful and actually help us.”

Elias smiles again. His coat flutters a little, caught in a low breeze. “I do help—just not in ways you see. It would do little good for me to approach your traffic warden, anyway. I may have some abilities—”

Jon scoffs.

“—but you are the Archivist. You have power to pull the truth from people in a way I never could.”

“You read minds.”

“That is not the same as summoning one’s past, eloquently and without deceit.”

Jon knits his brow.

“You will have such powers as I could never dream, in time. You will thank me someday, Jon.”

Jon doubts all of that.

He stubs out the cigarette (it wasn’t satisfying, and he chooses to blame Elias), starts to leave, stops. “Why did you even hire me?” He stands to Elias’ side, not looking at him. “I was in research, not library science or archival anything. You know I wasn’t qualified for this position.”

Elias turns toward him, gray eyes alight. “Perhaps not in the traditional sense, Jon—but you are qualified for it. More than,” he says, low and strangely warm.

Then he touches Jon’s arm.

Jon jumps back and hurls a scowl.

Elias is smug, getting whatever he gets out of Jon’s stupid little reactions.

But eye contact has yielded things, or maybe that unexpected touch, because Jon knows all of a sudden a thing that makes no sense, that needs context, that sticks out to him like a heated poker. “She was trying to kill you.”

Breeze picks up around them, ruffling Elias’ hair, skittering leaves across the cement. “Oh, Jon, you are improving.”

(Why? What did she know? Why would she place Elias on the same level as a fear-god’s ritual? What did she think burning the place would achieve? Would Elias actually die?)

Jon opens his mouth, unable to stop, unable to keep them all inside—

“Jon?”

Martin has found them.

Jon suddenly fears putting Martin in danger. “Hello, Martin,” he says with poor exuberance, trying to take attention as he marches for the door.

Elias looks amused. Jon ignores him.

“I listened to that pig thing,” says Martin. “What was that about?”

“Fear,” says Jon.

“A monster pig? Really? It’s so weird.”

Because Martin hadn’t read the statement. Martin wasn’t close enough to the Eye to feel some poor vintner’s horror by just listening to a tape. “They’re all weird, Martin,” says Jon expansively, and drags the larger man back inside.

#

He hasn’t talked to Georgie.

Basira won’t answer her phone.

Neither will Melanie.

Jon will not call Daisy.

He hopes he hasn’t sent them all to their deaths.

“Penny for your thoughts, Archivist?” says Michael from across the Chinese food cartons.

Jon won’t look at it. He feels heavy. “They’re not worth anything, I’m afraid.”

“Poor Archivist.” Michael uses its fingers like chopsticks and steals a few noodles. “Always so worried about all the wrong things. Gertrude was much more focused, you know.”

Jon makes a note not to eat anything from that particular carton. “I don’t care about Gertrude. Though I have to go to Beijing because she did.”

“That is a sentence,” says Michael.

Jon leans back. He hasn’t removed the sheets from the furniture. He may have come back here a second night, but that just feels a step too far. “There’s a… sister organization to the Magnus Institute. Gertrude did something there, and I have to go see what. The flight’s going to be hell,” he mutters.

“I could take you,” offers Michael. “For a price.”

“No.”

“You haven’t even asked me what I want yet.”

“I thought you were a what. Since when do you want anything?”

Michael laughs and offers him the carton.

To hell with it, says Jon, who really likes lo mein, and takes a bite, anyway. It probably won’t kill him.

“All I want is to have an… easier time giving you my nightly gift,” says Michael.

“Mm?” Jon blinks at it, mouth full.

Michael sighs, twists, peers at him upside down. “You do fight me. Constantly, you know. All I want is to be closer while you sleep.”

“I do not fi- closer! You’re already practically on top of me.”

Its fingertips touch his cheek. It moved so quickly he didn’t see it, and he nearly chokes. “You do fight me. Every night so far, Archivist. It is tiresome.”

Should he feel guilty for that?

Should he not feel guilty for that?

“If I make contact with you while you sleep, you will recall I am there. That is all, Archivist.”

“Closer than just in the bed?”

“Oh, yes.”

Jon’s eyes narrow. “You’re asking a lot.”

“I’m giving a lot,” it says with a too-wide smile.

Jon is so tired.

“I suppose it makes sense, in a way,” he says to the fried rice. “The only people who want to be near me are either deluded, or monsters.”

Michael laughs. “And which category would you say I fall into?”

“I’m fairly sure you are in a category all your own.”

Michael finds that absolutely delightful. It’s still laughing as Jon tucks all the cartons into the fridge.

A trip to Beijing for a touch as he’s sleeping.

What is it trying to do? Is it telling the truth?

Surely it would make no difference to his safety. If the thing wanted to stab him through the throat at night, or in the day, there is precisely nothing Jon could do to stop it.

Powerful, he thinks, bitter. So powerful I can make traffic cops confess to taking bribes, but know nothing about the monster asking to touch me in my sleep. Yes, I’ll shake the foundations of the world, for certain.

Wearing someone else’s pajamas, he sits on the settee.

“The bed would be more comfortable,” Michael suggests in a tone too syrupy to be anything but a facetious come-on.

“Oh, good lord,” Jon mutters, and then his phone rings. “Georgie,” he says into it with great relief.

“There you are! Settling in? Got a hotel? Moved in with a monster, maybe?” says Georgie, who is clearly just ranting, but she’s also too close.

“I… it’s a borrowed place. For now. I have to head out of the country.”

A pause. “Did Elias kill someone again?”

“No.” Jon pinches the bridge of his nose. “He’s only done it twice.”

He doesn’t have to be able to see Georgie to know the face she’s making. “Okay,” she says. “You’re not staying with him, are you?”

“No!”

Another pause. “You’re not giving me your address, are you?”

“This is a temporary location. I don’t have an apartment yet. Just… send things to the Institute, and I’ll get them there.”

“Sure.”

He’s hurt her. “Georgie…”

“You’re a big boy, Jon. You can make your own choices.”

“Georgie—”

“Let me know when you’re back, at least. Okay? Night.” She hangs up before he can say anything else.

“Oh, Archivist,” thrums Michael, and how did Jon not notice it stretching out like some kind of play-doh, leaning over the table and coming so close that its face is right next to his? “Such uncertainty!”

Jon presses back against the settee. One corner of the sheet comes loose. “What are you talking about?”

“Your friend,” Michael says with a face that is not at all human, all teeth and none, all eyes and none, too many heads or no heads, and every variation makes Jon doubt the one he thought he saw before. “So much uncertainty when it comes to your friend.”

(Did I do the right thing, was it worth it, was I a fool, was she a fool, should I have stayed, should I have never asked for her help, should I have never said yes when she asked me out in the first place, should I just have said yes when she wanted to go further, did I damn her when I did say yes to going out…)

Michael is right, but Jon’s not happy it knows. “M…” He swallows, pressing back further. “My friend is… my life is none of your business.”

“I disagree.”

Jon breathes too fast. “Are you going to kill me right now?”

It’s so close as it sighs. “It seems the subtle approach is useless with you, Archivist.”

“Subtle approach? To what?”

And it practically purrs: “Do you want to be seen?”

Whatever that means, and yet—

Oh, thinks Jon.

“No,” says Jon.

Yes, feels Jon, feels everything inside him that he doesn’t want to be, but is, and he shudders.

“It doesn’t matter in the end,” says Michael, “but I wonder if it is connected: you need to see, to be seen—so why do you resist?” says Michael, and rests its knife-sharp hands on his nightshirt.

Jon is frozen. He swallows. “What do you mean?”

“It Knows You would bless you with all its gifts if you would only give yourself to it fully,” Michael says, smooth, its distorted voice coated in honey. “It likes you.”

“It doesn’t like anything,” snaps Jon, sharper with his rising fear, sharper with his rising confusion because he isn’t asking Michael to stop, and he should be, he should be, but he is so curious. What the hell is it doing? “It’s just an… an eye, a great big… paranoia machine, watching everybody all the time, and… and not giving a flip about any of it!”

“It does, Archivist,” Michael purrs.

Jon swallows. (Is it trying to intimidate him? Is this about getting closer at night? What is it trying to do?) “Nonsense.”

“It likes you very much. Almost as much as I do.” And it kisses the tip of his nose.

Jon startles badly and tries to shove it away.

His hands sink into the shoulders, up to the wrist with the force he put into it, and he wrenches them back with a little cry.

They tingle.

They… both tingle.

Jon stares at his right hand.

The bandages have come loose, pulled by whatever the hell Michael is made of. The old burns are clearly visible through it—burns in the shape of a hand, cruel indentations, marring his flesh like wax.

He never feels anything with this hand. He can’t. Jude Perry saw to that.

“Archivist,” Michael sings at him, ignored.

“I felt that,” Jon whispers, and touches his hand. But no, he imagined it. His right hand feels dead, as always; the Eye healed it enough that he can move it, write with it, do whatever, but it has no sensation where Jude burned him.

Michael draws its fingertips along the ugly valleys Jude’s grip made.

Jon was wrong. It tingles, like the cells are coming awake. He gasps. “How are you doing that?”

“Delusion, Archivist. All sensation is but what is perceived, after all.”

“So it’s a lie, and the hand feels nothing.”

“Oh, Archivist, why do you insist on labels?” Michael sighs again, and draws its claws down his chest.

It isn’t cutting him—isn’t even catching on the sleepshirt—but every scar from Prentiss’ attack suddenly comes to life just like his hand, and he gasps as they light up, everywhere, dancing over his face and torso and legs, brilliant spots of past pain and now…

It feels like stars, he thinks inanely.

Then he panics.

“Get off me!” he says, shoves it again, but this time, Michael is solid, and Michael goes—sliding back across the table, retracting to its position on the couch, smiling at him in elongated-Michael form.

It licks its lips at him.

“What was that supposed to be?” snaps Jon.

Michael tilts its head. “An offer,” it says.

“For what?”

Michael’s look is pitying. “Oh, Archivist.”

Oh.

The penny drops.

Never in his wildest dreams—literally—had he considered that a creature made from fear and nightmares would proposition him.

(Is a monster actually trying to seduce me? Would it get anything out of it? Do they even have parts? Why would it ask for this? Am I misreading this? Will Michael be angry if I answer wrong?)

He knows he’s terrible at picking up that particular kind of clue. He only figured out Georgie was interested when she fisted his t-shirt in both hands and said, I want to date you, you absolute nerd.

Michael is still silent, watching the cogs turn.

It can’t be serious.

The Eye helpfully sends a few key statements through his head, the very few where sex came up in any way, and they are rare—the Entities love trauma, but they don’t seem to care about sexual trauma. Which means the only mentions of sex, anywhere, are about bliss.

No, he thinks, panicking, no, it’s about infesting people, and infecting them, and turning them into something else—

“You are very afraid now,” observes Michael, looking riveted.

“Of course I am! Do you… what does… why would you even offer such a thing?”

“Does it matter?”

“Yes, it matters!” Jon curls his legs on the sofa.

He’s still tingling, faintly, a memory of stars.

Michael just watches him, and right now, Jon can’t do the silence. “I need to know why. Can you even do that? What’s sex, to you? What, turning people’s reproductive organs into corkscrews? Making them think they’re having sex with the wrong people?”

“When asked,” says Michael.

“Someone asked for that?” Jon blurts.

“You are not asking for that,” says Michael as though it’s supposed to be comforting.

“Is your… sleep offer a sex thing?” Jon says, preemptively bristling.

Michael laughs. “No? Do you want it to be?”

“No!” He stammers. “You… what would you even know about sex?”

“At least as much as humans do,” says Michael, who has somehow slithered to lie facing the other direction on its own chosen couch. It peers at John, chin resting on its too-long hands, looking freakish. “You know how humans worship, Archivist. Praise, artistry, destruction, sacrifice, intimacy…”

Jon feels pale.

“Humans give themselves to what they worship,” says Michael, as if Jon’s just not quite getting it.

Jon is getting it. “You’ve had sex?”

“Yes.”

He has to know. “The… worker-of-clay?”

“When asked.”

It looks amused.

Jon is in shock, affronted in a confused and distant way,  but…

He’s also curious.

He does not particularly want sex. It doesn’t come to mind at all, usually. Orgasms are fine. Occasionally necessary. Messy and blessedly over quickly. But one of the reasons he and Georgie couldn’t make it work was she wanted sex, and he didn’t.

This doesn’t feel like that. Jon’s not sure he dares to define it. “You swear the… touching me when I sleep isn’t a sex thing.”

Michael tilts its head. “It is not a ‘sex thing,’ Archivist,” it reaffirms.

“You won’t… you won’t touch me anywhere I… don’t want.”

“I will not.”

“Well, good. Well… good,” says Jon, desperately casting about for a subject change. “You said the Eye likes me. It doesn’t have opinions.”

“Of course it does, Archivist. It prefers you, in fact.”

Leitner told him it didn’t think at all, much less have tastes. He frowns. “How would you know?”

Michael tilts its head. “You yourself are a tapestry devoted to its love. It has preserved you through that which should have taken your life—and received so little in exchange.”

Jon huffs, looks down, tensing. “That’s… that’s just….”

Michael laughs. “Do you think just anyone could survive what you have suffered?” And it’s sliding closer again, coming nearer again, and Jon doesn’t move (though he should), but instead he sits there and waits for it to get to him.

Michael pauses over him. It hasn’t rested against him yet, hasn’t lowered its weight. “Do you want me not to touch you, Archivist?”

What a question.

“I…”

Jon isn’t sure.

“I’m…”

Michael has not moved, close, hovering, not making contact. Its human face is unreadable, but whatever lies behind its eyes focuses on him, fixed, intense, waiting.

Jon swallows. “If I say no, you’ll go back to your couch?”

“If you say no, I will withdraw.”

No one—absolutely no one—in the last few years has ever bothered asking Jon’s permission.

He’s been burned, scarred, cut; groped, thrown into the air, threatened.

No one has asked whether he wanted them to touch him. No one has cared if he said no.

For some reason, Jon believes Michael means it.

It makes no sense. Why would the Distortion give a damn about consent? It eats people inside itself, driving them slowly crazy.

But this isn’t the Distortion, he thinks. This is Michael.

Jon isn’t sure what that means. The Eye, maybe, trying to tell him something, but it just doesn’t make sense. It is the Distortion. And yet—

Michael waits.

“What would you do, if I said… what are you going to do now if I say yes?”

“Rest upon you. Acclimate you to my touch, my presence.”

Jon swallows. “Nothing more?”

“Only if asked, Archivist.”

“What if I change my mind?”

“If you say no, I will withdraw.”

Jon wants to know if it means it. Jon wants to know how it feels. Jon wants the power of saying yes or no.

Jon wants to say yes. “All right.”

It settles against him again, neither heavy nor light, neither warm nor cold, confusing his senses, making the room slightly blurry around them. Michael’s fingers are so sharp, so long, so careful. “The Mother of Puppets marked you as a child—long, long ago,” it says, and touches his temple.

It could kill me so easily, he thinks, but does not ask it to stop. “The Web.”

“But It Knows You claimed you before that, did it not?” Michael moves its fingers to just below his eyes.

Jon swallows again, breathing more quickly. “The Eye. I… Elias says so. I was… I was insatiable, as a child. For knowledge.”

“And now, too, I think,” Michael chuckles, and this close, Jon can feel it, shiver with it. It’s not quite the stars of before, but it is… distracting.

That’s when he realizes he’s not wincing at the laugh anymore.

What did that mean? Was it due to exposure? Had Michael done something to him? Was he growing strong as Elias? (He knows that’s not it.)

“I marked you here.” Its fingertips touch his left forearm, where a long, dull scar shows evidence of its attention. “When you tried to… attack me most unwisely,” says Michael, and its amusement is a palpable thing.

Jon scowls. “That took five stitches, by the way.”

“A warning, Archivist, nothing more. I could have done much worse to you.” 

“You don’t have to sound so gleeful about it,” Jon grouses.

Michael makes a dreadful sound, a humming, pulsing sound that Jon can feel in every nerve in his body, and it is terrifying, and it is wonderful,  and he thinks, Another warning and Maybe that’s what the Spiral itself sounds like laughing and Can a living embodiment of a concept laugh and—

And he’s still not asking it to stop.

“Be careful touching that, Archivist. It is my mark, and it is connected to me.” And then before Jon can parse that little gem, “While I cannot speak for anyone else who’s left you alive, I found I… did not want to kill you just yet. It was a very strange moment for me. Almost memorable.”

It’s more on him now, pressing him into the settee. “I have to wonder why,” Jon says, heart thumping (it feels so good why does it feel so good).

Michael doesn’t answer that. “And look what happened next! The Flesh Hive nearly had you, Archivist, in spite of my warnings.”

Jon swallows, thinking of Prentiss, thinking of Benoît Maçon blissfully embracing his giant cockroach bride while its children ate him. Why was it that the most repulsive of the Fears—the Crawling Rot, the Filth—seemed to engender the most intimate love from its victims?

When Prentiss came, Jon heard their song. Heard them call. He did not listen.

(What if he had? Would they have even let him die? Would he be shambling through the night like Prentiss, dripping worms and hissing weirdly at people and seducing them to death by infestation and horror?)

Michael lets him spin until his heart rate picks up, then slides its fingertips back to his chest, over his shirt, and all those tiny pricks where worms tried to kill him flare back to life.

Jon inhales.

“I would like to continue, Archivist.”

Is it asking for further permission? Why? “Yes. Yes, she—Jane Prentiss. The Corruption. You warned us. Y… your help is the only reason we survived.”

“Yes.” Michael’s almost-human eyes don’t leave Jon’s as it slides those fingertips to his right hand. “The Ravening Burn.”

“Jude Perry,” Jon growls. “The Desolation.”

“Mm.” Michael seems less impressed with the wielders of the Lightless Flame, and moves on. It slides its fingertips back to Jon’s chest, spreading them wide as his lungs. “The Falling Titan.”

Jon does not understand what’s happening. He’s never felt like this in his life, not once; a strange hyper-awareness, nerves a-buzz, skin both too tight and too warm.

He wants Michael to touch him. Actively wants it.

“Th-the Vast.” Jon stammers. “Mike Crew. He... he was….” Jon stops. It had ended so badly.

Michael’s fingertips go to his neck—to the ragged, white scar there that Daisy carved into him after she shot Crew, to the place where she was going through the voice box, until Basira arrived to stop her. “The Call of Blood rarely leaves victims breathing.”

“She wouldn’t have. The Hunt… It was close.” It’s not over, his gut instinct says, it is only delayed.

He won’t listen to that. He has to trust that Daisy won’t kill him. Has to.

“I Do Not Know You has marked you very deeply,” murmurs Michael, “which is why, without me, you would dream them still.”

“The Stranger. The Circus. I know.” It’s a whisper.

“And now, the Slaughter.” Michael touches Jon’s shoulder, which looks like the stitches are ready to come out.

Jon hopes Michael doesn’t do that now. Things feel… good, and that most definitely would not.

Michael’s voice is smooth, penetrative, buzzing under his skin. “I have existed since there has been awareness itself, since the very fear of delusion, Archivist… and I have never seen anyone as broadly claimed as you.”

It’s not smiling.

Jon doesn’t know what to do with that. “I suppose I’m bait for bullies of all stripes, then,” he tries to joke.

It says nothing.

“I’m not lucky,” Jon says, unsure what he’s trying to deny.

Michael laughs, and the sound pulses through him, flickering the edges of his vision, and leaving his whole body humming. (Is it better up close? Is that the secret?) “No, I would say you are not.”

“I’m not… clever. I don’t have any... powers, or—no, don’t you argue with me. The ability to make a… a mailman confess to tax fraud is nothing compared to what everyone around me can do, and I almost think that’s why I’m alive, because I’m just not worth going through with it, because there’s a cost to using powers, isn’t there, and maybe killing me wouldn’t even be enough to fill the vacuum it left behind, and it’s just more fun to hurt me for some stupid reason, and—”

It touches his lips with one sharp finger.

He blinks at it. He wasn’t aware he’d begun to tear up.

The sharpness of Michael’s touch is grounding.

If he moves at all, it will cut him.

He is tempted.

He can’t work out why.

“I have spoken so much this evening, Archivist,” says Michael. “I am trying to give you what pleases you, but it’s not something I am… used to doing, and I do not enjoy it.”

All this reasoning, Jon thinks. “But you’ve given it anyway. Answers. Why?” he whispers, and as he thought, his lips sting as the skin lightly splits.

He makes a small sound.

It doesn’t feel like normal pain.

It echoes the stars all over his chest, the line of gleaming white across his throat, the valleys in his hand where Jude burned him. It hurts, but it doesn’t. It feels…

(Good? Can pain feel good? I’m not a masochist—what is happening? Is Michael messing with my mind? Is this its fault? What is wrong with me?)

He still doesn’t ask it to stop.

Michael brings its fingers to its own mouth and licks off the tiny spot of blood.

Jon stares. The intensity of his own feelings is beginning to scare him.

And Michael suddenly changes tack. “I tire, Archivist. Tomorrow, I will make you your door to Beijing.”

What? “You get tired?” More questions.

“This form, this mortal uselessness bound to me, using it to communicate in ways you seem to find titillating.”

(All of this was flirting? Giving him knowledge was certainly more appealing than flowers or something, but still—)

“I…” Jon licks his lips, tastes himself, tastes something else he could never name. “I’m sorry.”

“Do not be. I consider it a worthy investment. After all, I am trying to woo you.” It touches his mouth again. The tingling resumes, eating the pain.

Jon sighs a little, and without thinking, parts his lips. “B… but.. this is coming out of nowhere.”

“I have been indicating such an offer for a while now, you know.”

Jon stares. “You have?”

Michael finds that hilarious. “Oh, Archivist.”

“Then what was all that in the warehouse?” Jon says. “Killing me, revenge, all of it?”

It won’t answer that, but iInstead, withdraws. Back to its own couch, looking at him, just watching, probably scouring his thoughts, doing who knows what else with its cosmic horror self.

Jon touches his own lips. There’s only a little blood. It doesn’t hurt.

Nothing hurts. That’s not the word for any of this right now. Jon frowns. “Are you still going to kill me?”

Michael actually looks confused. “Yes. What does that have to do with it?”

It doesn’t add up. He bristles. “Everything, unless you’re a necrophiliac.”

“Time is an illusion, Archivist. Today, tomorrow, what does it matter?”

It’s changing the subject, he knows it is, but—“The Unknowing is time sensitive, I’ll have you know.”

But Michael is done. “Rest well, Archivist. I shall come to you when you sleep.”

Whatever is wrong, whatever is going on (Internal conflict? In a concept?), Michael has clearly reached its limit. Jon blinks at it. “Are you sending me to bed?”

“Yes,” it says, almost primly.

And for the first time in his memory, in the presence of Michael, Jon laughs.

Shocked at himself, he flies to brush his teeth.

And he wonders.

His physical response is definitely… intense.

Georgie didn’t feel like that, he thinks, and that is unfair, and he kicks himself for thinking it. Of course she didn’t. She’s human.

Still. He didn’t respond like this to her—and he loved her.

It is so new. Jon wants to run his hands over himself, feel his own skin, see if it’s as good to touch as it is to wear. See if an orgasm would be worth the trouble, now.

Like hell he’s doing that with an audience.

Jon stares at himself in the mirror.

He doesn’t like what he sees. What’s going on behind his scarred face. “There’s something very wrong with you,” he whispers, and is only half relieved his reflection won’t answer him.

The lights are out when he returns. He is grateful.

He lies down. Pulls the borrowed duvet over him.

Wonders.

A wide-eyed, hungry part of him wants to see what it would be like, and Jon faces that part with panic.

Is it the Eye? Is that doing this to him? Giving him desires completely not his own?

No. It’s not the same.

If he listens, if he stills, he knows the Eye would certainly love him to do all sorts of things to and with other people.

It would enjoy him if he were a torturer.

It would enjoy him if he just had sex.

Fear is what it feeds on, but all his experiences are things it… well.

Say it, Sims: LIKES.

This flies in the face of everything he thought he knew about the Dread Powers.

And here’s why he knows this weird, niggling curiosity about Michael doesn’t come from the Eye: there is absolutely no revulsion or numbness with the idea.

Sex with humans—even one he once cared for very deeply—leaves him uninterested, not repulsed, but off, no matter how the Beholding nudges him.

He does not feel that way about Michael. Jon is unsure what that says about him.

And then he realizes that Elias’ little comment about inviting it into his bed meant it had been obvious even then what Michael was doing.

Jon pulls the spare pillow over his head and groans.

What was the giveaway? Just being on the bed? The way it lay there?

Had Michael tipped Elias off in its note, like some kind of courting rite?

Jon knew he’d never figure it out. Whatever hints were dropped, he just couldn’t see them.

Speaking of which—

Michael settles on the floor beside the couch. “Yes?”

Jon swallows loudly. “Yes.” This being-asked-first thing is… heady.

Instead of crawling on him, grabbing him, poking him, doing any of the things he fears, it just rests one sharp hand on his right arm.

Jon waits. Nothing else happens.

It shouldn’t be comforting. It really should not.

Somehow, it is. Makes all the rest of the world slide just a little into unreality. Feels… grounding.

Feels safe.

Something is very wrong with me, he thinks again, and does not ask it to stop.

Sleep is slow to come, after that, but it finally does.

Tonight, when Breekon and Hope arrive, with thick and cruel hands, and grins and smelly gags, and ropes that burn and cut too tight, Michael follows to snip each rope with a bored expression, and then it tells a joke.

Jon can’t remember the joke in the morning, but it made him laugh, and when he did, Breekon and Hope vanished into mist.

(part six)

#tma fic #tma fanfic #the magnus archives #jonathan sims #tma michael #michael distortion #jonmichael #fanfic #long fic #finished

[commanderbuffy]

I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this since we found out Airk doesn’t know about Madmartigan, but I’m struggling to put my thoughts in order. I’m a little afraid you are going to take this as a critique, but I promise it’s not! I’m just having fun psychoanalyzing fictional situations. :)

I don’t see any difference between what Kit and Sorsha are doing to Airk in TTA and what everyone was doing to Kit in Armourium. I never really felt fully comfortable blaming people for keeping things from Kit in Armourium because they did it out of love. I especially didn’t like the idea that Kit never forgave Airk. He thought she might die, if he came clean! Was the outcome good? No. Were poor choices made on everyone’s part? Yes. The thing is, that they did this on the advice of professionals and all felt horrible and, deep down, knew it was a temporary fix.

In TTA, it seems genuinely cruel to keep this from Airk. This isn’t a life and death decision for his health, his dad (HIS DAD!) is alive and the people he loves most are keeping it from him. Keeping it from him as a child was probably not the best idea, but I fully understand it. But now, at 26, Airk deserves to know. Airk deserves to be angry. At his dad, obviously, but also at Sorsha and Kit. They kind of screwed him over. They need to sit down and apologize and explain everything from the beginning. This cat, literally, can’t stay in the bag. There’s no way this story is staying hidden until Airk’s death; the world doesn’t work that way. TTA Kit and Sorsha need to do better than the crew in Armourium, being willing to lose Airk in his anger for a while, with the hope that he will return. If they don’t, he will find out, and they might lose him forever.

To clarify: I know TTA is fiction, and it’s obviously not your responsibility to write this!! I’m just looking at this story and realizing that this is a problem with flawed, realistic, human characters, and I am imagining how things would need to go in the future after our girls get their HEA.

-Producer 3/Numbered Theories anon

hello! sorry it took a couple days for me to get to this ask. sometimes i put off answering asks that require me to think a good bit because I like to answer long ones from my computer vs. my phone, and sometimes the asks get buried as well (since I'm saving all the lovely playlist recommendation asks and they tend to bury asks some times)

I think the biggest distinction between Kit/Sorsha keeping Mads from Airk in TTA and everyone keeping secrets from Kit in Armouriam comes down to the secret that's being kept and how it relates to agency.

In Armouriam, the secrets being kept from Kit were Kit's life and history and truths about herself. Things that everyone in her life knew except her. Keeping the secrets kept Kit's agency away from her and the knowledge of decisions she herself had already made. With Airk in TTA, there's one secret and it's a decision someone else made (that of course impacts him).

Yes, there's overlap! Both involve keeping critical information from a family member that would inform their worldview and directly relates to them. And you raise a good point that in Armouriam, they thought keeping the secrets was necessary for Kit's health. And in Armouriam, I really leaned into that. It was messy and there wasn't a straightforward right answer. They weren't in the wrong for keeping the secrets even though it ended up being the wrong thing to do.

In TTA, Kit and Sorsha are hiding the secret from Airk to protect him. And you're right, that does take agency away from him. He should be allowed to know the truth. Sorsha's reasons for not telling Airk are both selfish and selfless. She doesn't want to cause Airk pain, but she also doesn't want him to hate her for A. not telling him sooner and B. not fighting harder for him to stay (which is not a reaction Airk would have, but a fear Sorsha has that that would be his reaction). On Kit's part, her reason for not telling Airk is more selfless. She knows her twin better than anyone in the world, and she knows how hurt he would be and how much he would blame himself for Kit's pain. So, she sees it as sparing him.

People are messy. I don't really think there is a right answer as to whether Kit should tell Airk or not. She was a child when she learned and it kinda fucked her up long term. She has really solid reasons not to tell Airk. They also have no reason to believe that there's any possibility Airk would find out without one of them telling him.

Airk is not going to learn the truth about Mads in TTA. Partially because it's not relevant to the arc of this story. That's not to say I might not explore that possibility in a one-shot though! You never know!

SORRY THIS WAS SUCH A LONG, RAMBLING RESPONSE.

[dats-hq]

3, 11, 13, 18, 22

3. What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

Probably recency bias, but I really like how The Scars Remain came out. As much as I've written Saki, I don't think I ever captured her character as I view her quite as succinctly as I did here, and it was fun to sort of do a mini character study via the medium of a headcanon.

11. Do you have specific playlists for writing fics?

I probably should do this, but I don't lol. Sometimes I'll listen to a specific song on repeat when writing if it is close to the vibe of the fic/chapter (lyrics are irrelevant), but other times I just write while listening to some random autoplay shit or nothing at all.

13. How much planning do you do before writing?

It depends. The interview fics are completely free-balled with pretty much no planning beyond the vibe I want to capture, but with the birthday drabbles, I kind of have to plan a lot to make the strict 100 word count work. Not My Problem was kind of in between where I knew how every chapter would end but I didn't know how I was stringing it all together until I was done.

18. Favorite line from a fic I wrote

There was a line from chapter 3 of Not My Problem that I thought was very funny that nobody else seemed to think anything of, where Floramon suggests talking to one of the Master's subordinates to find out more information, and Miu replies:

"We tried that with Arukenimon and it didn't work at all. She said she'd rather die than help us, and then she literally did."

22. Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing?

Outside of the interview fics, yeah. I need some sense of what I'm working toward or I have no idea what I'm doing lol

#I'm also writing another Not My Problem-scale fic set in the Wrathful ending #and it's kind of hard because I know EXACTLY how it ends #but I also know I need to lay a lot of ground work before I can get there

[strongfuck]

Not the typical song anon but. Eat Your Young by Hozier. What vibes you getting? I don't know much about Rhys but it definitely seems like a hidden metaphor for his CEO vibe he has going on. Despite the punching montage. What a meow meow.

holy shit, the moment i clicked "answer" on this question, Eat Your Young came up on my Rhys playlist shuffle, so that's hilarious

i find it VERY interesting that you're here despite not knowing much about rhys, but the reasons i'd put this song on my rhys playlist to begin with is the self-awareness he has of the nature of his work. he's been in the borderlands megacorporate world for years now (and idk how canon-familiar you are with it, but the biggest profits come from enabling wars and violence; considering megacorporations have their own private armies to fight each other and conquer other planets, this could not be clearer), and while he is in power, he also isn't important enough to be entirely different

Putting food on the table selling bombs and guns It's quicker and easier to eat your young

so despite all the philanthropic ventures that atlas has going on (i.e. rebuilding its planet, which was close to decay before rhys arrived; making a better environment for its people; providing the basic necessities AND a chance for its people to have luxury instead of just surviving), rhys is still a part of the machine that kills so many of the galaxy. and because he's still got shareholders to please, he can't remove himself from it-- nobody would invest in a corporation known for weapons manufacturing if they just suddenly Stopped Making Weapons

so he perpetuates slaughter. he would love to sponsor war efforts, as atlas' CEO, and provide weapons to armies direct so they don't profit his competitors. and he's aware that he's doing these things, and he reminds himself daily that, hey, there's nothing to feel bad about when it's the nature of the world you live in

I won't lie, if there's something to be gained There's money to be made, whatever's still to come

he doesn't even want to stop, really. all his life he's been working to get to this point-- he chopped an arm off and took an eye out in his twenties just to become more efficient-- and rhys doesn't know what it's like to not be hungry for more. he wants to inspire positive change and he is, for all intents and purposes, doing it for promethea (and in my mind he'll do the same for other underdeveloped planets, considering that was how he got off his own backwater rock to go to college), but in order to keep the resources/power required to do that, he needs to continue to make money. you need to gain more to give more, and rhys is starving so bad he's likely never going to stop until he's worked himself to literal death

to rhys, being a leader is less about making his own dreams come true and more about making sure that everyone he's taking care of-- the people of promethea, the people in atlas-- are given enough resources to pursue their own dreams

Honey, I'm making sure the table's made We can celebrate the good that we've done I won't lie, if there's something still to take There is ground to break, whatever's still to come

in a nicer world he'll be able to retire, likely with the influence of other people, but i imagine he'll probably die young with everything he does, like in his late forties or early fifties at the earliest. canon has shown us that rhys is willing to risk life and limb to protect the corporation and planet that he's built up with his own hands. canon has also shown us that there are people after his head for how much of a Big Deal he's become being the CEO of atlas

one of these days there won't be anyone to protect him, and then he'll just. be gone. and i don't think he'd die with regrets, either-- he did his best to the end, and that's really all he's ever needed; he put some bad into the universe, but he also put a helluva lot of good, and that's better than most in the fucked up galaxy that he lives in

#anonymous #headcanon. #[ ish? i am rambling about my idiot again #but yeah eat your young is a good rhys song. LMAO ]

[mvalentine]

Uno reverse again 💞.

Which Midnights song(s) do you associate with Lana and Ethan?

(I actually wanted to ask you this since the album came out but it completely slipped my mind).

lizzie <333

thank you for sending me this because as you know i am constantly making spotify playlists & pinterest boards for all my blorbos <3 the brainrot is outrageously strong atm

okay lets see!! :

as you already know, the great war is an ethan x mc song fullstop. i already made an outrageously lengthy post about it so i won't expand here but yeah -- these two are ready to go to war and get at each other's throats way too easily. but then when they're together, they would go to war for one another. all because they survived the great war.

paris!! especially because that was one of the places they visited on their honeymoon <3 also 'romance is not dead if you keep it just yours' its LITERALLY so true & so them. they're both very private people, and to them their relationship is something sacred, something that is just theirs.

labyrinth!! like are you kidding me is miss taylor swift secretly an oph stan or smth?? how are all the songs so spot on?? i think this relationship is the most intense either one of them have been in, and all these feelings- they're absolutely terrifying. also 'never trust it if it rises fast'?? it perfectly summarizes their journey and their whirlwind of a romance -- the high post ch15 to the fall of ethan leaving without a word. i love how it can double as both a heartbreak song for these two but then later becomes a love song. because it all worked out in the end, and the both of them truly would break their back to make the other break a smile <3

also because i'm extra & love to ramble -- maroon is definitely a raleigh x lana (raleigh is the guy lana 'dated' while ethan was in his flop era and she..... kinda broke his heart). the sad thing is that in another life, they would have literally been perfect together and i do have an au where they end up together <3 but yeah the switch from 'i chose you' to 'i lost you' & the line 'sobbing with your head in your hands, aint that the way shit always ends' YIKES this song is so them like the song has a definite feel of an inevitable ultimatum, and ultimately their relationship couldn't survive because she was in love with someone else. in that same vein, midnight rain also works for them she truly was midnight rain while he was sunshine.

also also!! you're on your own kid is SUCH a lana song <333 it really perfectly encapsulates her growth and how she left her home and started a new life all on her own. she's always been on her own, but she's made it (and now she's not so alone anymore). also omfg karma <333 its essentially a massive fuck you to her dad because she's out here living her best life while he'll never be able to because well.... he's the worst. and sometimes the best revenge is simply living your best life. also okay last song before i shut up but omfg would've could've should've. i know that the song is about a toxic predatory relationship, but alot of the lyrics also work for a toxic parent-child dynamic. like 'memories feel like weapons', 'the tomb won't close i fight with you in my sleep, 'if clarity's in death then why won't this die' and of COURSE 'give me back my girlhood it was mine first' AHHH it all screams lana </3 she hasn't spoken to her dad in almost 8 years by the time she starts at edenbrook...... and yet.

#this is so long im so sorry shjssj #im going a little insane im on my third red bull tryna finish this essay also im literally listening to midnights rn while singing with my- #-- broken mic for the aesthetic ofc <33 #anyways ilysm <33 #lizzie 💘 #asks