#fic: a discordant melody
Text
| A Discordant Melody |
Cardinal Copia x FemReader, Papa IV x FemReader
rating: E
word count: 9k
chapter: 1 of 2
warnings/tags: dub con, gaslighting, possession, emotional manipulation, dark papa iv, cardinal copia and papa iv are two separate characters, 19th century, gothic
“Maybe this place is cursed.” I wrapped an arm around Copia’s and pressed myself close, delighting in his warmth and the way he smelled. It reassured me and I pressed my lips against his cheek. “You will have to keep me very close, darling, lest some ghoul tries to steal me away.”
I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped my lips and I smiled when I noticed the tips of his ears had gone pink. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad—and it wasn’t as if we were staying here.
Inheriting an old abbey in a supposedly cursed town, what could possibly go wrong?
read on AO3
This is based on the 1963 film The Haunted Palace - the majority of the dialogue is taken from the film and edited to suit my silly little imagination!
A Discordant Melody
And travellers, now, within that valley,
Through the red-litten windows see
Vast forms that move fantastically
To a discordant melody;
While, like a ghastly rapid river,
Through the pale door
A hideous throng rush out forever,
And laugh—but smile no more.
- Edgar Allan Poe “The Haunted Palace”
The coach ride was long and uncomfortable, as they so often were. The smell of cheap leather seats and the moth-eaten curtains festered in my nose making me feel sick. Even calling what I rode on a coach was being kind. We had changed our coach at the last major inn, swapping the elegant barouche for this dingy matchbox and its tired horses.
Inside, I sat, my eyes heavy as I tried to stay awake—I knew we were close. The skirts of my silk dress flowed everywhere and had encroached over Copia, my husband, and swallowed his legs. The seafoam ruffles peeking out of the hem made him look like a lighthouse surrounded by a stormy, and very frilly, ocean. The closer we had gotten to the town of Aspera, the quieter he’d become. I knew he was excited at the prospect of seeing this ancestral home he had suddenly inherited, but I could tell he was nervous; his gloved fingers fidgeting absentmindedly with the hem of my dress were the only movements he made.
It wasn’t often that we left the city. I did not travel well and I was always loath to leave my family and our friends. But I knew this was important to him—for he had never known his family. And I, with my hovering mother and numerous siblings, had known nothing but the joyous bustle of love and affection, along with the contentment of knowing where I had come from and what my family had been. Something that I had never given much thought to until I had met Copia Cardinale. Shunned by those who thought they were better than him merely because his family line was not found in some musty book. That was until they realised he had a lot of money and suddenly they hovered around him like bees, desperate for what he could offer them. But their judging looks and those whispered comments always stung.
Even my family had been reluctant at our marriage—he was so much older than I and with no connections. Then there was also his left eye. Blind and milky white in appearance. But it did not sway me. And I would now not let something like an uncomfortable coach ride stop me from being by his side.
His gaze was fixed on the view out of the murky window and I shifted in my seat, leather creaking and skirts rustling to peer outside too. The coachman had said the town of Aspera was cursed which is why we found ourselves in such a rundown vehicle. A ridiculous statement to make, I thought. But as I peered through the dirty window I had to admit that it certainly looked cursed. The town was empty save for a low fog that clung low to the wheels of the coach. Nobody roamed the lamp-lit streets despite it only being early evening and the windows with their flickering lights felt like a multitude of eerie eyes that watched us as the coach ambled past. At home, the streets were always busy—and at a time like this, the streets would have hummed with those venturing out for the evening. Even the small lodgings we had stayed in on our journey here had been filled with raucous noise and drunken cheer. It had been not to my taste, but it at least had been welcoming.
Finally, I felt the coach jolt to a stop. Copia jumped out, his gloved hand then reaching for mine to help me spill out of the coach. I could smell the tang of salt as the cool air hit my face. It felt like heaven after hours trapped in that coach. The coachman muttered something about going no further and then hurriedly passed my husband our bags. I took in the street as the coach left us, the sound of hoofs clattering along the cobbles until there was nothing but the wind and the creak of the tavern sign above us.
I stared up at it and read the sign as it swayed.
“‘The Burning Man,’” I read. “How quaint!”
“Mmm.” Copia took our bags and moved towards the entrance to the tavern.
“Where else would you find a tavern with a name like that?” I said with a laugh.
My laughter faltered as we stepped inside. We had finally found some life in this still town—though I had had to admit ‘life’ was perhaps too generous. They were mostly men and they all huddled around scrubbed wooden tables as they stared into their beers—as if the weak ale held all the secrets of the world. Their heads snapped to us as we entered, their eyes just staring blankly.
“Good evening,” my husband said, walking up to the barman.
The barman bristled, the dirty rag he held in one hand only smearing the dirt on the glass he was attempting to clean. His thick brow furrowed as we approached.
“I was hoping someone could assist,” Copia said pleasantly. “I am looking for the Aspera Abbey.”
A man who was sitting at the bar stood in a flash, his pale face coming close. I could smell the heavy and dank scent of stale beer on him and I covered my mouth as inconspicuously as I could with a gloved hand.
“What do you want with that old hellhole?” the man said angrily.
Copia took a step back and I held onto his arm. We had been here a mere five minutes and already I wanted to get back in that cramped coach and go back home.
“It’s mine,” said Copia, stunned by the man’s angry response. “Well, er, it is now. I inherited it.” He waved his free hand lazily, and I knew he was trying to make light of the situation. “It was my father’s father’s father’s father’s father’s father’s—“
“You’re an Emeritus?” Another man had come forward from the bar. He was small and his watery eyes looked up at Copia with such frightened defiance it was almost comical—though I didn’t dare laugh.
“Eh?” said Copia, his brow knitting in confusion.
“Emeritus,” repeated the small man. “It was their devil palace!”
“Oh, no,” said Copia slowly, his moustache quirking as he tried to smile in the face of the man's hostility. “I’m a Cardinale—“ He gestured to me. “And this is my wife. What do you mean palace, I was told it’s an abbey…an old castle?”
The man laughed, though there was no humour in it. “There is no god in that place. It was brought over stone by stone and they carved it into the rock. Nothing ever grows there. Rotten.”
“Brought over from where?” I asked.
I was intrigued. A palace? How exciting! Maybe this wasn’t going to be such a dull trip after all.
“Italy somewhere,” grunted the man. “No one knows exactly where. Nobody wants to know. If you value your lives you won’t go there.”
I was stunned, I never expected such asperity from the townspeople and nor had I ever experienced such open hostility before.
“Exactly,” agreed the barman. “Geoffrey is right. You best get back to wherever it was you came from. That place is cursed. Full of devil worship and demons.”
“It’s just a house,” I said. If anyone had spoken like this back they would have been laughed at, at best, and at worst, thrown into an asylum.
“Ay, well you best listen to me, Mrs Cardinale.” The barman threw his dirty rag on the bar and glared at us. “You couldn’t pay me with all the Queen’s jewels to go anywhere near that place.”
I would have laughed if they hadn’t been so serious. It frightened me—not their silly words, I didn’t believe in demons and witches. But they did. Men and their convictions were not to be trifled with.
“We’ve come all this way,” I said.
“Well then, you best start now if it’s a long journey back.” The man grabbed an empty glass and filled it with beer before he pushed it down the bar towards one of the men seated. “Don’t let us keep you.”
“And what do you recommend I do with the deed?” said Copia to the barman, his voice tinged with irritation. “Tear it up and throw it in the sea?”
“Yes.” The man was serious.
“Tear up the deed to an ancient abbey that I’ve inherited?” I could tell Copia was stunned by the ludicrous suggestion. “Just tear it up without so much as looking at it?”
“Yes.”
That was the end of the conversation, it seemed. We stood there, a little stunned before Copia took my arm and started to lead me out of the tavern.
“Come on, my dear,” he said to me softly. “We will find it ourselves.”
We had pushed open the door when another man called out, following us onto the street.
“Mr Cardinale—!”
Unlike the others, this man was well dressed, his grey beard trimmed neatly. While his brown skin was well-aged, he was missing that tired, defeated look the other men had. He gave us both a polite smile as he joined us on the quiet street.
“The abbey isn’t far from here,” he said, pointing in the distance. “See? You can’t miss it.”
Indeed you couldn’t. Over the many thatched roofs, the town began to slope up and the road wound until it turned into what looked like a dense forest— or what would be a dense forest if the trees bore any vegetation. It turned into a sharp cliff and sitting atop was a monstrous-looking building. I hadn’t noticed it earlier, it seemed to blend into the heavy, dark clouds in the night sky.
“If you just follow the road you can walk there with ease,” said the man.
“Thank you, Mr…?” said Copia, shaking his hand.
“Saltarian,” replied the man. “Doctor Saltarian. If you need anything, do let me know. And forgive the villagers. They can be a little funny about newcomers.”
“Thank you for your kindness, Doctor,” Copia replied. “But we won’t be staying long.”
We bid the doctor goodnight then, Copia carrying our bags as we made our way towards the abbey.
“What do you mean we won’t be staying long?” I asked.
Copia turned to look at me as we walked. “Do you want to stay in this town full of fools?”
I shook my head. No, I did not. I would have asked to leave straight away. I felt unsettled but I tried to dismiss it. This wasn’t the city, things were different out here. And perhaps a tavern was not the most indicative of village life—maybe there was a town hall where the women gathered and did flower arranging and needlework. And maybe the local school filled the town with the sound of children laughing during the day. An alehouse was not the place to base all my assumptions upon. Besides, we weren’t to live here so it did not bother me much.
“That Doctor Saltarian didn’t seem like a fool,” I said.
“All right, one of them isn’t a fool,” agreed Copia. “But I think it best we leave as soon as we’ve looked at the place.”
We walked for what felt like an eternity, the road up to the abbey was nothing more than a roughly worn dirt track lined with its twisted and barren trees. It was not far, as the doctor had said, but I was tired and my body ached from the journey. The trip had taken us days, and those nights spent in inns with lumpy beds and neverending noise had me longing for the comfort of quiet.
As we came closer, I could hear the roar of the sea from the other side of the cliff. The tang of salt was much stronger in the air and the wind stung my face. It was freezing here. I wrapped my long cloak around me tighter, trying to keep up with Copia’s long stride.
Finally, we reached Aspera Abbey. Hewn from the rock, the castle jutted out like a monolithic beast. It was crudely carved, the stone beaten by the elements so that it blended seamlessly into the rock. Immediately I felt a sense of disappointment. I had pictured some grand building—a place that sat at the heart of the town. A place that was celebrated and brought the village together. But it was clear this town was not going to be anything like how I had imagined. An abbey should have been light and full of grace, not decorated with demonic gargoyles that glared down upon us as we approached. I couldn’t help but stare up at them, causing me to nearly collide with Copia as he came to a stop before the large wooden door.
In the distance, I could hear the sea slamming against the cliff, but there was also something else. For a moment I swore I could hear music—the strained sound of a harpsichord—coming from the other side of the large door. It stopped as soon as I tried to focus on it and I pushed it from my mind. It had been such a long journey and I didn’t wish Copia to feel discouraged; I was determined to do my best to appear optimistic.
Copia finally unlocked the large padlock over the door and pushed it open. The wood was swollen from the weather and it creaked loudly as it swung on rusted hinges. Slowly we entered, it was musty and dark inside, though it did not stop me from noticing the massive cobwebs and layers of dust that decorated the entrance hall like snowfall.
“Maybe this place is cursed.” I wrapped an arm around Copia’s and pressed myself close, delighting in his warmth and the way he smelled. It reassured me and I pressed my lips against his cheek. “You will have to keep me very close, darling, lest some ghoul tries to steal me away.”
I couldn’t help the giggle that escaped my lips and I smiled when I noticed the tips of his ears had gone pink. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad—and it wasn’t as if we were staying here.
“Heh,” he coughed and patted my hand. He placed our bags down and gestured to the large hall we were standing in. “Let’s have a look around.”
Copia wandered off but I stood there. For a moment I simply stared. Many of the walls held paintings and there were a few statues—mostly lewd—that dotted the dusty hall but this painting was something else. It rested in a large gilded frame and hung over a huge fireplace. It gleamed—as if it had been recently cleaned. It depicted a man. His clothing was embroidered in glittering gold and sapphire blues. It looked like the robes worn by a saint. But there was nothing saintly about him. The skull paint on his face was startling—I imagined that death looked like this man. How easy it would be in those last moments of life to want to take his hand and follow him to the nether regions of some abhorrent yet intoxicating plane of existence. There was something frightening yet alluring about it.
But that hadn’t been what stole my breath. He looked just like Copia.
“He looks just like you, darling!” I said.
“Hmm?” I heard him come stand next to me.
“I thought this place would be full of old bibles and very boring paintings of nuns!” I said as I peered up at it, and then I walked closer until I could read the small gilded plaque at the bottom of the frame. “‘Papa Emeritus the Fourth’ it says. How fantastic!”
I turned to look at him with a smile on my face but it faded away instantly. Copia looked strange.
“Is something wrong?” I asked.
“No…” he dragged his eyes away and pointed to the large stone steps. “This way, there’s nothing else down here except the kitchens.”
I quirked a brow at him. “How would you know?”
Copia shrugged. “Just a guess.”
I followed him up the stone stairs until we came to a landing, he walked with purpose as if he knew where he was going. When he stopped outside a door—a door that looked no different to any others we had passed—he pushed it open.
The door didn’t creak, which surprised me, and the room was somewhat clean. It was clear this had to be the master suite of the old castle. Though, I thought it strange that an abbey would be so lavishly decorated. I told myself maybe it hadn’t been used as a place of worship in years—just like many of the abbeys back home. I watched as Copia moved past the large gothic bed and went towards the balcony doors, so he could pull the heavy drapes aside. The sky was blanketed by grey clouds and the moon struggled to shine, as though it were reluctant to illuminate this unwanted hunk of stone. It was enough to cut through the shadows so that I could make out another door in the distance—what I only assumed led to a washroom—and realise that the ornate pattern in the old rug in the centre of the room was a deep blue; the same pattern that decorated the portrait down below.
I turned, determined to poke around, and nearly screamed. An old woman stood there. Her pale face stared at me pleasantly. She was dressed in severe black, her blonde hair drawn tightly back from her face so that I could nearly make out the outline of her skull. I shivered.
“Ah, good evening,” she said in an even tone.
“Who the devil are you?” said Copia, coming to stand next to me, his hand on my shoulder.
“Imperator, the…housekeeper,” said the woman. “Caretaker. I’ve been preparing your room.”
“In the dark?” I said.
The woman moved to a side table by the bed and pulled out a box of matches. When she struck it, the flame seemed so bright in the dim chamber.
“One becomes accustomed to the darkness here,” said Imperator, lighting a brass candelabra on the bedside table. The light was warm and it made me feel a little less apprehensive as the flame flickered over the damask walls.
“I apologise if I startled you, dear,” she said to me, though she didn’t sound that apologetic. “But I did not expect you so soon.”
Her eyes flicked to Copia and I did not like the way in which she regarded him. There was something about her that seemed oddly familiar and I wondered if perhaps she was a distant relative of his. But the attorney had assured us both that Copia had no other living family. He had also said that the house was empty and no one had resided in it in years.
“How did you know to expect us at all?” Copia asked.
“The estate wrote to me and told me the deed had been transferred,” said Imperator. “Let me go fetch your bags, you must be exhausted.”
“It is appreciated but we are not staying,” said Copia quickly. I could tell he was getting tired and his grip on my shoulder tightened. He always made an effort to be polite, especially to strangers, but I could tell he had had enough for one night. “Thank you.”
Again, she smiled at us, but her eyes kept flicking over to Copia. The way she looked at him made me feel uneasy. I had this horrible feeling that she wanted to take him away from me. Which was ludicrous. The woman was old enough to be his mother. But immediately I decided that I disliked her.
“Where else would you stay the night?” she said. “After all, Mr Cardinale, this is your home.”
Copia merely agreed and the woman disappeared, mentioning something about dinner being ready at eight. I stared at the closed door after Imperator left until I felt Copia move away from me and start trying to coax the wood to burn in the large fireplace.
“You don’t really wish to stay here, do you?” I said, watching as he lit a long match and prodded at the kindling intently.
He glanced up at me as the smoke started to curl into the room, filling my nose with the pleasant scent of burning wood.
“Of course not,” he said. “But the old woman is right, there is nowhere else for us to stay.”
The wood was finally ablaze. With it burning, the candles lit and the moonlight peeking through the clouds outside into the room I felt a little more at ease. And it was just one night.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
One night had turned into four.
The morning after that first night, the sun dawned over a cloudy sky. My sleep had been fitful. I had woken many times, ears straining in the silence. I could have sworn I had heard the sound of music again. Whispered voices. Footsteps.
I had told myself it must have been the housekeeper. But my stomach felt as settled as the tumultuous sea outside. When I had found Copia, standing on the balcony and watching the waves lash at the rock below us, he’d said we were staying.
My disappointment and confusion had been impossible to disguise. He’d spoken of tidying the place up so we could sell it and also of learning more about the people who had lived here. It was his home, he’d said.
He had said I could leave if I wished. That had hurt; sending a sharp stab into my heart. I told myself he was thinking of me and only wished for my comfort. Which I would have easily believed before coming to Aspera. But now, I wasn’t so sure. My unease when first coming to this town had returned, stronger than before. I could have borne it more easily if it had felt like it was us against them; against this malevolent house. But after that first night, he never came to bed at the same time as I did. Always muttering about something under his breath as I ascended those stone steps alone. I rarely saw him. Sometimes he’d just snap at me to leave him alone, other times he’d make me sit with him in the hall, clutching my hand tightly—as if I would disappear if he were to let go.
Tonight was no different. I’d seen him whispering to Imperator a few times, but then they would abruptly stop when I’d approach. I hadn’t bothered to try and coax him to bed, I’d left him and changed into my nightclothes on my own before I had lain awake, staring at the canopy of the bed before I had finally fallen asleep.
I don’t remember dreaming but I jolted awake. The wind whipped outside, making the trees clatter against my window. No matter how tightly I latched the balcony doors, the wind seemed to find its way in. It made the curtains flutter, the fabric slowly grazing against the rug sounded like that of hushed whispers. I couldn’t return to sleep. I stretched a hand out to find Copia in the darkness. I needed an anchor, something to make me feel like I wasn’t alone in this horrible place.
He wasn’t there.
I sat up and fumbled for a match to light one of the old candles by the bed. The wick sputtered and hissed before it gave me its weak light. I glanced at the other side of the bed and it was still made. My gaze drifted to the clock—it was three in the morning.
I grabbed my dressing gown and slid my feet into my slippers before leaving the cold chamber. The hallway was even draftier. The sound of my hushed footsteps down the long hallway was horribly loud in the cavernous abbey. I felt like every painted pair of eyes watched me as I made my way down the steps to the grand hall below.
As I came down the stone staircase, I saw the flickering light that signalled that at least one of the candelabras was still lit.
“Darling?” I called out.
I took the last step and glanced around until I saw Copia. He was just sitting there, his hands gripping the sides of the large dining table as he stared up at that horrible portrait—the fire underneath still crackling merrily.
When we had first arrived I had thought that portrait exciting and so delightfully macabre! This was nothing like home; it was so fantastic and different. This small town with its silly superstitions and talk of curses and devils. That painting had seemed like something out of the funhouse or a prop from a ludicrous theatre production. A dash of the dramatic to liven the mundane days of having to merely exist in this dreary little town.
The likeness has been amusing, and the outlandish clothing the man wore so dramatic. As for his strangely painted face, well that had simply added to the frivolity of it all.
I despised it all now.
Copia hadn’t moved as I came down the stone steps, nor did he as I padded across the cold floor. It wasn’t until I reached him; one hand gently clasping his shoulder and the other slipping into his hair at the nape of his neck did he startle. He stared at me as if unseeing before he seemed to come back to himself.
“Cara mia?” He sounded so lost.
He looked unsure, his face settling into one of confusion as he focused on me.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“I—“ He glanced back at the painting and shook his head. “I don’t know.” The grip he had on the table loosened and he dropped his head into his hands. “I think I was sleepwalking.”
Those muffled words tore at me. Sleepwalking? Where had he been sleeping then? He was still in his dinner jacket. I had never seen him in such a state before. For a moment I felt my world teeter, shifting off the axis I knew and into something so similar yet so different.
He slowly stood, taking my hands in his before he pulled me close. I could feel his heartbeat beneath my cheek as he held me. It was racing. It made my own race. It made me nervous.
The world shifted even further.
“Come to bed,” I said, looking up at him. His gaze was once more fixed on that awful portrait of his ancestor. “Copia.” I reached up for his face, dragging his eyes back to mine. The milkiness of his blind eye looked strange for a moment, but it was merely a fleeting one and so I ignored the way it had looked bright and alert. I let my eyes focus on his furrowed brow as I smoothed my fingers over it, as if I could simply brush away whatever troubled him. “Please, darling, come with me.”
He nodded. And again I felt like he wasn’t looking at me—that he was somewhere else. My fingers traced over his moustache, the small hairs tickling my skin before I let my fingers settle on his jaw. I leant up and kissed him but he didn’t move. It was like kissing a statue.
“Copia?” I reached for his face again, holding it gently in my hands. “Please.”
He nodded at me and silently we walked back to the cold chamber. When we were huddled in bed, my back pressed against his chest, I tried to push away the anxieties that plagued my mind. We would leave tomorrow and everything would be as it was, I told myself. I closed my eyes and tried to bury further against him. He murmured things in Italian, his hands holding me tightly. And it wasn’t until I was slipping into the arms of Morpheus did I remember that my husband didn’t speak Italian.
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
In the morning, Copia brushed the incident off. Blaming it all on being in an unfamiliar place and jesting about him simply becoming older and more forgetful. “You will understand when you are my age, cara mia,” he had said, trying to laugh it off.
I hadn’t seen him all day after that. Every time I’d hear a creak of a door or the whisper of fabric against stone I’d think it was him. It never was; it was always the wind. Or just my own treacherous imagination. I ate alone. Sitting at that large table with a single candle lit, trying to ignore the eyes of all the portraits that watched me. I felt as if they laughed at me, their fixed smiles delighting in my suffering, hoping and wishing I’d leave.
But I wouldn’t, not without my husband.
Once I had eaten and returned to my room, I tried to write a letter home. No words had come to me, instead, my hand had hovered over the parchment until it was blotted with the ink dripping from the fountain pen in my hand. What could I have told my sister? That the castle was a fairytale delight? That the townspeople were warm and welcoming? That we would be home soon?
My mind was full of things that I couldn’t say. I could not describe the nightmare this place was and how neglected I felt. It was impossible to describe the ache I felt in my chest when I remember my husband had not touched me, kissed me—or even simply held me—in nearly a week. The white-knuckled grip of his hand holding mine as we sat in the hall below was nothing to treasure. My eyes filled with tears at the thought. So many of the tender moments we had shared seemed a lifetime ago; yet the last time I had felt his skin against mine and his whispered words of adoration in my ear would have been the night before we came to this wretched town. I tried to cling to the memory of us in that narrow bed at the crossroads inn—the mattress far too soft and the walls far too thin—but we had laughed and I had felt loved. It felt as if it were years ago. There was something between us now—something unseen that had created a chasm so that I forever felt as if I stretched out over it trying to reach him. And always failing.
I was saved from the darkness of my own mind when I heard the large front door slam shut. The loud noise startled me and I knocked the inkwell over, spilling the dark liquid all over the small writing desk. Ignoring it, I grabbed my nightgown and slipped into it before I hurried down to the main hall.
Copia strode past me as I reached the landing, his footsteps loud as he came across the stone floor.
“Where have you been?” I asked, hurrying to keep up with him.
“Walking,” he said brusquely.
“On a night like this?” I said, hearing the wind outside and the loud crash of the sea.
“Yes, it’s invigorating!” He turned sharply on his heel and glared at me. “Must I report my movements to you like a schoolboy?”
“No, of course not,” I said, taken aback by his sharp words and the dismissive look on his face.
“Then mind your own business,” he snapped.
He stalked over to the drinks cabinet by the fireplace and poured a small glass of port. He ignored me completely as I followed him.
“What's happened to you?” I demanded.
“Nothing whatsoever.” He took a sip of his drink and then glared down at me.
It made me realise how tall he was. He was standing so much straighter than he normally did.
“No, you've changed.” I gripped his arm and I felt him flinch from my touch. How I wanted to cry. “I've never seen you like this!” My hand gripped him tighter. “If you won’t go back home, at least let me call the doctor.”
“No.” He finished the drink and slammed the glass on the table. His lips quirked into a smile, which somehow managed to make me feel worse. “I have plans to call on the good doctor myself. Now, are you satisfied?
I wasn’t. But I merely nodded. “Yes.”
“Then go back to bed!”
I didn’t move. “What will you be doing?”
“That is not your concern.”
This had to be some horrible nightmare. I didn’t know what to say to him; I didn’t even know who was speaking to. It wasn’t the man I married. I whispered goodnight to him and slowly made my way up the stairs. My footsteps faltered when I heard a shout, my ears strained and I heard the sound of talking. Slowly, I came back down the stairs, hands holding my nightgown so the fabric would not make a sound as I crept down the stairs.
“Non ti lascerò mai solo. Il tuo sangue è il mio sangue, la tua mente è la mia mente... il tuo corpo, il mio corpo. Non ti servirà resistermi.”
It was Copia speaking. It sounded wrong, but it was him.
“No. No!”
I moved quickly until I came to the foot of the stairs. In the distance, I could see him standing below the painting of his ancestor. My eyes averted their gaze from it. It was impossible for me to describe why I could not look at it, but I couldn’t. I felt like it watched me, intimately so.
“Non puoi tenermi fuori. La mia volontà è troppo forte. Troppo forte per te.”
I approached him and when I was an arm's width away, he turned sharply to face me. The look on his face livid, I took a step back.
“Why are you spying on me?” Copia demanded.
“I heard voices,” I said accusingly. “You were speaking Italian. Again.”
“I’m trying to learn. Satisfied?”
I wasn’t but I merely nodded. My heart both yearned for him and wanted to be as far away as possible.
He waved a hand dismissively. “Now go to your bed.”
Your bed. Not our bed. I’d never felt so alone as I did walking back through that drafty castle and back into the chamber.
As I entered, I remembered the spilt ink and sighed, I headed down the long hallway and back down the stairs. Copia wasn’t there, so I headed for the kitchen to try and find something to clean the mess up.
“What are you doing?”
It was Imperator. I held my back straight.
“What I do in my home is not your concern,” I said loftily, grabbing a small tea towel.
“Your home?” She came closer. “This is not your home, dear.”
I bristled. I didn’t wish it to be my home. But it was Copia’s. It belonged to the Cardinale family and I was a Cardinale. And I said so, the older woman merely laughed as one would humour a small child.
“This place belongs to the Emeritus family and it always will.” The old woman took the towel I’d found from my hands and guided me out of the kitchen. “Everything in this abbey belongs to them.” She prodded my back. “Everything.”
I followed her back to my room and she helped me clean the mess I’d made. We didn’t share another word until she left, but when I heard the door shut and the unmistakable sound of a lock turning I screamed out.
“Imperator!” I lunged for the handle but it wouldn’t budge—she’d locked me in. I banged on the wooden door. “Imperator—Copia! Help! Let me out!”
My fists ached by the time I stopped banging against the door and my throat was dry. Angry, hot tears had run down my face and since dried. My skin felt tight yet my will was weak. I splashed water on my face to try and calm myself. In a fit of sudden madness, I threw the balcony doors open. The salt wind was wild and the sea below crashed angrily below. I could not escape. Water stung my face and I fled back inside the gilded cell I’d been locked in.
It was hours later when the door unlocked and Copia came in. My anger was ready to unleash but one look at his face had me falter. The desperate panic on his face made the tears run anew.
“Copia!” I cried, clutching at him as he entered, his hand dropping the key to the ground. “That horrible old woman locked—“
“Dearest.”
His voice stopped me short. He sounded so desolate and it tugged at me—as if my heart were nothing but a ball of string that he held the end of. He took one look at me as I stared wide-eyed up at him and fell to his knees before me.
“Something is wrong.” His arms were wrapped around my middle and his face was pressed against my stomach.
“What is it?” I asked, my hands instantly going to his hair, my fingers trying to soothe.
“I don’t know,” he muttered. “I think I’m going out of my mind. It’s this abbey.” He looked up at me from where he sat on the ground, like a puppet without its strings. “Where have I been?”
I couldn’t answer him. So I simply knelt down with him. I could see the cobwebs and dust that clung to his jacket. Where had he been?
“Don’t you remember?” I asked softly.
“No.” His voice was so quiet and I pulled him closer as we sat huddled on the floor. “We have to leave. Tomorrow morning.”
xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx
We didn’t leave.
He claimed he felt much better. That he’d been down below the house checking the structure. He dismissed my numerous attempts to dissuade him. Always brushing it off as bouts of senility. He was not that old. In these moments it felt like I was speaking to a different person. Sometimes I’d catch the strangeness of his blind eye but then it would fade, and he’d smile at me softly. And for a moment I’d think he’d kiss me, but he never did. He’d just excuse himself and disappear to god knew where.
That night he invited Doctor Saltarian to dinner. I had been trying to keep busy during the day; going into town to fetch supplies for the garden. Trying to bring some semblance of life back to it at least kept my hands and my mind occupied. It was clear that once the grounds had been majestic, just like the rest of the abbey, but now it was nothing but a carcass of its former self. I felt like we were vultures, picking at it and only destroying it further. Then sometimes I felt like I were the dead thing and this decrepit abbey was slowly picking at us, and eventually, it would swallow us whole only to spit back bone.
As I sat at the table, I listened as Copia and Doctor Saltarian spoke. Copia seemed more himself than he had this morning. And it was refreshing to have someone else in the house—someone who was not Imperator. Whenever she was in the room, she hovered around Copia like a broody hen. She acted as if she had not locked me away like some deviant; she had mostly ignored me all day. I could tell Copia found her behaviour irritating to an extent, though I knew there was something there. For some reason, he felt some sort of kinship toward her. He didn’t seem to believe she’d locked me in on purpose. She was old, she had been on her own so long. I didn’t care.
I still hated her.
Perhaps I was being selfish and had become too accustomed to having him all to myself. This made me drop my knife and fork onto the table with a clatter.
“I agree, Mrs Cardinale, I am stuffed,” said Saltarian with a grin in my direction, throwing his linen napkin on the massive table that we sat at.
I tried to muster a smile in response as we all stood and moved over to the worn settees that sat by the fireplace. I hated sitting down here. Copia passed me a small glass of wine before handing one to the doctor as he took a seat.
During dinner, the two of them had been discussing the townspeople while I had sat ruminating in a reverie of my own desolate thoughts. The trip into town to gather some supplies for the garden had been an ordeal. I’d been either ignored or ridiculed by the shopkeepers. And the few people in the street had kept a wide berth from me, making the sign of the cross as I walked past.
“Why must these people treat us as if we have the plague?” asked Copia.
“To them, you do,” said Saltarian. He gestured to the portrait on the wall of Copia’s ancestor. “The townspeople have no use for a fear in gods when a man who they believe wicked and full of sin to be so much closer.”
“Why should they fear a man so much?” I said. “And a dead one at that.”
The doctor sighed. The fire crackled and I tried to relax in my chair; I had deliberately chosen the seat that was angled away from the portrait. The heat of the fire was against my cheek yet my skin prickled; I could feel those painted eyes on the back of my neck.
“Hundreds of years ago, there were four brothers and their mad father,” explained Saltarian. “The townspeople kept away from them. Devil worshippers. The townspeople feared the Emeritus family.” Saltarian turned his gaze up to the portrait and gestured with his glass. “That was until the fourth one strung up his three brothers and his own father by the old well. The townspeople thought he was their salvation. They were wrong.”
As the doctor spoke, I could see it all. The fear of a mother waking up and finding her sons and daughters gone. Maybe they were lucky and they’d never see them again. Others were not so fortunate and would find their children out in that once dense forest. Their faces changed—demonic and feral. Or perhaps a husband would wake in the night to find his wife gone, and he would search for her only to peer out the window and see a figure in the distance walking slowly towards the abbey. If he was brave, he would stay where he was. If he was stupid, he would follow her.
I sat there with my tight-handed grip on my wine and told myself it was nothing but rumours and superstition. As ghastly as this abbey was, it was not haunted by a devil worshipping ghost.
“I know, it sounds like rubbish,” said Saltarian with a shrug. “But it’s what the people of Aspera believe. They believe the Emeritus family were trying to summon the antichrist.”
“The antichrist?” repeated Copia.
“Yes.” Saltarian shifted in his seat before he took a sip of his wine. “And the town of Aspera believes they were successful. That the fourth Emeritus was the Devil’s son.”
I glanced up at the portrait of Papa Emeritus the Fourth. And perhaps I could believe it. I hated the smug look on his face. And I despised how much he looked like my husband. It made me feel sick.
Saltarian continued, “One night they nailed him to the large oak and burned him alive. He cursed the town.”
They continued to talk but I merely sat there until I felt it was polite to excuse myself. In the morning, I was going to beg Copia to let us leave. I couldn’t stand it here anymore. This cold castle and these foolish people with their ridiculous beliefs. I yearned to be back home, and more importantly, I yearned to have Copia all to myself once more. Something in me was determined to believe everything would be fine as long as we escaped this mad palace.
As I bid them goodnight, Copia had smiled at me and then he had pressed the softest of kisses against my temple. It made me feel dizzy as a hopeful feeling bubbled in my stomach. Maybe whatever had overcome him earlier had passed.
When I was sitting in bed, trying to read by the candlelight, I heard footsteps. I ignored them, thinking it was either my imagination once more or Imperator. But they paused outside my door. It swung open and I sat up fast. Copia stood in the doorway, his gaze upon me. I was surprised, he had not been coming to bed when I had. I felt the same hope from before rising within me again and I smiled at him.
“Did you want something, darling?” I asked, my voice eager.
“Do I want something?” he said, an eyebrow raised and the hint of a smirk pulling at his lips.
My smile faded as fast as it had appeared and I felt the hope fly away as if taken by the wind outside. I didn’t like the way he was looking at me, nor did I like it when he added the words, “I’m here to exercise my husbandly prerogative.”
He’d never spoken to me in such a fashion before. Always his words and gestures were soft and sometimes even shy. It wasn’t that he did not satisfy me—the way his hands would touch and caress me would have me soaring. I would be content to relish in the gentle touch of his hands on my skin, to languish in the comforting embrace of sweet words whispered in my ear. This was new. He had never looked at me with such domineering confidence before.
“Copia…please.”
“Please?” His face twisted into a mockery of a smile as he leant against one of the wooden columns of the ornate bed. “Please what, dolce?”
Please, leave. Please, stop this. Please, give me my husband back.
There were so many things I felt I was pleading for. And even then, I felt as if part of me was also pleading for him to touch me. All I wanted was for him to hold me as he once had.
“Oh, I know,” he said softly before he came toward me, moving quickly as he crawled up the bed. “I’ve been neglecting you, is that it?”
I pressed myself back, suddenly wishing he would leave me. I didn’t know what was wrong with him but I knew nothing was right. He might have looked like the man I married but that was where the familiarity began and ended. The voice was not quite right. It was him that spoke but he sounded the same as he had the previous night when I’d heard his strange Italian ramblings. The inflection wasn’t the same and the tone was much lower than usual. It made my stomach twist into knots. His movements were also too controlled as he came closer, the bed creaking as he moved. There should have been a world of difference between my husband and a snake, yet I felt he closed the distance between us with the same hypnotic grace and I was too paralyzed to move lest he strike. It was as if he was full of some unknown tension that was so close to snapping—it made me wonder if he was going to kiss me or devour me, or if there was now any distinction.
When his hands reached for my shoulders and effortlessly pushed my nightgown down my arms I couldn’t help but gasp.
“I’ve been very busy but I’m back now,” he said as I tried to shuffle even further back from him.
It was pointless, for he was already bearing down on me and pushing me against the bed as he crawled over me. I felt trapped and full of fear as he pinned me down. And yet, I couldn’t help the way my body reacted to his. There was a hellish delight in the feel of his large hands forcing me onto my back.
I struggled, trying to push him off me but I only heard him laugh.
“Shh, dolce,” he whispered, his mouth pressed against my neck. “È passato tanto tempo dall'ultima volta che ho sentito la carne calda di una donna.”
Again, I tried to push him away, my hands trying to swipe at his face. He grabbed both of my wrists in one of his hands and pinned them above my head in a bruising grip; he did it quickly and with ease as if he’d done it many times before.
He never had.
“Copia—!”
My words were swallowed by him as his lips captured mine. These were not the soft kisses that I had grown accustomed to; these were burning and invading. They made me feel feverish and I couldn’t help but respond to them—not when they made my blood sing and my hands itch to be released.
So I succumbed to him, though it was through no fault of weakness or some notion of my wifely duty—as he had so casually put it—but a curious desire to stoke this dangerous fire he was so quickly building within me.
My hands stopped their feeble efforts of trying to escape his grip. It was clear he had sensed the change in me for he let go of my wrists and instantly my hands flew to his shoulders, gripping at the fabric of his frock coat. I let him trail hot kisses down my neck until he was nipping at my shoulders. His teeth stung my flesh yet it did nothing but incite me further. The flashes of pain were like bright spots within the endless sea of pleasure I felt I was drowning in. Already one of his hands was reaching under the blanket and throwing it off me before it slipped under my nightdress to crawl up the inside of my thigh. His hand cupped my sex and I arched under him. A desperate moan escaped me as I tried to angle myself so that I could press against the heat of his fingers.
I heard his low laugh against my shoulder before his mouth was on mine again. Those lips firm and tongue insistent as he kissed me. The hand between my legs was stroking lazily, his fingers dancing over my flesh and making me sweat even in the frigid cold of this nightmarish castle.
He kept whispering rough words between those hellsent kisses—I didn’t understand a thing he said, again he was speaking in Italian. But I had no use for understanding when his hands and mouth were already painting such a violent picture of euphoria. The tumultuous feelings he was building had me writhing beneath him. Whereas before I had been desperate to get away, now I was even more so to be closer. My own hands had managed to push the coat off his shoulders so they could slip under his vest to hurriedly try to undo his cravat; frantically trying to reach his bare skin.
I could feel his delighted laughter against my skin as his mouth trailed down my neck and to my shoulder. His teeth nipped at my skin while his fingers had already slipped through my wet folds and were curling within me. The tension he was building had me panting and moaning. When I felt his mouth on my breast I realised he had managed to pull my nightgown down to my stomach so that it all bunched around my waist.
His mouth was hot as it licked and sucked on my nipple, causing me to cry out while his fingers thrust between my legs. He bit hard and that pushed me over the edge; sending waves of pleasure burning through me. I could feel the tears running down my face and my heart was pounding in my chest, rapid and wild like the beating of a bird’s wings, but he gave me no time to recover my breath. Quickly he removed his clothes, throwing them to the floor without a care before he was upon me; his large hands gripping my hips tightly before I felt the hard heat of his cock slide into me with ease.
“Come sapevo che saresti stato così dolce per me, cara mia,” he purred.
“Brava ragazza,” he said, hands on my hips. I peered down at him with half-lidded eyes, my hands pressed into the solid planes of his chest. “You show me how much you want me, dolce.”
I writhed my hips, undulating over him and taking all that I could. The stretch and heat of him after so many cold nights alone had me wild. Again, another wave of glorious pleasure was building, and I chased it with abandon. I could feel he was close, his growling words and panted breath did nothing but incite me further—I had never seen him so animalistic before.
Suddenly, his arm reached out and grabbed me by the throat and I was forced down to him, our bodies pressed together so that my head rested in the crook of his neck. He held me there as he thrust up into me fast and hard.
“Come apart for me, dolce,” Copia growled into my ear. “Come with me into fire.”
All I could feel was him; his shoulder was pressed against my mouth and the tang of sweat on his skin was on my lips. His skin was hot and his scent was surrounding me—for a moment I thought I would suffocate. And in that moment I didn’t mind.
The wave of my own release hit me hard and I cried out his name as my hands held tightly to whatever I could reach. His cock kicked before I felt the hot flood of him spilling within me, which only had me gasping from the delirious pleasure of it all.
The grip he had on me slackened. Though my heart still raced as we lay there, the sound of our panting breaths and the wind knocking against the balcony doors the only sounds. I felt him shift beneath me and then his tongue licked up my neck before he sucked on the soft spot behind my ear. I shuddered.
“How sorry I am that I haven’t shared such delights with you, cara mia,” he whispered, teeth grazing against my skin. “A definite lapse on my part.” He brought my lips to mine, a slow decadent kiss that had me reeling and adding nothing but flame to the simmering fire within. “I won’t make that mistake again.”
xxxxxxxxx
Non ti lascerò mai solo. Il tuo sangue è il mio sangue, la tua mente è la mia mente... il tuo corpo, il mio corpo. Non ti servirà resistermi. - I will never leave you alone. Your blood is my blood, your mind is my mind...your body, my body. It will do you no good to resist me.*
Non puoi tenermi fuori. La mia volontà è troppo forte. Troppo forte per te. - You cannot keep me out. My will is too strong. Too strong for you.*
È passato molto tempo dall'ultima volta che ho sentito la carne calda di una donna - It's been a long time since I've felt the warm flesh of a woman
Come sapevo che saresti stato così dolce per me, cara mia - How I knew you'd be so sweet for me, my dear
*from film
#sorry this is stupidly long#i have no self control#if you manage to read all of this . ty <3#fanfic#my-writing#cardinal copia x reader#papa iv x reader#fic: a discordant melody#dark copia#dark copia x reader
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that one post that’s like “it’s a het ship to YOU, to me they’re bisexual” but it’s “to me they’re nonbinary”
#again it’s because I got attached to this ship when I was like 13 but this is discord and pinkie pie to me#also not gonna be explored in my fic because I don’t think they know this about themselves but clem is bi#and while Gus only likes women he would realize he wasn’t cis if he ever had the chance to sit down and think about it#soos and melody are this to me too (nonbinary AND bisexual)
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me and my husband
husband!joel x reader
fic masterlist
summary: you've been married for years now but somewhere along the way you both seem to have lost yourself.
content: angst, angst, angst, nothing new here, overwhelming sadness, inspired by mitski's me and my husband, both characters are sad, mentions of a fight (no use of y/n, no outbreak, age gap (reader is in her 20s, joel is in his 40s)), unedited, I'm sorry
word count: 815 - it's a short one, boys
a/n: yes my dissertation is due in a week. no, i'd much rather right shitty fics. someone please send help.
you feel the tension in the air, a palpable undercurrent that buzzes like static electricity on a humid summer day in austin.
the sunset casts its golden rays through the windows, but its warmth barely touches you. you've fought with joel just hours before the party. words were hurled, apologies left unspoken. now, you both play the roles you've perfected over the years: the ever-gracious hosts.
the party is to celebrate the 20-year anniversary of joel's contracting business, a milestone that should be joyous. the backyard is decorated with fairy lights that hang from tree branches, casting a soft glow that dances over faces and on the surface of wine glasses. guests arrive in little clusters, their laughter and chatter a discordant melody that grates at your nerves.
joel comes over, his furrowed brow betraying the storm that raged earlier. "ya holdin' up alright, darlin'?" there's an edge to his voice, a gruff tautness you recognise all too well.
"just tired," you say, feeling the weight of each syllable as it drops from your lips, a heavy burden you can no longer carry gracefully.
his eyes search yours, perhaps looking for a crack in your facade, a small sign that you might shatter. "we got guests. act like you care, would ya?"
you sigh, brushing a stray lock of hair away from your eyes, a fleeting distraction from the emptiness that gnaws at your soul. you walk away to greet another arriving guest, the distance between you and joel stretching far beyond the few feet of physical space.
a neighbour, carol, sidles up to you. "oh, this punch is just divine. you must give me the recipe," she chirps, her voice a high pitched tune that doesn't quite match the somber tones playing in your head.
carol doesn't like you, she never has. this facade she only puts on for when others are around. she makes your heavy heart give way to a little bit of irritation.
"of course," you smile, sickly sweet to match hers, "it's a family recipe. I'll email it to you."
"you're a darling!" she gushes, completely unaware of the irony, as she moves along to another conversation, another cluster of fake smiles and empty words.
the night drags on like molasses, slow and suffocating. every moment is a reminder of your solitude amidst a sea of faces. the air feels thick, as though the evening itself is steeped in a sorrow only you can taste. your interactions are mechanical—smiles painted on, laughs canned, compliments rehearsed. the sadness in the room is an untouchable entity. it's in the space between your hand and joel's as you pass each other. it's in the half hearted conversation you make, in the loaded silence that screams louder than any words could.
you catch sight of joel as he stands alone, his eyes momentarily unfocused. it's a look you've seen before, one that he usually reserves for moments of deep reflection, or perhaps regret. but it's gone in an instant as he turns to shake a hand, to laugh at a joke, to be the man everyone expects him to be.
finally, the last guest leaves, and the two of you are left in the emptiness that now fills your home. the fairy lights seem dimmer, the night warmer, the silence unbearable. joel walks over to you, his face a mixture of exhaustion and relief. "reckon we made it through another one," he says, looking down at his worn boots before meeting your eyes.
you force a smile, your lips almost trembling under the effort. "yes, we are doing better," you murmur, your voice barely rising above a whisper, lost in the empty spaces that stretch between you.
better, you think. not good, not happy, but better. better is a bandage over a gaping wound, a single raindrop in a drought, a whispered lullaby in a cacophony of cries. you hold onto 'better' like a lifeline, even as you sink deeper into the abyss of your thoughts, each one darker than the last.
"comin' to bed, darlin'?" joel's voice cuts through your reverie, pulling you back to a reality you're not sure you want to face.
"in a minute," you respond, your voice distant, like a shadow cast long and thin by the dying light.
you stand alone in the quiet, your fingers lightly touching the cool marble of the counter. you realize that you've successfully upheld the illusion of a perfect life for yet another night. but in this silence, your act is irrelevant; it's just you, your lingering thoughts, and a growing sense of dread.
you walk towards the bedroom, hesitating for a moment at the doorway. you look at joel, who lies there with his eyes closed, tired from the night. you think of the years that have stretched long and tiring, a road paved with compromises, misunderstandings, and an increasingly elusive love. the room is dim, and it welcomes you with the promise of another night spent side by side but oceans apart.
--
hi, thanks so much for reading!! I'm so very sorry about writing another depressing joel fic but ya girl's got issues, okay?
one day i will write a happy fic, but today is not that day. please let me know if you liked this, and thanks again!
love, d 🖤
#joel miller x reader#joel miller x female reader#joel miller x you#joel miller#joel miller x y/n#joel miller fanfic#joel miller fanfiction#pedro pascal#pedro pascal as joel miller#the last of us#the last of us fanfiction#tlou fanfic#tlou fanfiction#tlou show#joel miller fic#pedro pascal fic#joel miller one shot#tlou angst#tlou x reader#joel miller angst#mitski#me and my husband
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Shadowgast Works in Progress
This week, we have eight of our favorite works in progress to rec! Check them out under the cut, and don't forget to comment and kudos if you like them!
Monsterchen by drow_skies (22239, Teen)
Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes
Something is very wrong with Essek. He has far too many limbs, is sporting claws and sharp teeth, hisses and growls, and can probably fit inside Caleb’s component pouch. But Caleb is certain he can reverse this strange Aeorian magic.
Reccer says: Long Essek fic treated seriously. Not updated in a while, but still super fun!
Coping Skills by eldritchmochi (251061, Explicit)
Reccer's Content Notes: None
BDSM fic starring a disabled Essek and service top Caleb
Reccer says: Startlingly realistic depiction of both the bdsm community and the realities of disabilities. Also super hot.
Kintsugi by Chekhov (83853, Mature)
Reccer's Content Notes: Major Character Death, Dementia
It's a story about Caleb's keen mind break in apart with age, coming back together after an accidental consecution and his way back to Essek..
Reccer says: The process of Caleb and Essek losing and then finding each other again is so beautifully written. At times the story is very sad, but in the best way.
Starling by kaiannae (226460, Mature)
Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence
Bren escapes Vergesson, snatching a fairy -- small humanoid-like beings kept as pets and arcane focuses by mages -- on his way out. Now he just has to survive whilendealing with both his own trauma and the fairy's. He is, however, starting to suspect fairies might be more than hes been led to believe
Reccer says: Fairy!Essek au, dealing with the effects of trauma and survival. Lots of little hints as to fairies being more intelligent -- more human -- than they seem.
The Melody of Your Gravity by sarahlizzie (22887, Explicit)
Reccer's Content Notes: No Content Notes
Caleb and Essek are musicians navigating fame, fortune and a newly added relationship.
Reccer says: The Popstar AU I needed in my life. It is sooo good.
Cascade Effect by firefright (6867, Teen)
Reccer's Content Notes: Omegaverse
part of a series of omegaverse. Essek travels with the Nein to Aeor, while trying to navigate his twnse situation after the exposure of his betrayal, and Caleb and his strained-at-best relationship.
Reccer says: Such a wonderful take on omegaverse w an omega Essek and alpha Caleb. The whole series is well written and Cadcade Effect is no exception!
tether the lark by duckbunny (7433, Explicit)
Reccer's Content Notes: Choose Not to Warn, under-negotiated kink; it's a part of a series
Caleb and Essek develop their relationship admits the deadly dangers of Aeor and their own relationship with pain.
Reccer says: It's very well written, poetic and gloomy. The way Caleb and Essek's complicated relationship with each other, with kink and pain is really captivating.
Reports of my safety have been greatly exaggerated by ghosttopiary (7595, Mature)
Reccer's Content Notes: Graphic Depictions of Violence
essek is caught as bait, but he refuses to lead his friends into a trap.
Reccer says: Its so heartbreaking and intense! Leaves you wanting more!
Aeor is for Lovers is an 18+ Shadowgast Discord server. The above fanfic recommendations were pulled from our community for this weekly event. All fics, unless otherwise specified, will primarily feature Shadowgast. Have any questions about what this is? Check out the FAQ! Next week, we’ll be back with Science Fiction!
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So you've started watching Play It By Ear and you're wondering what the hell the fandom is talking about
(Aka JKEU: Josh & Katrina Extended Universe master post)
In short: in february 2024 the fandom ran a PIBE fanfic week.
@wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos wrote a beautiful story about Josh and Katrina from Joust Because, based around the idea that they are platonic soulmates. Several other authors picked up the thread of the same universe, and gradually brought in more characters and ships.
Now the extended universe of Josh and Katrina, or JKEU for short, includes tens of thousands of words and characters from almost every episode of season 2. It is a beautiful and mindblowing project where the community is, collaboratively and spontaneously, creating a whole world together.
Not everything fits neatly on the same timeline, and if you would prefer to read the fics in the order they were posted you can do so in the PIBE tag on Ao3. However, if you're looking for the closest thing we can get to a Complete Timeline^tm (extremely loose) of the JKEU, it is this:
let's just be friends. let’s merely intertwine our lives, serving as support and fellow celebrant through the ups and downs of an entire human lifetime. only that by @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos
2. We'll Make the Escape of the Falcon Thief by @incorrect-play-it-by-ear
3. The Mysterious Mayhem of the Missing Award by @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos
4. like I lived my whole life, before the first light by @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos
5. How to Land a Falcon by @incorrect-play-it-by-ear
6. I Would Love That by @incorrect-play-it-by-ear
7. killing me with desire by @starstruckodysseys
8. Falcon Nitro mark 5 by @incorrect-play-it-by-ear
9. Baby Steps by @fatestitcherr
10. Magnets Are a Lot Like Falcons in Many Ways by @vexillologyisenjoyable
11. my home is in your touch; my heart is in your arms @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos
12. And They Were Gonna Bust Some Ghosts by @incorrect-play-it-by-ear
13. my heart is your heart, and i'm learning to share by @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos
14. The Dark Tower by @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos
15. Janice by @incorrect-play-it-by-ear
16. Stained Glass by @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos
17. the distance could never tear us apart by @fatestitcherr
Again, this is *very loose*! Please talk to me if you have input on the order and for the love of god tell me if I missed anything 😅 If you have Thoughts and Feelings about the JKEU you are extremely welcome to come and scream about them in the J & K chaos discord, for the unhinged tumblr gang, created by @shortcakestacks: https://discord.com/invite/qfPk2AfE
This is fandom is, and I don't say this lightly, the most fun fandom I've ever been in. Love you all 💞
--------------------------------------
EDIT because we have AUs NOW 😍
sing your melody, I'll sing along by @wheelsupin-azarathmetrionzinthos
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Abijah Fowler x (f) Assassin Reader Drabble [ Warnings: Smut]
AN: On popular demand, another Abijah Fowler x Reader.
You are an assassin set out to kill Fowler. It doesn't go according to plan.
Warnings: Non-con/dub-con content, SMUT (not as detailed as you're used from me, sorry, I'll give the prompt a retry in the future, possibly as a consensual forbidden love fic >D ), Not beta-read. Quick Drabble.
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You watched him through the slats of the ceiling, your heart a drumbeat in the silence. Abijah Fowler, the man with the soul of a serpent, was seated at the head of a long, dark table. Such an outlandish habit. His fingers, stained with the ink of sin, traced the lines of a map that plots downfall and destruction. The other men, shadows in the dim light, nodded and murmured their assent to his vile plans — willing puppets dancing on his twisted strings.
Corrupted souls, all of them. But they weren’t your concern.
Your grip on the hilt of your dagger tightened. You had memorized the layout of this place, moved through the corridors like a ghost, unseen, unheard. Now you hovered above them, an angel of vengeance poised to strike. Your mission was clear: end Abijah Fowler.
He was explaining something, his voice a gravelly melody that carried tales of violence and power. His strong and broad shoulders moved, dipped backward as if he tried to loosen the muscles in them. His oddly colored hair captured your attention, thinking it had been a color akin to bronze or perhaps even gold once. But streaks of grey made him seem more like the other old men in this country. If it hadn’t been for his distinct facial features, the pale color of his skin, and the large shape of his bright-colored eyes.
An angel of death you saw in him. Anyone else called him a demon.
He regaled them with stories of conquests past, painting pictures with words dipped in blood. They laughed, a chorus of discordant notes, and you felt the bitterness rise in your throat.
"Of course," Fowler's voice sliced through the laughter, "it all depends on eliminating any... unexpected threats." His eyes, predator green, suddenly fixed on you, turned upward to the ceiling and straight at your hidden person. A cold smile curled his lips. "Isn't that right?"
The room fell silent. Every muscle in your body tensed, ready to spring, to fight. But you remained still, barely breathing. There was a chance this was all just a bluff, that he hadn’t seen you. But then you saw his unwavering gaze, saw the unnatural bright green eyes that rested firmly upon you, and you knew that you were exposed, the advantage lost. You cursed inwardly, waiting for his next move, knowing the game had changed.
"Come now, don't be shy," he coaxed, his tone mocking. "Join us."
You dropped down gracefully despite the hammering in your chest. Standing before them, outnumbered but unflinching, you refused to let them show any fear. Stoically, you faced them, thinking of all the lessons and all the training you had. The men stared, their gazes ravenous, but it was Fowler who held your attention. A dangerous dance awaited, everyone could feel it in the air. But you knew his moves, knew how he could react, knew you stood little chance in a hand-on-hand combat.
Especially if he brought his demon guns.
You needed a distraction, something that could increase your chances of survival. Your heart raced, a wild drumbeat in the cavern of your chest. Words, like poisoned arrows, flew from your lips as you stepped closer to Abijah Fowler.
"I've heard tales of your prowess," you murmured, voice a silken thread designed to ensnare. "They say no man can match you in the dark arts of war and pleasure."
Fowler's green eyes glinted, a predator basking in the glow of his prey's admiration. He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling through the tension-thick room. "Flattery will get you nowhere, my dear." His words were honey-laced with venom.
One step. Another. Close enough now that you could count the lines etched into his weathered face. You felt the heat emanating from his broad frame. Fowler's hand shot out, swift as a striking snake, clasping your wrist in an iron grip. The trap snapped shut.
"Gotcha," he whispered, a taunt wrapped in a victory.
Instinct took over. Your body remembered its training before your mind caught up. You twisted, a flash of movement, wrenching against his hold. The element of surprise was on your side, for a heartbeat or two.
"Feisty," Fowler observed, almost admiringly.
The dance of death began. A ballet of blows and blocks. You lunged, struck, kicked—each move a desperate plea for freedom. Fowler countered, effortlessly, his strength overwhelming. The other men watched, wolves observing their alpha.
"Should we help?" one ventured, doubt lacing his voice.
“No, he can take her, easily,” another one guffawed.
You hated him for the comment and wanted to punch his face in, but you knew he was right. Fowler was bigger than you, broader, heavier, and more skilled in combat. You were trained to be a silent creeper, someone who brought death without being seen, a shadow of mercy, or an anger of hell.
Another heroic block of his attack, but your underarm was smarting. Pain shot through you, your body feeling sore. When he finally landed a blow that sent you staggering back, you tasted the copper tang of defeat.
"Never send a child to do a killer's job," Fowler sneered, advancing on you, the space between you charged with the promise of pain and something darker still.
Breath short, chest heaving. His presence loomed, an oppressive shadow eclipsing your tumultuous thoughts. Abijah Fowler's green eyes glinted with a predatory gleam, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in a macabre grin that set your nerves on edge.
Was he studying you? The feeling that settled in the pit of your stomach was unsettling. Abijah Fowler was an attractive man, despite all his oddities. And hadn’t his character been so devilish, you might have fallen for his charm. But he was a demon. And in his eyes, you now saw demonic thoughts rise as he studied your features, eyes roaming your skin as if you were unclothed.
You felt the grip of his hands around your wrists, squeezing just a bit tighter. Felt the calloused skin of his thumb as it brushed gently past the mouse of your palm.
"Outside," he commanded, voice low and laden with dark promise. The men hesitated, exchanging leering glances that spoke volumes of their wretched character. "The lass and I need privacy."
"Seems Fowler's got himself a new plaything," one of the men chuckled, coarse laughter bubbling up from the others as they filed out, their intentions thick in the air like a miasma.
Your heart thrummed against your ribs, each beat a silent drum heralding doom. He was close now, too close; the heat from his body mingled with yours. You could kill him—if only you could reach your weapon. But he had smacked it out of your hand with the first blow, it had clunked to the wooden floor aimlessly. You couldn’t even tell where it was from where you stood. Your fingers twitched, betraying the urge.
"I'm not some doll for your amusement," you managed to say, words edged with a defiance you didn't feel.
"Oh, by the time I am done with you, you will wish I’d killed you sooner,” Fowler murmured. You could smell the odd sourness of his breath and wondered what had caused it. His grip on you tightened.
“Who sent you? And why would they send someone so young and unqualified," Fowler murmured, cruel satisfaction seeping through his tone. His breath caressed your ear, sending involuntary shivers down your spine.
The room cleared, the door clicking shut behind the last man. Silence fell heavy, punctuated only by your ragged breaths and the pounding of your pulse. Then, movement. Fowler's hands were upon you, guiding you with unwanted familiarity—a predator toying with its prey.
"Let's see what you've made of," he said, pressing you down forcefully over the table that dominated the center of the room. Your cheek met cold wood, and you flinched as the ink from the maps smeared beneath you, staining your skin with the blueprint of their vile machinations.
"Consider this a different kind of battle," Fowler whispered, his voice a serpent's hiss as he leaned over you, his weight an unspoken threat.
Fowler's hand slithered up your leg, rough fingers catching on the fabric of your clothes. A tug, a deliberate pull, and the material gave way to bare skin, your exposed calf a pale contrast against the darkness of his touch. His breath hitched ever so slightly, a sign of his burgeoning arousal not lost on you.
You struggled on instinct, but stilled when you felt the bulge against your thigh increase. This didn’t actually arouse him, did it?
"Fight me," he growled, a low rumble in his chest as you twisted beneath him, struggling for leverage. "I do love it when you struggle like that."
Your muscles coiled, ready to spring, but he was a slab of stone pinning you down. The heat of his body radiated through the thin barrier of your clothing, igniting a reluctant fire within. You hated how your body betrayed you, responding to his proximity despite the storm of loathing raging in your heart.
His hand wandered with more audacity, venturing into forbidden territory. A gasp tore from your lips, unsanctioned pleasure sparking along your nerves. Fowler chuckled, a sound laced with darkness, as if he relished in pulling these reactions from you.
"Good girl," he purred, his breath hot against your ear. "Let go, just for a moment."
You fought against the tide rising within, but the dam broke under his relentless pursuit, waves of reluctant ecstasy crashing over you. Your climax hit with the ferocity of a tempest, leaving you shuddering and vulnerable in its wake.
He wasted no time, freeing his aching long cock, the size and girth you had never seen before. A gasp tore from your lips as he sheathed himself inside of you, bottoming out with little mercy. He set a grueling pace, showing little care for your pleasure or well-being at this point. But your core was slippery, your walls fluttering around him with passion, and you had to bite your tongue to keep from moaning loudly with each and every deep thrust his foreign body gave you.
Was this how it had been for every lover he had ever taken, forced or otherwise?
A second orgasm wracked through your body. You’d find an excuse for this later on, if you were to survive this ordeal. You would find a way to condone the liquid that dripped from your core and onto the table below, the way the stained ink brushed past your nipples, the way your body pulsed with pleasure after Abijah Fowler found his release.
You felt a hot palm on your naked back, gently caressing the skin there, and heard the low hum that came from his lips. He sounded pensive, as if he were determining your fate. Your thoughts slid back to your weapons and the many ways to get your hands on them, but his body still kept you trapped underneath him.
As you lay there, trembling, Fowler's voice slithered in your ear once more. "There's a task I need done," he murmured, the words vibrating against your skin. "A certain individual who needs to be...taken care of."
His implication was clear, an order veiled as an offer. "Do this for me," he continued, "to my satisfaction, and I shall spare your life."
"My life..." you rasped, your voice laden with the weight of reality. There was no choice, only the illusion of one. You nodded, sealing a devil's pact, while inside, a lethal promise took root. Fowler had ignited a vengeful blaze, and from its ashes, you would rise—his destruction, your sole aim.
This was not the end. It was a twisted beginning, and you swore to yourself, to the silent gods of retribution, that you would have your revenge.
Abijah Fowler would pay.
~
AN: I want to do this character more justice (and the smut). But quite frankly, it is a bloody miracle I have been writing anything at all. Things don't go well health-wise, but we'll know more at the end of this month. I hope to feel good enough soon to write a better drabble for Abijah and Reader.
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Here are my highlights from the Valentine's Day watch party, all in chronological order and categorized this time around:
"Mr. Duck Steps Out":
Just everyone's reactions to Daisy's voice when she made her debut
"Till Nephews Do Us Part":
The thirst counts for Missy and Mina overloading
The return of Bohemian Quacksody
Scrooge having paintings and a statue of Goldie EVERYWHERE (He is a fucking SIMP)
Corporate Cupcake, Money Muffins, Sweet Stocks …You know what? Just the pet names in general.
"KILL HER, BEAKLEY! GET HER ASS!"
WriteBackAtYa: "Spaceballs Ass Luggage"
Us when Millionara falls in the river:
Jamie: "PULL THE LEVER KRONK" Me: "WRONG LEVERRRRR" Tokuvivor: "Why do we even have that lever?!"
Magica cameo?!
And a Sixpence in Your Shoes
Goldie Shotgun!
"Fungus Amongus":
Godfrey and I sharing the same brain
Melody: "WHY ARE YOU BUYING CLOTHES AT THE DUCK SOUP STORE?!" Me: "FUCK YOU!"
Everyone going crazy over Morgana
hueberryshortcake: "Save me Scrooge McDuck" Me: "Scrooge McDuck" Godfrey: "Scrooge McDuck save me"
"Prissy is pissy"
DW not denying the girlfriend part
A sax play in the BG whenever Morgana is onscreen, just like Rouge in Sonic X
"NOOOO, NOT LAUNCHPAD!"
"The Golden Lagoon of White Agony Plains!":
RAID THE BUFFET!
Us going FERAL over Goldie
puffywuffy8904: "MY EX WIFE STILL MISSES ME" Me: "BUT HER AIM IS GETTIN' BETTER"
Let the lady lead
Jamie mentioning the "between the legs" joke from Life and Times (No filter, Don Rosa. lol)
THE FUCKING ELEVATOR JOKE
Bisexual waterfalls
Rexx shouting at Missy via an audio message
Foghorn Leghorn
"You loved gold more than you loved me."/"And that's why you loved me."
Jamie's storyboard project
Discord buffering during the FUCKING TANGO SCENE
"The Adorable Couple":
Me: "Piss on the moon, you cloud!" Godfrey: "YESSS PISS ON LUNARIS"
Rainbow connections
"The Duck Who Knew Too Much":
Us @ Fenton, M'ma, and Gandra's OG versions:
GONDRA
Learning OG Fenton was voiced by Hamilton Camp, thus bringing DT17 Fenton being voiced by Lin-Manuel Miranda full circle
Oppenheimer mention (Stop stealing from the ducks, Nolan!)
Goid
Missy: "cant believe they whitewashed daffy guys"
"SCROOGE, YOU DUMBASS"
Brunette Fenton
QUACKERJACK MENTION???
This whole fucking episode being worthy of the DT17 adaptation fic treatment *cough* Jamie *cough*
"Ghoul of My Dreams":
DRAKEPAD KISS
Archie being a hater
"WHERE IS GOSALYN?"
Jealous Launchpad
DEEEAM WORLD
Morgana needing better lipstick because of how fast it disappears in between scenes
WriteBackAtYa having so many jokes in his head about… goofy ass noises
"And now, with the city asleep, I can FINALLY STEAL ENOUGH MONEY TO PAY OFF MY STUDENT LOANS!"
Lottie pointing out how Archie looked like—
Me: "Goldie Shotgun sequel when?"
puffywuffy8904: "HOW IS THIS MF SLEEPIN IN THE DREAM WORLD" Us: "*Louie voice* I just am."
"The Dangerous Chemistry of Gandra Dee!":
DOOFENSHMIRTZ
puffywuffy8904: "Webby we need to get Fenton rizzed up"/"Please never say that again"
POWERPUFF GIRLS NARRATOR
Fenton's little growl
*seeing Fenton's hand-me-down suit from his dad* Goofy?
Prego
"YOU WILL RUE THE DAY!"
Gandra obliterating the wrong twink
"What kind of monster doesn't like glazed donuts?"
"Do you feel that spark?" ⚡️ZAP⚡️
The Beaks dab
"What? No signal? Boo!"
"TWO BAD THINGS COULD HAPPEN!"
"I've got your kids! Maybe. I'm not sure how this family works."
ANCHOR ARMS
Coach Dad
🎶IT'S A DAAATE🎶
"Two Can't Play":
Mullet Donald
AIRHORNS
"THEY'RE IN FUCKING TRON"
"A DuckTales Valentine":
DT87's love for mentioning Fort Knox for some reason
puffywuffy8904: *mentions the "DuckTales Apology Video" ranking* Me: "*Miles voice* I made a mistake."
Webby on Scrooge's desk like: She likes to be tall.
Me: "GOLDIE SHOTGUN THREEQUEL WHEN?!"
US IN UTTER DISMAY UPON SEEING WEBBY CRYING 😭😭😭
Sunglasses swag
GOLD FEVER REAL
"A swift kick in the ribs!"/"A what?"/"Aagh!"/"Aah! My ribs!"
Webby running up to Scrooge and hugging him! 💖
"Aww, he does love his family!"
"My Valentine Ghoul":
Gosalyn FINALLY appearing in today's watch party!
Negaduck appearance!
puffywuffy8904: "he's just darkwing after some cigarettes"
"TIME TO GO A COURTIN'"
Missy getting double whammied with emotes of Prissy and Scrooge getting sprayed with water
(Screenshot edit by @tealottie)
Missy's thirst levels reaching CRITICAL MASS
Quackrinomicon being voiced by KING CANDY
Archie still being a fucking hater
"Keen gear!"
Godfrey and I still being on the same wavelength
NEGMEISTER
THE GIRLS ARE FIGHTINGGGG
Rexx reviving the Missy thirsy count
Missy: "I NEED HIM JESUS" WriteBackAtYa: "No, you just need Jesus"
RED FLAGS! 🚩🚩🚩
"New Gods on the Block!":
Della using party cannons like Pinkie Pie
Scrooge's transition from wallowing to anger and his tail shake
"Why don't you turn into a swan and FUCK OFF?!"
THE FRAMES
"IT CONSUMES ME!"
"What are your intentions with my Donald?"
Megamind (literally) Huey
Pig couple: DESTROYED
Chris Diamantopoulos having the ✨RANGE✨
Greek God Groupchat
Webby being utterly TERRIFYING with god powers
Dewey having the best handling of his god powers through sick dance moves
"My Don-Don"
"You killed my boyfriend!"/"Boyfriend? Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!"
The immediate failure parallels
Just how much Della has improved as a mother
AND THEN ALONG CAME ZEUS
#my post#duckblr movie night#dt cafeteria table#duckblr#duckverse#mr. duck steps out#mickey mouse shorts#the adorable couple#two can't play#ducktales#ducktales 1987#till nephews do us part#the duck who knew too much#a ducktales valentine#darkwing duck#fungus amongus#ghoul of my dreams#my valentine ghoul#ducktales 2017#ducktales reboot#ducktales season 1#the golden lagoon of white agony plains!#ducktales season 2#the dangerous chemistry of gandra dee!#ducktales season 3#new gods on the block!#valentine's day
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૮꒰ ྀི >⸝⸝⸝< ྀི꒱ა happy new year my loves ฅ^._.^ฅ
helllooo !! as 2023 is ending and 2024 is starting i wanted to a make a little post just to share how thankful i am. being able to write again has been so fun!! i didn’t realise just how much i missed it until i started doing it again, especially for riize.
i want to wish you all a happy and safe new year, i hope 2024 is incredible for you all and you find the happiness and love you deserve. i hope we can grow together as the months pass and that this time next year we’re all happier and in a better place 🫶🏻
the blog has grown quite quickly since i opened it and started writing for riize, we’re at 1.6k now and that’s just insane to me. i never expected so many people to enjoy what i write let alone in engage with it and tell me how much they enjoy it. i have a few things planned for the new year !! ideas, fics and maybe even potentional smau’s!! i hope they’re all things you can look forward to and enjoy when the time comes 💗
i’ve met some incredible people on here !! not to mention the melody and friends discord server where i’ve met people that i hope i can keeps round for a long time to come. i know we’ve had our ups and down within the server but with our wonderful admins jaye and mimi i hope that within the new year we can be happier and filled with less negativity !! i did post a message in the server so i hope you all checked that out 💗
i can be a sappy person… i won’t do it publicly!! but i just want to give a special thank you to the people i’ve met through this blog, whether we talk regularly or just through asks or if we just follow each other, i hope your new year is as lovely and wonderful as you all are!! @ mimi @leejeongz @starrypen @kkurokitty @ensite @kissohee @heesbaby @hoondrop @jaylaxies @pixiewoni @neosvcr @productiwity @wonsy @choqolei @riizeaus @neoraso @heelcvr @nctxtrash @ntoniac, everyone else ive interacted with and my wonderful anons!!
final note. i love you all immensely 💗💖🫶🏻
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Pairing: Dazai Osamu and Chuuya Nakahara x Fem!reader
word count: 868
summary: You decided to go Christmas caroling, but Dazai and Chuuya wouldn't stop fighting
warnings: none
Tag list: @getousrep
Want more Fics for the Holidays?
The winter night unfolded like a tapestry of silver and indigo, the moon casting its gentle glow upon the silent streets adorned with a fresh blanket of snow. Bundled against the chill, you, Dazai, and Chuuya ventured forth on a Christmas caroling odyssey. The jingling of bells hung from your coats created a festive overture as you stepped into the crystalline night, carrying with you the promise of harmonious melodies and seasonal cheer. Little did you fathom that beneath the facades of Yuletide joy, a tempest of tensions swirled between Dazai and Chuuya.
The journey commenced with a harmonious promise as you approached the first house. The jingle of bells, like ethereal chimes, resonated with the winter silence. "Deck the Halls" emerged from the trio's lips, voices intertwining in a festive symphony. Yet, keen eyes could detect the subtle nuances in the exchanged glances between Dazai and Chuuya, a quiet prelude to the discord that loomed.
At the doorstep of the next house, the notes of "Jingle Bells" drifted into the night, but the harmony wavered as the camaraderie fractured. Beneath the surface of the festive melody, a clandestine bickering threatened to eclipse the joy. Chuuya's gaze bore a disapproving weight, met by Dazai's nonchalant shrug. The once seamless chorus now echoed with an undertone of unspoken disagreement.
The third house, an unsuspecting audience to the carolers, received the strains of "Silent Night" that carried a clandestine tension. Whispered arguments punctuated the serene melody, each word a sharp note in the air. Passersby, wrapped in scarves and coats, observed the trio, their obliviousness a stark contrast to the internal strife that played out.
A spirited rendition of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas" marked a turning point. The latent animosity between Dazai and Chuuya reached a crescendo, and the festive illusion threatened to shatter. Words, like icicles, hung in the frosty air, sharp and brittle. Yet, miraculously, the carol persisted, though the veneer of enthusiasm now bore the weight of unspoken grievances.
Approaching the next house, the animosity reached a zenith. "O Holy Night" became an ironic backdrop to their silent warfare, and "Joy to the World" felt like a distant echo of shared sentiment dissipating in the cold. The harmonious spirit of Christmas caroling transformed into a battleground, the strains of the carol now a mere backdrop to the snide remarks and simmering resentment.
The tension climaxed at the last house, where a silent agreement passed between Dazai and Chuuya. The finale, "Hark! The Herald Angels Sing," should have been a triumphant crescendo, yet the strained smiles and exchanged glances betrayed the tumult beneath the surface.
Retreating from the final doorstep, the trio navigated the snowy streets in a hushed atmosphere. The moonlight, which earlier bathed everything in a soft glow, now cast a somber hue on the night. The unresolved discord hung in the air like a lingering note, a poignant contrast to the picturesque scene around.
Silence prevailed until the trio reached home, where the frosty air seemed to mirror the unspoken tension. The moonlight, now filtered through frosted windows, illuminated Dazai and Chuuya's strained expressions. The unresolved differences, disguised beneath layers of caroling and festive trappings, cast a shadow over the night that should have been a celebration of harmony and joy.
Once inside, the silence lingered, echoing in the spacious room. The moonlight spilled through the windows, casting elongated shadows that mirrored the unresolved intricacies of the evening. Dazai, leaning against the wall, broke the silence. "Well, that was an interesting caroling adventure, wouldn't you say?"
Chuuya, his arms crossed, shot a sharp glance at Dazai. "Interesting? That was a disaster. I can't believe you had to turn every note into a competition."
Dazai, with a nonchalant grin, retorted, "Competition spices things up, don't you think? Adds a little drama to the festivities."
Chuuya, his irritation palpable, scoffed. "Drama? I thought we were here to spread holiday cheer, not engage in a verbal sparring match."
The room, now illuminated by the soft glow of the moon, became a stage for the verbal jousting between the two. The unresolved tension crackled in the air, creating an atmosphere that stood in stark contrast to the serene, festive expectations of the night.
You, caught in the crossfire of their verbal volleys, attempted to mediate. "Come on, guys. It's Christmas. Can't we just enjoy the night without turning it into a battlefield?"
Dazai, ever the provocateur, smirked. "Why not? A little drama never hurt anyone. Besides, it adds character to the otherwise mundane caroling tradition."
Chuuya, visibly exasperated, shook his head. "Character? This is not a play. It's a celebration of the season. Can't we at least agree on that?"
As the verbal spar continued, the moonlight continued to cast its soft glow upon the room, creating an otherworldly ambience. The unresolved tensions, though palpable, stood in stark contrast to the festive decorations that adorned the space.
The night, which started as a journey of caroling camaraderie, now concluded with a tableau of discord and disagreement. The moon, a silent witness, cast its gentle glow upon the room, a subtle reminder that even in the midst of celebration, unresolved differences could cast shadows over the festive spirit.
#bungou sd#bungou stray dogs#bungo stray dogs manga#bsd anime#bsd x reader#bungo sd#bungo stray dogs x reader#bsd spoilers#bungo stray dogs season 4#soukoku#skk#bsd skk#dazai x y/n#dazai bsd#dazai x reader#bsd dazai#bungou stray dogs dazai#dazai osamu#dazai x chuuya#chuuya nakahara x reader#bsd chuuya#bungo stray dogs chuuya#chuuya nakahara#nakahara chuuya#bungou stray dogs chuuya#chuuya x reader
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Pairing : Suna x Reader
a/n : Rewriting my first fic ! There isn't really much change at first, more like the way I write it. But I did add more to it, I hope you enjoy it ! :D
"What's the matter?" Suna's voice echoed through the discord call that had been ongoing for the past three hours. It was 2 a.m., and this nightly call with Suna was a time for both of you to simply be together, doing nothing or anything while music played in the background. You lifted your head from the assignment you had been working on for the past hour. "Hmm? What do you mean?" you asked, curious.
"You've been shivering and scrunching your face. It's actually quite cute, but now I'm genuinely concerned," Suna expressed, his voice filled with worry. Leaning back in your chair, you searched for the right words to describe the strange sensations you had been experiencing. "Well, how can I put it… Lately, I've been having this weird feeling in my body that makes me all jittery and uneasy. Trust me, it's not a pleasant sensation," you explained, feeling a sense of relief as you shared your thoughts.
Suddenly, the "underground" song that Suna had been playing came to a halt. "Hey, it was getting to the good part," you playfully whined. "Shut up, I'm changing the playlist," Suna responded, his fingers clicking away on the keyboard. The bot started playing a much calmer song, and you opened the chat to see Suna had chosen a playlist titled "Everything's Going to Be Okay ~ Playlist to Soothe Anxiety." You felt the urge to tease him about his efforts to calm you down with a cheesy playlist, but instead, you silently thanked him and embraced his presence.
You weren't sure how it worked, but Suna's small gestures meant the world to you and brought a comforting warmth to your heart. Just being in his company was enough to soothe your troubles, and you treasured every moment spent together.
As the tranquil melody filled the virtual space, a peaceful ambiance settled between you and Suna. The minutes ticked by, and though the world outside seemed chaotic and unpredictable, the connection you shared with Suna provided solace and stability. It was as if the discord call existed in its own little bubble, shielding you both from the outside world.
Suna's voice broke the silence, soft and reassuring. "You know," he began, "I may not have all the answers or a magical solution, but I'm here for you. Whenever you need someone to talk to or a shoulder to lean on, I'll be right by your side." His words resonated deeply within you, touching the core of your being. In a world where so much was uncertain, having someone who genuinely cared about your well-being was a precious gift.
A warm smile spread across your face, and you couldn't help but feel grateful for Suna's presence in your life. The bond you had formed through countless late-night conversations, shared laughter, and even the occasional tears had grown stronger over time. You realized that it wasn't just the calming playlist or the soothing words that made a difference—it was the genuine connection between you.
As the night grew darker and the moon hung high in the sky, you both found comfort in each other's virtual presence. Conversations flowed effortlessly, ranging from profound discussions about life's mysteries to lighthearted banter that elicited bursts of laughter. The hours slipped away, but neither of you minded because time seemed irrelevant when you were wrapped in the embrace of friendship.
In that moment, you understood that even amidst the uncertainties and challenges, you had found an anchor in Suna. Together, you faced the ups and downs, providing support and encouragement every step of the way. Whether it was through silly conversations, shared interests, or moments of vulnerability, you had built a bond that transcended the boundaries of the digital realm.
As the dawn approached and the sky painted hues of soft pastels, you reluctantly realized that it was time to bid each other farewell. But before you ended the call, you made a promise to continue these nightly rituals, knowing that they held a special place in your heart. With a renewed sense of hope and strength, you said your goodbyes, eagerly looking forward to the next opportunity to connect with Suna.
In a world where physical distance could separate people, you found solace in the fact that true connections knew no bounds. And as you closed your eyes, drifting into a peaceful slumber, you carried with you the knowledge that Suna's presence would always be just a call away, ready to bring light to the darkest of nights.
#˗ˏˋ ꒰ ♡ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ mai writes#suna x reader#haikyuu!!#haikyu x reader#suna rintarō#suna rintaro fic#suna rintaro oneshot#suna rintaro x reader#haikyuu suna#rintaro suna x reader#haikyuu fluff
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finally. it is done
jonny angst fanfic incoming this is a prequel to this fic you can read it below the cut or here on ao3
Jonny buried his face in Brian’s chest, and cried, heaving sobs wracking his body as his tears left a growing damp spot on Brian’s shirt. Cautiously, Brian draped a heavy arm around him. Jonny looked so much smaller like this, curled up into Brian’s side.
“Jonny,” Brian began, speaking softly. “What’s wrong?”
Jonny’s reply came between gasps of air as he cried. “She’s gone, and- and she’s not coming back.”
“Who, Jonny?”
“Nastya,” he whispered, like he couldn’t quite believe it.
“Oh,” Brian said stupidly. Nastya was gone, and she was never coming back. Okay. He would deal with those emotions later. He stroked Jonny’s hair lightly.
“It’ll be alright, Jonny,” Brian said, the words sticking in his throat. “She’s moved on, and that’s okay.”
“N-no it won’t be fucking okay, it’s- it’s never going to be fucking okay again, nothing will be the same and everything’s going to be- it’s going to be different, and wrong, forever.” Jonny’s voice was muffled by Brian’s shirt as he spoke. “Who’s going to play viola? Who’s going to fix Aurora when she breaks?”
“Marius can play violin, and I’m sure if there are any problems with the ship, we can figure something out between us.”
“I don’t want stupid Marius to play his stupid fucking violin,” Jonny stood suddenly, pulling away from Brian, his voice cracking slightly. “I want Nastya to come back.”
Jonny stormed out and Brian hastened to follow. Jonny reached his room and slammed the door in Brian’s face, a lock clicking into place. He knew he was easily strong enough to break through, but that would be wrong. Brian felt his eyes growing damp with oil as he desperately scrabbled to reach his switch. As it always had been, always would be, it was just tantalisingly out of reach.
Brian pressed one hand against the door. “Jonny, please-“
“Fuck off.” His reply was muffled and strained with emotion.
Brian stood there for a very long time.
Everyone mourned the loss of Nastya in their own way. The ship seemed so much quieter now, most of the crew choosing to isolate themselves, processing their grief alone. Raphaella threw herself into her experiments with renewed fervour, killing all who dared interrupt. Ivy powered through stacks of books like her life depended on it. Ashes just sat and stared out of the ports and into space, chainsmoking for hours on end.
Gunpowder Tim was not quiet though. Fire. Reload. Fire. Reload. The silences between shots were heavy and oppressive, threatening to choke the breath out of him. Even the whirring and humming and clicking machinery of the Aurora seemed to have fallen silent in a strange requiem. Fire. Reload. Tim’s hands shook, though his shots hit the bullseye every time. Somewhere in the ship a mournful violin melody began. It cut off with a scrape of discordant notes as a volley of gunshots went off. Fire. Reload. Fire. The sound of stomping and smashing approached and Jonny flung open the door, still soaked in a spray of scarlet. Tim reloaded slowly as Jonny stood in the doorway, breathing heavily, gun in one hand, bottle in the other. Jonny took a swig of vodka and fired vaguely in the direction of the target.
“Hello,” Jonny said sullenly. Tim said nothing, squinting at him warily. Jonny swayed dangerously, his knees buckled and he sat down, hard. “I… wanted t’ask you somethin.”
“And what’s that?”
“How… how didya cope when- when you lost Bertie?” Jonny spoke haltingly, his words slurring together.
Tim flinched slightly.
“You know what I did, Jonny. Murder. Lots of it.”
“An’ did it make you feel better?”
Tim considered for a moment.
“Not really,” he admitted.
“Oh,” Jonny replied. He looked so forlorn Tim worried Jonny might start crying, and Tim did not have the emotional energy to deal with that.
“I, uh, do have something that makes me feel a little better,” Tim crouched to be at Jonny’s level and reached beneath the collar of his shirt, pulling out a necklace. Jonny squinted as his eyes struggled to focus. Military dog tags, emblazoned with the name BERTIE. “It’s like a kind of totem, I guess, like as long as I have these I can keep his memory close to me. It’s kind of stupid, but it helps.” Jonny nodded slowly, then, apparently satisfied, stood and stumbled out. Tim looked at the empty doorway. Please stay, he thought. But Jonny was gone. And Tim was alone in the silence once more.
Jonny laughed manically as he let out a spray of bullets, the people before him twitching and jerking in a morbid dance as they fell dead to the ground. His metal heart ached in his chest as he cast around for more victims of his wrath. He held his gun loosely as he wandered vaguely down the centre of the street, the barrel of his new toy dragging across the road behind him. Tim had given it to him, a gun not designed for elegance or precision, a brutal weapon made purely for the sake of indiscriminate violence. But what was the fucking point of it if there was no-one to shoot? They kept hiding from him, but he knew they were there. He was sure of it. The air was silent, but heavy and tense. With a terrified wail, a man rushed from his hiding spot behind some bins, and on instinct Jonny drew his sixgun and shot him dead. The victory felt hollow and unsatisfying as Jonny continued to stalk down the road, gun scraping the ground behind him.
He stopped abruptly. Had he seen something… familiar? He retraced his steps carefully, his face screwed up in concentration. A soot-covered shop window, and a coat. Nastya’s coat. The gun fell to the ground with a clang of metal as he raced into the shop, barging through the door with his shoulder. A bell tinkled warmly as he entered and he stood there for a moment, breathing heavily and staring at a rack of identical blue coats. Not Nastya’s coat. Similar though. Perhaps similar enough? He stepped forward and reached out a hand to brush against the fabric, then flinched back slightly, seeing his own hand, dirty and blood-soaked, in stark contrast to the pristine coat. After a moment of hesitation, he picked one up. It fitted him. He tossed it aside and picked up a bigger one. Nastya had always been taller than him. Clutching it to his chest, he left, the bell jingling as he did so, and walked back.
Jonny boarded the ship, resolutely ignoring the various questioning looks of his crew, and Tim, watching curiously, his metal eyes softening with sympathy as he saw what Jonny was holding. Jonny didn’t want Tim’s stupid fucking sympathy though, didn’t want to be seen as something weak, and before he knew what he was doing he was gripping his sixgun tightly and Tim’s brains were splattered across the wall. He ignored the faint pang of regret and went to his room, locking the door firmly behind him.
He laid the coat out carefully on his bed, inspecting his prize. It didn’t look that much like Nastya’s, now he got a good look at it. It didn’t have the same detailing on the cuffs, of course, and the shade of blue wasn’t right, and the collar was completely wrong. Hot, angry tears started to well in his eyes and he wiped them away furiously, but he couldn’t stop and suddenly he was curled up against the wall sobbing and gasping. And then with a cold determination he cocked his gun, pressed it to his temple and pulled the trigger.
When Jonny awoke, he felt much calmer, though when he tried to open his eyes, he found them glued shut by his own blood. Prying them open with his fingers, he stood. An Aurora patch, that’s what he needed. That was what would make it look like a true Mechanism’s coat. Maybe he had one under his bed. He crawled onto his stomach and rooted around, cursing as he knocked over a half-empty bottle of whiskey.
That was fine. That was fine, and he didn’t even care. He didn’t mind the wet patch on the floor or the fresh stink of alcohol or another sticky liquid on his hands. It was fine. He was fine. With a scream of frustration, he smashed the bottle against the bedframe, and the neck shattered in his hand.
He lay there, breathing heavily. Marius had once told him how to count out his breaths to keep him calm and breathing deeply. Jonny had punched him, but now as he swept his hand under the bed, ignoring the accumulating sharp cuts, he counted. Inhale for four counts. He shoved aside a pile of rubbish. Hold for seven. He dug through the layer of random items coating the floor. Exhale for eight. Spotting a dust-covered patch, he grabbed it and clambered out from underneath the bed, hitting his head against the bedframe as he did so.
He sat on the bed and rocked gently, brushing the dust off an ancient Aurora patch. Yes, this would do nicely. He fished some sewing equipment out of a drawer, and set to work. His palms had tiny shards of glass stuck in them and his fingers bled from dozens of tiny wounds, but he didn’t care. The needlework was clumsy and uneven, but that didn’t matter.
When he was finished, he brushed the needles aside and buried his face in the coat. Jonny froze. It reeked of newness and artificial shop smell, and Jonny reeled back from it. It smelled wrong. He stared at it for a moment, before cracking open another bottle of whiskey and taking a deep drink from it, before unceremoniously pouring its contents over the coat, then throwing the bottle across the room. It smashed against the wall. Lighting a cigarette, Jonny picked up the coat and walked to the vent shaft in the wall. No cover - he’d left it open so Nastya could drop by his room whenever she liked. Not that she ever would again. Jonny crawled into the vent and curled up with the coat, and tried very hard not to cry. He would not succeed.
#the first half flowed easily writing the second half was like pulling teeth#done now thiugh#jonny d’ville#the mechanisms#do not archive#fanfiction#my fanfiction#doors.txt#btw I love it when people tell me their thoughts in the tags would be interested what you guys think of it
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@glossysoap tagged me in WIP Wednesday so here is the preface to my first long form fic that @gemmahale has been an amazing source of inspiration and encouragement for🖤 I shared a few snippets in the ask game yesterday so I think it’s time I officially introduce it
Fistful of My Soul (This Is a Love Story)
A CoD Multiverse/Timeline Convergence AU
Somewhere at the unfathomable edge of the universe, a weaver sits before a loom, warp strung between the long arms of spiral galaxies, piecing together the stories of its inhabitants—and they’ve made a mistake. A miscalculation. A celestial oversight in the weaving of the temporal tapestry.
They’ve left your thread loose; allowed the ends to split and fray.
And while the weaver of fates toils with the snarled, messy fray, picking and pulling at weft and loose ends, a lyrist plucks at the warp. Thrums a discordant melody that echoes in the spaces between stars.
Your whole life you’ve felt the echo of it, ringing hollow in your chest. A note gone flat. Out of tune with the rest of the world.
A heart made of stardust, trying and failing to synchronize—to find its tempo—with the constellations singing in the night sky. Chasing the vestiges of a devastating harmony, one that can only be found in novae, and whose chords have long since been silenced by time and space and the immeasurable distance between a failing heart and the edge of the universe.
You’re chasing a feeling, or maybe a feeling is chasing you. Some ancient song, a distant droning, beckons from an unknown land. It hums, rattles in the calcified acoustic shell between your ears, and the threads that bind you tremble with a frenetic urgency; a lingering paresthesia of the soul.
#foms/tials#Johnny/s x f!reader#wip wednesday#disclaimer: this is not coming anytime soon#it is going to be a LONG fic and it’s a new writing style I’m working with
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this is reality
sort of sbi au and autistic!wilbur centric fic
A/N; this took me like four days and it was simply bc I wanted to write autistic will stimming. like the whole concept was the last scene, I just got carried away with james and wilbur bestie moments
Summary; Wilbur Soot also known as Wil Gold is the lead of an up-and-coming indie rock band named Lovejoy. They've only released two EPs in 2021 and are preparing to release their next single Call Me What You Like, but Wilbur is concerned his contribution to the song is what will be their downfall.
OR; Wilbur is autistic, insecure, and anxious so he's surprised when the UK charts are released that maybe he makes good art that people love
TW; anxiety, panic, swearing and I think that's it
Characters; Wilbur, James, Ash, Tommy
Words; 5.4k
dedicated to; @loverboy-soot bc i sent him sneak peeks constantly and I have been meaning to finish and post this every day I've written on it
masterlist
my ao3
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Wilbur had always dreamed of having his own band, people who loved music just as he did and put as much passion and care into the music they made.
He had that now. Joe, Mark, and Ash were the best friends and bandmates he could ask for. They were passionate and creative—they put their all into their art and their dedication was beginning to pay off. There was a manageable amount of non Dream SMP or MCYT Lovenjoyers, but they were getting recognized in mainstream media more often. They’d been on the radio a few times, and they’ve trended on youtube before and they appeared on at least two Spotify-curated playlists. They weren’t big but they were becoming less and less of a silly little indie band by the day.
And Wilbur knew their next single was their big break. It would jumpstart their career further into the industry, he just knew it. Or, well, he hoped it would. There was a gnawing at his brain and his heart that their new song wasn’t all that, that he was fooling himself by believing it was their best yet. The man couldn't get his hopes up, but he also couldn't really help himself in doing so. He loved it so much, he had poured his heart into the lyrics for years, the instrumentals and melodies for the past year—it was his baby. And Call Me What You Like was the song to make or break Lovejoy’s future.
It was a few days to premiering. Wilbur stood in his bedroom pacing back and forth, gnawing at the skin around his nails which nearly drew blood. He pulled his hands away when he began tasting copper.
He tried rocking back and forth on his feet, standing on his toes, lifting himself up and then dropping to stand on his heels. Back and forth, back and forth. Over and over.
That didn't help either.
He tried flapping his hands and pacing. Squeezing his eyes open and closed.
He did everything he could to ease the anxiety that ate him from the inside out.
He rubbed his eyes with the corner of his palms until stars shown in the black of his eyes and a stinging pain appeared with it.
He groans as he kicks the corner of his bed, hissing and reaching down to grab his foot when the pain shoots up from his stubbed toes to his brain where he registers the sensation.
A silent fuck is muttered under his breath.
"Jesus, fuck!" He yells into the void of his room and throws himself down into his desk chair. He quickly clicks on the discord icon. The usual starting pop-up appears and the wumpus logo spins on the window as it loads the program.
He selects the last dm he's opened and goes to type a message; to James.
WilburSoot 7:35 PM, Today
wanna come over?
The question was simple and open-ended and it didn't require an explanation from Wilbur as the reason was probably clear. But not entirely.
James started typing moments later, he wasn't even online when Wilbur initially messaged him, but the moment the message went through, James' name shown as online. He began typing shortly after.
James 7:37, Today
yea sure. you ok tho?
Wilbur hesitated over the keyboard, chewing at the inside of his cheek as he contemplated an answer.
WilburSoot 7:38, Today
oh yeah, I'm fine man. just missed ya.
He hoped he could easily pass James' bullshit detectors, at least until he saw him face to face. It was easier to fib through a screen rather than in person. He didn't have great control over his facial expressions, he was terrible at hiding anything he felt and sometimes he wasn't even sure what he felt so expressing that was difficult. It's easier to lie anyways.
Wilbur sat in silence, opting to chew on his cuticles again as he patiently waited for a response. James began typing just before stopping again, he'd start and then stop over and over. This went on for quite a few moments and Wilbur grew more and more anxious. He wasn't sure why—James had already given his answer but watching as those three dots appeared and disappeared became just one more creature that ate at the flesh inside him.
James 7:40, Today
alright, I'll be over in 10
Wilbur sighed in relief, his hands dropping to his lap and his head hitting the back of his chair as he leans on it. He runs his hands down his face and he lets out a sound close to a laugh but it's more like a strained huff of air.
He uses his hands to push on his desk, his chair rolling backward and he stands up in a rush, hissing at the creaking sound the chair makes as it spins behind him.
I need to fix that, he notes, before hastily grabbing his phone off his bed and shuffling out of his bedroom. His overhead light was already turned off due to the horrendous sound it made. It was like a static clicking, unlike most lights and it was beyond painful. Part of him was quite thankful it was his apartment. That way he could have whatever lights he wanted off, off, and whichever ones he wanted on, on. It was a wonderful thing.
He found himself walking over to his sofa and carefully sitting on the far left side, pulling his legs to rest underneath him. He quickly unlocked his phone and began scrolling tiktok as he awaited James’ arrival.
It was what felt like much less than ten minutes later when there came a knock on wilbur’s flat door and he hopped up. Wilbur shuffled over to the door, quietly but quickly turning the door knob before opening the door to let James in.
“How are you, Wil?” The question catches Wilbur off guard and James stands in front of Wilbur, hands in his jeans pockets and eyes trained up on Wilbur.
The man shrugs, walking away from his friend but gesturing for the other man to join him on the sofa. He finds his previous spot, legs still tucked under himself. James joins him on the other side, shuffling his shoes off his feet before bringing his own legs to rest under him.
“Okay, Wilbur. Why did you ask me over?” James crosses his arms, a stern glare trained on Wilbur and he tries to meet his friend's eyes but panics and diverts his gaze on the wall behind him.
“As I said, I missed you.” He speaks plainly, doing his best to give a soft smile but seemingly failing given the breathy chuckle James gives in response.
“Hmm, like I believe that. I’m not gonna push but I know something more is going on.” James is flat with his delivery, but sincere nonetheless. Wilbur is, surprisingly, able to read the concern stitched into the expression James wears, his eyes soft as he gazes at his friend.
A comfortable silence falls upon the two and Wilbur leans his head against the back of the sofa, his own arms crossing over his chest.
“Mario Kart?” Wilbur’s question breaks the silence and James scoots off his spot on the sofa and hurries over to the tv stand, turning on Wilbur’s old Wii console and slipping in the old Mario Kart cd.
After the TV boots up, James walks back over to sit next to Wil, throwing him a Wii remote steering wheel. “I’m going to beat your ass, William.” The use of Wilbur's legal name earns a laugh from the anxious man and his friend huffs.
“I’d like to see you try.” He smiles, what he thinks is a genuine smile and he clicks through the various introduction screens. He lets James choose his character first—Wario, as always—before he chooses his own, which is always Mario. He likes it simple and predictable, Mario is just that.
The two play a game on the coconut mall map, Wilbur ahead of James—but not for long before his friend catches up to him, knocking him off course and taking his spot in first.
Wilbur grunts at his friend, using various power up's to gather momentum in order to steal his spot back. His attempts return to fruition and he yells in triumph when he passes the finish line, coming in first.
"Fucking told you!" Wilbur laughs in giddy, shaking his hands in pure joy, his eyes closed tightly and a smile wide as can be—one he knows is genuine.
"Jeez man, why are you so good at this game?" James puts his controller on the coffee table, pulling his legs up onto the sofa and resting them in front of him.
"I'm just that good." Wilbur's snarky remark earns a scoff from his friend and he rests his hands behind his head in triumph.
"You need to work on that ego of yours."
"I do *not* have an ego!" Wilbur counters, dropping his arms to cross against his chest and he exaggeratingly huffs.
"Oh like anyone would believe that!" James laughs, a soft, considerate laugh despite the joke thrown at his friend.
"Wow, such little faith." Wilbur smiles and lets a silence fall on the two, the only sound heard is James readjusting his spot on the couch, and a few sighs let out occasionally before going to scroll Twitter on his phone.
Wilbur fiddles with his hands, looking over at James before going to stand and pace again, he tries to be subtle about it, avoiding the attention of his friend. He tries all of his common coping stims, handshakes, bouncing on his feet, rolling on his feet, tapping his fingers, etc. Doing anything he can to cope with the anxiety that was deciding to reappear again. He keeps his eyes on the carpet below him, spinning on his heels to walk the other way when he gets too close to the wall.
James watches Wilbur, eyeing him and his pacing. Wilbur doesnt notice the eyes on him, and James is thankful for that as he sifts his mind for any reason for Wilbur’s current panicked state. He knows something is up and wrong but he’s sure he won’t get an answer out of the man no matter how hard he tries. He would love to be able to guess Wilbur’s reasoning for his panic, but he isn’t telepathic and he can barely understand his own reasoning, let alone another person’s reasoning. James hesitates, he opens his mouth to speak but shuts it closed a moment later. He averts his gaze back down to the phone in hand, mindlessly going through whatever fiery chaos that was his timeline.
He tries his best to keep his gaze off Wilbur, and it worked for the most part but it eventually got to the point his worry outweighed his desire to stay unnoticed. James watched as his friend continued pacing, tapping his fingers or shaking his hands. Wilbur was nervous but James couldn't pinpoint why.
He makes an attempt, "Wil, are you alright?"
Wilbur's head shoots up and his eyes dart to James focused on his forehead but giving the impression he's making eye contact. He's not.
Wilbur hesitates, going to say something when the words lodge themselves in his throat. He nods.
James goes to stand, walking to where Wilbur is frozen in place. He rests his hands on his friend's shoulders. "You can tell me, I know you're not."
"I'm- I'm fine." Wilbur manages to stutter out, wiggling his fingers in another attempt at calming himself. It doesn't work either.
James looks at him with a stern glare, not one of any malice but one of intense care for the other.
"Wilbur." He warns, unwavering in his attempts at calming the other.
Wilbur shakes his head, eyes focused on the fibers of his carpet, and he's glad it's soft.
"I said I'm fine, James. Okay?" His tone is sharp, and he knows how mean it sounds but he doesn't mean it that way and James knows that.
James keeps his gaze on his friend, squeezing his shoulders in reassurance and Wilbur attempts to meet his gaze.
It's a few moments before Wilbur cracks, the realization that James isn't letting this go—that James cares—seeps into his mind and he lets down his wall.
"I'm anxious, very anxious. Scared even, I think." Wilbur's voice is small, and it's shaky. "I'm scared that the song isn't as good as we think, that it'll ruin our careers or that it just won't land right, and that all our hard work will be for nothing because I ruined it all."
"Woah, woah, woah. Where is all this coming from? You have the fanbase you do, because you're talented, because Lovejoy is talented. The song is amazing, you've heard it from everyone and their mothers and you wouldn't if it wasn't true." James pauses, taking a moment to think of what he should say next, his hands still resting on Wilbur's shoulders to keep his friend's attention. "It is going to put Lovejoy on the map. I know it."
Wilbur shakes his head, eyes focused downwards. "But it could be what lights us in flames too."
James laughs, a lighthearted and bright laugh, "You really think that?" Wilbur nods. "Man, you are so wrong."
Wilbur looks up, head tilted and eyebrows knitted in confusion. Big brown eyes wide with fear.
"You're seriously the most talented person out there, anything you make either on your own or with people will be and is amazing. Don't undersell yourself, Wil." James lets his hands fall from his friend's shoulders and he holds his arms open, inviting Wilbur for a hug. "Hug?"
Wilbur nods and takes up his offer, wrapping his arms around the slightly shorter man and resting his forehead on his shoulder. "Thank you," Wilbur mutters, the fabric of James' jacket muffling the sound.
"It's what friends are for." James pulls away and so does Wilbur. "Wanna watch a movie to get your mind off of it?"
Wilbur smiles softly, nodding, "That sounds great. Popcorn?" James nods and Wilbur swiftly leaves the sitting room to head into the kitchen moments later.
"What d'ya want to watch?" James calls from the TV, voice echoing through the walls.
"Anything but Marvel."
"Aw man, I was gonna put on the new ant man movie!" James laughs, and Wilbur does too, readjusting his attention to the popcorn he threw in the microwave.
"Very funny, James!" Wilbur calls back, chuckling to himself as the microwave beeps. He takes the package of popped popcorn and hisses when he burns his fingers, shaking them in the air and blowing on them as if it would help the pain. He rushes to pull open the paper bag when doing so he pours out the contents into a turquoise bowl, his favorite but James doesn't need to know that.
He takes the bowl into the living room after discarding the popcorn bag into the trash. He holds up the bowl, greeting James.
"I grabbed your weighted blanket, by the way, hope that's okay." James gives a soft but nervous smile to Wilbur and he smiles wide in return, nodding enthusiastically.
"Thank you," He mumbles in response, his smile warm and thankful.
James widens his own smile in return, "I was afraid it wouldn't be, it's over on your spot." He points over to the far left side of the sofa—it may be Wilbur's sofa but he has a tendency to lean more towards sitting on the far left side. It's just a habit, and he's grown to dislike breaking it.
He walks over to his spot, sitting down just as he did before with his legs tucked under him. He still holds the popcorn bowl and he hands it over to James when said friend finds his spot next to him.
"We could watch Hamilton," Wilbur suggests, head turning to look towards James. He makes eye contact briefly but feels that same uncomfortable panic and averts his gaze again.
"Really, Wilbur?" James' tone is playful, and you can see through his eyes that he's seriously considering it, and the pout Wilbur puts on only makes his case clearer. "Okay, Hamilton it is." James then throws the remote to Wilbur and he catches it immediately. There's a soft, warm smile graced upon James' lips and he crosses his arms over his chest in contentment.
It's a few moments before Wilbur finds Hamilton on Disney+ and selects play, but the moment it begins, his eyes are glued to the screen. He barely touches the popcorn he made as he feels the anxiety drain from him and his body finally feels relaxed. Maybe it's his weighted blanket or his comfort media that helped, but he considers it and believes that maybe it was James. His words and his presence helped calm Wilbur.
It's silent between the two for the next three hours, Wilbur's attention barely staying from the musical playing before him. James notices the silent happy stims Wilbur begins to do, small, soft handshakes or rocking side to side. His smile is wide and James is happy, he's happy he was the one to help and he is beyond glad he was the one Wilbur reached out to.
He knows why Wilbur was upset, why he was anxious and pacing his flat. The anxious thoughts got to his friend, dug into him deep, and began tearing him apart one by one. Something about Wilbur thinking of going to James first for something so stressful and serious—even if he avoided speaking about it at first—was reassuring, or calming to know. He's important to Wilbur just as much as Wilbur is to James.
Everyone deserves a James, and everyone deserves a Wilbur.
Someone who knows you'll be there for them, someone who will find what would make you most comfortable and help you, who will sit with you in silence and simply be in your presence and enjoy it.
This was nice, this was good. And James was happy.
There was a moment of contemplation after the musical had ended on whether James should leave or not. Part of him wanted to stay so he could be sure Wilbur's anxiety wouldn't kick back up and eat him alive, but the other part of him knew he had to get back to Aria and Otto. He loved Wilbur, he was his best friend, but he also knew Wilbur may not handle him staying the night, and he was okay with that.
"I think I'm gonna head home for the night. You'll be okay?" James began to get up off the sofa, throwing on his jacket that he discarded on the chair, his gaze locked on Wilbur. He had his legs pulled up against his chest and his eyes were locked on the floor.
He nods, "Yeah, I'll be fine..You go home." His tone was flat, and it made James unsure in his decision. He bit the inside of his cheek as he paused, standing frozen as he gazes down at his friend who seemed to fall back into the pit of panic.
"Are you sure?" James is keen on being fully sure it's okay to leave Wilbur alone.
Wilbur looks up and gives a soft—masked—smile, "Yeah, of course...Go home to your family."
James rolls his eyes and laughs, "Otto is a cat."
"He's still family, isn't he?" Wilbur inquires, his tone light and playful now.
James groans and smiles, and then turns to leave for the door. "I'm a text or call away, remember that." And then he heads out the door, softly closing it behind him and then he's out of Wilbur's sight and earshot.
Wilbur shakes his head and rests his head against his knees, doing his best to calm his breathing. He decides to put Hamilton back on, maybe it'll help again.
And so he spends the rest of the night like this, head rested on his knees, arms wrapped around his legs, and the comfort of Hamilton playing in the background. Eventually, he sleeps.
—★—
It's days later and mere hours to the release of Call Me What You Like. He's sniffly and truly feels like shit with his head feeling like it was stuffed with cotton and his body being dredged in slime.
It's a horrible gross feeling and he really wishes he didn't go talk to fans after their gig this past Saturday. It's by no means their fault, he just has the worst and weakest immune system known to man—and he knows it.
He was pacing again, the skin around his nails raw and bleeding. He didn't have enough self-restraint so his coping mechanisms today were more self-destructive than usual or than they should be.
The rest of the band had been talking in the group chat all day and he had ignored every message, their positive outlook only made things worse. It really should be what makes it better but their hope for everything to go well and their seeming knowledge of it doing so, dragged him down and only fed the negative thoughts.
It would only crash and burn because of him, not because of the others, so it made since they had a positive outlook. If it burned it wouldn't be their fault by any means.
His pacing only got worse, and he started to pull at his hair. It was an hour to midnight, hes been avoiding Twitter or any other social platform that would tell him what people thought all day. The Australian fans had already listened to it since it's realized at midnight on your local time—but he was too scared to see what they had to say. So he had all of his devices turned off or facing down.
He didn't want to know, he was too scared to know.
He eventually tired himself out and ended up laying on the floor, blood still flowing with panic. His phone went off at exactly midnight and he waited a few minutes before opening his phone, only to be flooded with oceans of messages from his friends and fans. His friends asked if he was okay, and they seemed worried and concerned—they already heard the song so they didn't have much to congratulate him on. The messages, indirects, and mentions online from his fans were all messages of care and congratulations. Expressing their love for the new song and the new sound—they seemed to believe it was a masterpiece. Some people even used that word.
The flow of words upon his screen took him aback. He wasn't sure how to process all of the positive messages, and he was sure this was a dream. I mean, it had to be. How could so many people love the song so much, so soon?
Maybe it was because the words he was seeing were from his already existing fanbase—the people who are devoted to Lovejoy and wouldn't switch their opinion over one song. It wasn't a sound comparison is what his brain told him. So surely, in the next few days, it'll crash and burn.
He didn't have much longer to sink into his anxious thoughts, as Ash was quick to call him. Wilbur hesitated before picking up and bringing the phone to his ear.
"Hey," His voice cracked from the lack of use and he dug his hand into the carpet, grabbing at the fibers.
"Well, hello, Wilbur." Ash's voice was joyful, and bright, a very large contrast to how Wilbur felt or sounded. "Have you seen what people are saying? They love it!!" He's so quick to enthusiasm, his voice pitching up towards the end and he lets out a joyful laugh.
Wilbur smiles softly at his friend's reaction, but is still hesitant to believe it to be the truth, "Yeah, yeah I saw some of that." He pauses, breath catching in his throat as he mulls over his next action. "Are they lying, though? I mean they're the ones that have been here ages—they could actually hate it and just say they like it." Wilbur's voice is low and quiet, only audible to the man on the other end of the line.
Ash sighs and lets out a breathy chuckle, "It's the internet, Wil. They'd be brutally honest if it was bad."
Wilbur shakes his head, "But they're our fans, they could lie to save our feelings."
"Dude, you're one of my closest friends and I would hate to hurt your feelings—but you sound like an idiot right now." Wilbur can hear Ash's smile through his words, it's playful in the way he says it.
"I'm sure I do—" He cuts himself off, running his free hand through his hair in a stressed motion. He's at a loss for words, he doesn't know what to say anymore, so he just falls from where he stands, sitting with his legs forward on the floor.
"They love it, Wilbur. And you're part of the reason why." Ash is genuine in the way he reassures Wilbur, he means it just as much as he believes it himself.
Wilbur shrugs, and he feels the anxiety gnawing at his insides again. "You think so?"
"I know so."
"I'm sorry."
"What the hell are you apologizing for?" Ash sounds almost offended at Wilbur's words like he just insulted Ash's firstborn child.
"For being a bother? Or for possibly ruining our career." His voice has gone small again, almost mirroring his attempt at curling in on himself, making him seem smaller.
"You're never a bother—and if anything you're the reason we're even here in the first place. Give yourself some more goddamn credit." Ash isn't harsh with his delivery, but stern. And caring—he means well.
"Sorry again," Wilbur replies sheepishly, regretting opening up about his doubts in the first place. He really feels like a burden now, and it's far from Ash's fault.
"Do I need to ban that word?" Ash laughs, and Wilbur can hear the smile through his words and he smiles back.
"No, no, I won't say it anymore. Promise." Wilbur reassures, his smile is unwavering but still small and soft.
"By the way, I was calling to ask if you wanted to come over to mine tomorrow? Joe and Mark are gonna be there too. We're celebrating Call Me What You Like, we tried texting you—" Ash begins but Wilbur is quick to cut him off.
"I'd love to, I'm sorry about ignoring my phone—it was just too hard." Wilbur nervously admits, scratching the back of his neck.
"Yeah, no, I understand. Don't worry, dude. See you at 11?" Wilbur nods and then shortly replies verbally when he realizes Ash can't see him.
The embarrassment bubbles up in his throat but he pushes it down and hurriedly says his goodbyes to Ash. When they've bid their farewells and he's hung up the phone, he heads to his room—deciding sleep is the next thing he should do. He needs much more of it than he's been getting, especially in his ill state. He's not contagious but he notes it as a valid excuse in case he chickens out the next day before he goes over to see his bandmates.
He's more afraid of bringing them down than seeing them. He'd hate to be the reason they feel bad about the song.
—★—
It's been a week since their new single was released, they've been on the radio even more than before, they've announced and sold out an entire tour and the love they've received on it has been absolutely mind-boggling. Wilbur's anxieties over it have practically dissipated entirely, besides the nagging thoughts in the back of his mind about the album—but it's far too early to worry about that. Right now, Wilbur was alone in his flat yet again, patiently waiting for the UK Top 40 charts to release. A few hours prior he posted a video asking everyone to stream CMWYL in hopes they can get a spot on the charts—it'll help get them noticed by important music executives but also reassure him that it's actually good, they wouldn't stream it if it wasn't, right? He didn't mention or consciously realize the second reason, but it was all the same in how prominent of a thought it was.
A few minutes from now and he'll find out statistically how much of a success CMWYL is. Sitting at his desk and refreshing the chart's website is probably not the best option for his anxiety—but he still does it nonetheless. He patiently sits there as he awaits the release of the UK charts. I mean he has nothing better to do at the moment, he's off and he's enjoying his free time just the way he wants.
He's nervously tapping his fingers on his free hand while his knees bounce in the usual gnawing anxiety that he holds. He keeps refreshing the page as he waits for that one moment of truth.
His eyes burn from staring at the screen so long, especially without blinking, and he contemplates taking a break for a moment but then reminds himself why he's doing this in the first place.
After a few more refreshes and the charts are released, he scrolls down the list of songs and artists. He's beginning to get disappointed when he gets into the 20s, but he's soon surprised when he gets to the #32 spot.
Call Me What You Like by Lovejoy is #32 on the UK Charts.
He practically leaps up out of his desk chair when he realizes what he's read. He can't quite tell if the wetness on his cheek is tears of joy or from his eyes watering from yawning and holding his eyes open for hours on end. But he doesn't care, his silly little band has made it. Or, well, it's starting to make it. It's just the first step to becoming known and loved, they can finally get their art out into mainstream media, with new people. They can share their passion with more people.
He's ecstatic, flapping his hands and bouncing around his bedroom floor. It's finally happened. Lovejoy is going to be the indie rock band. And he helped.
Oh my god, he helped!
He goes to rock on his feet as he thinks about what he should do next—obviously, he needs to tweet to thank everyone—should he call his brother? Or maybe his dad, or mum even. He isn't sure where to start first but he seems to go into autopilot as he makes the tweet, taking a photo of him pointing at the computer screen and then another of him flipping out, a blurred and chaotic photo if we're entirely honest. He then texts the LVJY text chat, telling them and showing them photos of it and sending links with it as proof.
And then he calls Tommy, the call is immediately picked up on the other end, a gruff and very Tommy-like hello being muttered on the other end.
"Toms! We're #32 on the charts!" Wilbur exclaims all in one breath, smiling so wide his face hurts and he's giggling from joy. He still bounces on his feet but his hand flapping has died down a little. He spins and jumps around and hopes to God his downstairs neighbors aren't home to be upset at him.
"Really?? Dude, I'm so proud of you!" Tommy replies, and Wilbur is taken aback by how out of character that is—but he takes it, he takes it and he runs with it. His little brother is proud of him.
"Yeah! Yeah! We're finally on the charts man!" His voice is so bright and excited and Tommy laughs at the excitement his big brother exudes.
“You wanna go out and celebrate tomorrow?” Tommy poses the suggestion, voice poking up at the end.
Wilbur quickly nods, “Yeah, of course! Sorry for calling so late by the way--I had to tell someone.” He lets out a small laugh at his own words.
“Glad it was me, big bro.” Tommy’s response and nickname for Wilbur aren't unusual but he can't help from wanting to pick on the younger boy but decides against it.
“Thank you, Toms. I’m gonna head to bed, see you tomorrow?” Wilbur shuffles over to sit on the edge of his bed.
“Yeah, I’ll text you the plans! Sleep well, bitch.” Tommy lets out an airy laugh and Wilbur mirrors it in response to Tommy being so Tommy.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Love you.”
They bid their final farewells and Wilbur gets up and puts his phone on charge, and then slips into bed.
They’ve finally made it, and it was because of him and his talent. Turns out that anxious thoughts aren't that reliable.
#wilbur soot#wilbur#wil gold#wilbur gold#wilbur centric fic#non reader fic#autistic wilbur#cc!wilbur#sort of sbi#tommy is in it#james and wilbur#but platonic
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Cactus
Garreth Weasley x Artemis Loreley (MC)
Summary: The last Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match ended, and now the after-party is on in the Gryffindor Tower.
Floriography for Cactus (Cactacae): Ardent Love. Burning with Love. Lust.
This was for the March NSFW prompt for the discord server writing event: "Getting (Un)Lucky Tonight". No cactus was harmed in this story whatsoever.
Tags: NSFW, Hogwarts 7th year, Gryffindor-Slytherin Relationship, hand jobs, plot what plot, drapery lions laughing at misery, Garreth POV Limited, inappropriate licking of green apple liqueur
Artemis is my MC in my long fic "A Bouquet of New Beginnings," but this is separate and not related to said story.
[AO3]//Word count: 2.2k
An echo of the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch after-party climbed the spiral staircase. A right hubbub of a - mostly - friendly rivalry, where drinks, song, and at least one miniature firework from Zonko’s had been unleashed. Garreth would usually be, and had been, in the heart of it – behind the makeshift counter handing out concoctions with his brewing partner.
“Are you sure it was fine for both of us to leave?” Artemis asked softly as she followed.
He would’ve sworn he’d climbed up the tower by himself if he wasn’t holding said brewing partner’s small, chilled hand tightly within his, their fingers interlaced like perfect puzzle pieces. The swish of her floor length green skirt drowned her soft treads.
“Don’t worry Snow,” said Garreth cheerfully, “We left plenty of stock for Lee and Sebastian to distribute while we grab more.”
“If they don’t drink it first.”
“They won’t.”
He made sure of that.
“Oh?”
She squeezed his hand; he squeezed back.
“Oh,” repeated Garreth.
The familiar door swung open and shut as the red and gold regalia revealed themselves, and Garreth regrettably let go of Artemis’ hand as he went straight toward his bed. The miniature cactus that she gifted him stood proudly on his bedside stand, and he gave the little guy a ghostly brush before he crouched to the floorboards. He snuck a glance toward her as he shovelled out a few crates worth of conspicuously brewed beverages. She was the lone presence of emerald green and silver; her forest green eyes were alight with curiosity as they travelled along the walls, the drapery, the ceiling, the desks, and now, down to him.
Their gazes met. She smiled; her cheeks tinted pink.
His stomach fluttered with butterflies just as intense as ever. He could die happy right then and there.
But instead of dying crouched on the floor like a sappy fool, Garreth stood as he pulled out an unlabelled bottle as he took one, two, three steps to close the distance. The top of her head barely reached his chin, her snow-white hair stood out brilliantly against the reddish-brown brick wall and the way her eyes lifted slowly to meet his made him question if they really needed to go back.
“Here, my newest brew,” said Garreth as he popped the bottle open.
“Oh, this smells lovely.” Artemis sniffed lightly. “Green apples?”
“Mhm. Go on, have a sip.”
She took the cool bottle, and her fingertips ghosted his knuckles in a subtle caress. His heart buzzed. Damned temptress.
“The first test?”
“Yep,” said Garreth.
Nope. He drank every disgusting version he managed to produce before landing on this one.
“You’re an awful liar, Garreth.”
The lamplight danced along her eyes; they crinkled softly around the edges.
He smiled like an idiot. “How do you know?”
She chuckled, soft and melodious.
“My lips are buttoned,” said Artemis as she brought the bottle to her lips and took a slow drink.
Her throat softly bobbed with a barely audible gulp. He could just see the tip of her tongue peeking out from between her lips – the same lips that could emit the most cutthroat of insults and words as sweet as molasses – as it licked off undoubtedly any remnants of the drink.
He swallowed for entirely different reasons that had his blood rushing southward.
“Tangy. I like the sugar granules,” commented Artemis as she gave the bottle back to him. “Not too sweet.”
Of course it wasn’t; he knew her tastes.
“Glad you like it. Want more?”
“Sure,” agreed Artemis warmly, “but after you have some.”
“Suit yourself,” said Garreth.
He didn’t move from his spot - nor did she - as they stood about a half-arm’s length apart and he brought the bottle to his own lips. He felt her gaze as he tipped the bottle excruciatingly slow, the green apple liqueur passed his lips in a tangy, light burn that filled his mouth. Particularly, she seemed focused along his neck, right where his Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed once.
A thought – a brilliant, genius thought – crossed his mind.
He took another swig and watched as his favourite girl’s eyes moved with the bottle as the glass touched the nearest dresser. There was a moment, a delicious moment, where her eyes widened ever slightly just before his uplifted lips met hers. The surprised hum from her throat as her lips slightly parted was far more delectable than the drink, and yet it wouldn’t do for him to keep this drink to himself.
Fingers tangled into her long, soft snow-white hair, gently pressing against her as he took hold of her hand, his slightly dry, burning fingers intertwined with her smooth, cool ones. One step, two step, and his beloved was pressed softly against the reddish-brown wall as he coaxed her mouth to open with a small, teasing swipe of his own tongue. The green apple liqueur spilled a thin line along her chin and undoubtedly down the smooth column of her neck as he pressed forward, any distance between them criminally negligent.
Her other hand slipped behind his back. What he would give to have her always holding him like this, desperately clinging to him like this.
Even when he heard her swallow, Garreth didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Not when the little gasps that escaped her lips as he tugged her hair gently sounded better than any heavenly choir. Not when their lips parted, a single strand of silvery saliva connected them before he kissed the corner of her lip, his mouth slowly travelling down along the path of green apple and sugar granules. Not when she whimpered just right as his tongue licked its way to the hollow of her throat, and a gentle nip accompanied by his fingers combing languidly through her locks.
“The party –”
“– Can wait. Can’t let anyone see you like this,” murmured Garreth.
The music below wandered through the bottom crack of the door louder, but he couldn’t care less. His body burned for them both, his hands the device in which he delivered reverence upon her. Reticent to let go of the hand that gave and helped students, teachers, and the rest of the wizarding world, his grip tightened as he pressed against her, the linen they wore on their very persons seemed a travesty. Even his own bed, perhaps not a few feet away, was too far.
“Garreth.”
She would see him unravel with just the breathy whisper of his name as his lips grazed back up to the sensitive spot just beneath her ear.
“Hm?”
His fingers moved from her hair as he made the minimum requirement of room to slip his hand along the middle of her abdomen, her chest, and finally reached her blouse buttons.
One. Two. Three.
Slowly her luscious skin appeared before him, another canvas to map as his tongue glided down. He groaned as he created friction between the two, his own need burning hot as he tugged the blouse from her waistband.
“Garreth–” Artemis started, her voice breathy as her free hand coaxed his shirt hem out.
“– We’ll make it quick,” he whispered against her ear before he gave a little nip.
Her warm breath tickled the shell of his ear as she nodded minutely. His hand moved to squeeze her bum.
“Troublemaker,” murmured Artemis as her hand snuck in, her cool fingertips sent a shiver up his spine as they slowly slid under his waistband, taking an excruciatingly long time to move from the small of his back to his hip.
“You love it.”
Garreth fully moved his hand and gently lifted Artemis’ leg to wrap around his waist. Her hand popped the buttons of his trousers, and bless this woman as she freed him from his own prison.
“Always,” purred Artemis as her thumb swiped at his head, already leaking with a clear bead.
“Merlin Snow,” Garreth gasped out as his hand touched the pantyhose at her ankles. “How attached are you to these?
“Not at all.”
Merlin be damned this minx.
A low growl emitted as he pulled out his wand, and wordlessly vanished the offending cloth and her undergarments for good measure. “Good.”
Her leg was softer than any silk in his grip, of which he held so tight they’d leave marks. It kept him from utterly shattering as the snow-haired beauty circled his head with her thumb. She uttered a charm under her breath, and from her palm came the sensations of incredibly warm liquid that she spread down his shaft. His other hand let go of Artemis’ against the wall in favour of reaching within her skirt toward the apex of her thighs. Her now free hand shot out toward the back of his head, her fingers now entangled with his red locks as she beckoned him back into a kiss.
Incredibly hot and wet – so above, and so below.
“Damn,” he moaned as his finger sunk into her depths, and he swallowed her moan as his tongue tangled with hers.
His hips canted as her small hand pumped his cock in the rhythm he loved, and he returned the favour as he hooked his finger inside as he slid another. The hand around his cock stuttered even as the grip in his hair tightened, her back arched as her chest pressed against his. The haze that clouded his mind lightened ever so slightly even as he burned the sight of Artemis flushed in its place.
Their gasps mixed with the beautiful obscene sounds as his fingers work her open quickly in time with the music that flowed louder from under the door. Warmth pooled within him as he panted, her hand being entirely sinful as it alternated giving his head and his shaft attention. He slipped another in and flicked up inside; her head tilted back as she gasped, offering her neck has her fingers grasped tighter in his hair.
Her wrist twisted around his cock and he groaned as he sucked something delicious at the crux of her neck. The scent of her perfume mingled with the green apple liqueur peppered with sex in the air.
Delicious. Absolutely perfect.
“I- I’m ready,” said Artemis
Artemis’ skin bore a dark purple bruise perfectly shape where Garreth’s mouth had been; her leg hooked around the small of his back as his hand readjusted the grip. She whimpered as he kissed her temple when his fingers left the comforts of her wet folds; her skirt entirely bunched, the front of his shirt entirely a mess.
Garreth sucked off each of his fingers, the familiar taste of her on his tongue. Her forest green eyes were blow, her normally well-kept hair and attire utterly dishevelled. Her leg insisted he come closer – he obliged as fabric crumpled peripherally.
“Good girl,” he whispered against her lips as he pushed up the skirt further, readjusting his grip on her soft thigh. Pants escaped his lips as he slid his cock lightly against her wet folds, coating himself with her as her hand, that’d been so wonderfully wrapped around his cock moments ago, slipped under his shirt.
Her chest heaved in tandem with his pounding heart. Her nails ghosted his back as he lined himself to her entrance. Everything felt hot and warm and absolutely -
“Perfect,” murmured Garreth as he looked into her eyes.
They softened; he swore he saw the Slieve Guillion Forest within.
The door slammed open as the music roared.
Garreth jolted up from his waist, gasping for air as his mind scrambled. Linen bedding was under his sweaty palms as his heart beat loudly against his chest. A clear tent was pitched under the sheets as his brain caught up that no, he was not deliciously pressed against the love of his life on the wall. He was in his bed with all the deep red drapes shut, decorated with golden lions that laughed at his misery.
He was so close, he could practically feel her breath against his ear, her warmth around his fingers, her soft leg wrapped around his waist, his head lined up and -
“Garreth, you up?” Leander’s voice carried from beyond the drapery.
Garreth seriously considered violence for three seconds. He let out a grumbled noise; his cock was painfully, painfully aware it was not where it was supposed to be.
Could Leander not have waited for five bloody seconds to barge in?
“Well hurry up. The Gryffindor-Slytherin match is going to start up in an hour, and I am not going to miss the good seats for the finals!” Leander called from beyond the proverbial veil as the cheer music bellowed from the Common Room and spilled in through the opened door.
The match. The after-party.
“The after-party’s still on, yeah?” He managed to squeeze out.
“Well, I hope so! You and Artemis are our bartenders after all.”
The concoctions were under his floorboard. He still had the green apple liqueur.
His cock twitched at the thought of what followed.
“Brilliant. Lee?”
“Yeah?” Leander’s voice came from near the other redhead’s bed. “Hurry it up, will you?”
“Sure.” He’d need less than a minute, really, once Leander stepped outside. “You mind doing bar duty tonight for a bit?”
“Yeah that’s fine.”
Brilliant.
#hogwarts legacy#hogwarts legacy fanfiction#garreth weasley#artemis loreley#garreth x mc#garreth weasley oneshot#hogwarts school of witchcraft and wizardry#divider by cafekitsune
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wippet (wip snippet)
happy wip wfriday everybody... was tagged by @60sec400; ty :)
i'm of two minds and want to post two snippets for two different unposted works; one of them is from jatp and the one under the cut is for omgcp because i can't get either one out of my head.
here's a piece of a time loop fic i've been working on-
It should be so easy. It’s a single motion. The twitch of a finger, really. The same motion she’s done ever since she was an infant on her mom’s lap, plunking away without a care in the world and letting discordant melodies run wild in her childhood home.
But it isn’t.
Julie can’t sit in her mom’s lap anymore. She never will again.
The hole that’s sat in Julie’s chest every single day for ten months grows and grows until it’s all she is. Everyone’s gaze feels heavy like she’s trapped under the weight of the entire ocean. Their eyes burn into her back, watching, waiting for her to just start fucking playing.
But there’s nothing to watch.
i'll tag @rozecrest and @cloudslooklikemountains!!! you should post a lil something. if you want. no pressure though :D
and here's the snippet for the jack therapy fic. yes my two [unposted] wips are about characters going to therapy (literally and metaphorically).
A boy comes in. And he is a boy—just a month shy of turning nineteen. Jack’s hair is dark brown, almost black. The pictures of him before all show him with longer, fluffier hair, but right now his hair is cut short and practical. His eyes are scarily blue. While not especially vivid, they’re piercing. But baby fat still clings to his cheeks and it’s heartbreaking, because she knows this boy was medically dead for fifteen minutes three weeks ago.
He looks startlingly small for someone so tall and muscular. He’s nine years younger than her but towers over her, even when he sits down in the plush gray chair across from her, yet he carries himself like he’s a child.
Almost-nineteen years old and he thinks he’s ruined his life forever.
Angie hopes she can help him fix this.
i have a lot of Feelings about jack being barely 19 y/o when everything went down. can you tell. anyways if you read this wip too know that i'm mentally giving you a cookie
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For All DreamNoblade And Rivals Duo Fans!!!!
This is an update of my two posts (that most of you already read in the past), with new stories that recently got deleted
Hello, nice to meet ya XD It took me some courage to write and post this and I hope you can appriciated so, how at this point all of you know because of reasons (I don’t feel to say here) many artists and writters deleted their Dreamnoblade fics and AUs.
I have a copy of some of these fics if you wanna a copy youself, these are the titles that I have:
What's a God to a non-believer. by Marionette008 (MarionetteFtHJM) (the author is still active on AO3 and told me that they wish to be contacted before to share their work, if you wanna ask them first)
Little things that matter - DreamNoblade fic
Beauty and the Beast (Dreamnoblade) by Rinnykio on Wattpad
Beauty and the Beast - Everafter (Sequel) by Rinnykio on Wattpad
Little Lime Riding Hood , Lime Cinderella and You’are the Lemon in my Life by RandomFujoshi571
Just a Bit Hidden by Author Unkown
Some works from the author Kiwi
Princes AU series by Peppsta
A Golden Age, An Unending Brevity, The Uncanny Majesty by not_a_tuna_fish_ish
All DNB's works from Quqin
The Truth Behind The Mask, Glass Shattering by TheBaldeiscool
I have All kiwi_promenades fics
All deleted DNB fic from laseroil (I guess)
Breaking Treasure by Sawtron
No One Remembers A Happy Ending. (Previous title Melody) by manipulator
All works from the author “HaveFaith“
And many others fics!!!
.....................
I have more works that right now the author did Not delete and that you can still find on AO3 if you wanna, but if you wanna ask if I have something you can’t find anymore you can totally ask me.
You just need to give me your Discord’s name, accept my friendship request and I will send you a copy 😊.
(Just please send me a message in my ask-box or my chat here on Tumblr, don’t send messages here in the notes of this post)
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