#I like love from the other side too but it also suffers from a syllable heavy chorus | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yatgb · 3 months

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Agent 8 crumbs PLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASSPLSASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASEPLEASE

Okay well i GUESSSS i can ramble about agent 8 🙄 if i mustt

He/She Eight forever and always ^-^ people (including herself) default to she/her but she doesnt mind! Either prns are fine any time. Also doesnt label her sexuality he's just balling

Aside from all the sanitized kamabo bullshit i think hitting her head after the fight with agent 3 actually did give her some Lasting Brain Damage, and she has problems with forgetting things. Her and Agent 4's apartment is PLASTERED with sticky note reminders, even for stuff like "close the fridge" "turn off the stove" because she WILL forget to do that part

Agent 4 made her a little cookbook that step-by-step tells her how to make her favorite foods with those menial reminders to turn stuff on and off and close doors

AND she and Agent 4 have made what they call Eight's Brain Board, whoch is a crime board style corkboard that lays out all her memories and how they relate to each other just in case she forgets again. Proudly on display in their room

Likes wood-and-metalworking just to make little trinkets, most of the time Octivus or Squidmas gifts. The definition of Hobby On The Side that keeps her hands sharp. The first one she made on the surface was a little Salmonid keychain she gifted to Agent 4 ^-^

Still writes poetry too. She doesnt mean for it to be 8-8-8 syllables they literally just. Happen like that. She'll write a poem about literally anything. she wrote one about Agent 4's freckles

I know Donny is the shopkeeper in-game but Eight is the actual store manager for the Ammo Knights in Inkopolis Square. Sheldon hired her before he moved to Splatsville and she proved to be a VERY good employee so he let her take over the store

She and Sheldon often have friendly races between who can take apart and put a weapon back together the quickest. Eight's record is less than 2 minutes for a Hydra Splatling

Eight takes her job SUPER seriously and absolutely Will Not Budge on anything like prices or weapon availability. No "i left my ID at home" or "i'm basically level 10 cant i just have that one" she does NOT care. Rules are rules and by jove she will not only follow but she WILL enforce them

^ that being said she also HATES Grizzco. She doesnt like their shady vibe and has heard many horror stories about the actual work from Agent 4 (who works there to pay off his student loans) and she really really REALLY despises how they illegally modify weapons for golden rotations. Every time she finds a modified weapon she instantly confiscates and dismantles it. It's like a spit in the face to her entire career and she will not stand for it

Very good with teenagers! Mostly bc thats the majority of who comes into the shop. She loves hearing about their battle tales and has been jotting down little plotlines that unfold in her store (like a kid trying a new weapon to impress their crush, or someone climbing up the ranks in Clam Blitz, that type thing)

She has a reputation for being super nice to everyone but really its because she just has a really long fuse. It takes a LOT to get her mad

Charger main! She's amazing with any charger you put in front of her and she's an absolute MENACE in an inkbattle. Her favorites change but "you can never go wrong with a good and standard Splat Charger"

Her favorite battle mode is Tower Control!

She also Is crushing on Cap3 but she will literally never make a move. Partly bc they live across the ocean in splatsville now but also It's Agent 3. The Legendary Agent 3. Theyre Too Cool For Me (Agent 4 has been trying to wingman them together ever since they started hanging out. the pining is mutual theyre both just flustered. Hes suffering)

Idol relationships!!!!!!! Since she is genuinely good friends with Agent 3 she's frienda by proxy with the squid sisters. They dont really have a lot in common and dont hang out much but she and Marie like being menaces in inkbattles together because theyre both cracked with a Charger and love causing problems. Imagine 2 E-Liters on the Brinewater ledge. Hell. She finds it easy to chat with Callie and they'll talk about literally anything. Callie just has that effect on people i think

She sees Pearl and Marina as cousins, partly bc Pearl started calling her Cousin as a nickname but they really are like family. She lived with them for a solid month learning the language and etiquitte before they couldnt put off their Idol Jobs any longer, which is when she started living with Agent 4. They check in with each other every day and fuckig. LOVE EACH OTHER. She always gets front row tickets to their shows

Has only met Deep Cut very very briefly while being a roadie for OTH's world tour. They indimidate her but she'll take Marina's word that Big Man is chill at least. She's also heard good things about their heroism in Alterna from Cap3 so at the moment theyre vaguely Okay in her book

Also besties with Acht ^-^ initially bonding over Side Order bullshit but she finds their practical blunt nature to be really refreshing and calming. They mostly parallel-play when they hang out together. Like cats. She really likes their new music (can't listen to any Kamabo songs without feeling Bad after :( trauma and all. Acht respects this)

Shelly and Donny absolutely LOVE HER. She always entertains their kiddie ramblings and helps them out if they need a hand at their store, and theyre always welcome to work at her store if theirs is slow and they want something to do. She teaches them more about the weapons in a hands-on way so they have more to tell the customers rather than just parroting Sheldon

Speaking of, she's also great friends with Sheldon! Technically he's her boss but hes a very chill boss and she's been invited to family gatglherings outside of work and such. A good friend to the Shellendorf family!

"Hey eight how are you so cheerful all the time you have a very busy job and lots of friends to keep up with! Whats your secret!" Shes literally just in love with life. Thats it. After dealing with so much shit underground and nearly losing everything in Kamabo she has a huge appreciation for life itself. She relishes in the good and accepts the bad because at least she has a choice to experience it all. That being said can trauma responses go away she doesnt quite like those

(Hiiii :3 watch out here comes the extremely thought out backstory i made under the cut)

The reason shes so good with Chargers is actually because she was training under a Special Forces unit in the Octarian Army

She was known in her class for being super smart and quick on her feet but she just CANT build up any muscle mass, and the wasabi supply unit were already thinking of allowing Certain Octolings to use Chargers and Splatlings without being Octocommanders or Octosnipers, so they decided to guinea pig her with a Charger along with a smattering of other similar Octolings

She became like. SUPER good at using Chargers and a lot of her peers would call her The Next Marina because she surprised everyone with how cracked she was at like everything they threw at her. She never liked this comprison due to wanting to just Be Herself

She was also known for being extremely caring and empathetic, which landed her in hot water for speaking out against the way she and her fellow colleagues were treated as faceless soldiers, and wondered if plotting against the Inklings was even worth it st this point. She famously got in MASSIVE trouble for insinuating that they let The Great Zapfish go and was in Detention/Jail for like a While and nearly lost all her progress climbing up the ranks

Alsooooooo :3 in my personal canon she was part of the squad to escort Callie into Octo Canyon. It was her first time ever on the surface and once she got a taste for the real sun she needed more of it

(I know Octo Expansion is likely happening the same time as Splat2 Hero Mode but it makes sense for my canon for it to happen After)

Also she's 18 st the start of Octo Expansion just to tie back into the whole 8 thing they had going on

The whole hypnoshade thing was also thrust on Callie as a surprise and like. It's not fun to be Surprise Brainwashed so of course she fought back before the hypnoshades took effect. Eight still has a scar on her shoulder from where Callie dug her nails in. That experience was also the final nail in the "i gotta get out of here" coffin

Even though she had made up her mind to run away to the surface, it still really hurt to leave her life behind. She had real friends and even something romantic going on with someone special, as well as having actual good standings in the army with a bright future ahead of her, but the surface was more worth it in her eyes. being able to have her own life instead of one she was forced into was so appealing. Her friends think she's selfish and definitely resent her now (even though theyre fuzzed and barely remember her in turn)

Oh and also her name used to be Maia Idachi :3 but since she doesnt know her old name she can't find her file in Cap'n Cuttlefish's dossier. She doesn't want to go by facial recognition in case she mistakes her fime for someone else's and remembers something that never happened to her yknow (got Maia from amai, the japanese word to describe something sweet to tie into her being caring and empathetic, and Idachi from Idako which is the word for a species of Octopus)

#hi im actively ignoring work to finish this LMFAO #IVE BEEN TYPING IT ON AMD OFF MY ENTIRE SHIFT..... I FUCKING LOVE THIS OCTUPS #splatoon #agent 8 #splatoon headcanons #long post #lkterally cannot shut up abt her i need to write her morw [explodes the room w my telekenesis]#THANJ YOU FOR ENABLING ME TYSM #i was trying to find a name to call u and i almost called u acid. thays ur name now /JOKE

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luckyshotwrites · 1 year

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Ch. 45 // Don’t wake the Beast // Day 28

Contents (Warnings): More of the main bobeanies (vore mentions, sprinkle of angst, soft teasing, and as always character/monster info).

Wordcount: 3,800 + (Result of a QUICK RUSHED VOTE, BOBOBEANS BEGINNING. Also, it was hitting 6,000 again so I had to split it up, so to cut it off just as things popped off).

Side note: This will contain experimental writing, first person (Lynette's view) will be implemented alongside third person for the two other essential characters, (mostly) Alexander and (occasionally) Drake. For those third person moments all their text will be italicized and have the characters name in Bold at the start. There may be other characters I write for using this.

-------------------------------------------------------------------

(Oct. 15th, Saturday)

My breath quivered as the warm palm squished at my body, rolling me in his hand. "Hey, Lynette~." His silvery tweet danced with anticipation.

He couldn't wipe the smile from his face nor stop inspecting me like a doll.

And this all felt wrong. Unlike every other time, he was in his human case, so he lacked sharp fangs, horns, claws, and other inhuman features. For some reason, it scared me more to see him like this. I questioned whether this time it would be safe or if he finally decided to finish me.

He pressed his thumb up and at the left side of my face.

"Aw, what's the matter? You're not scared, are you?" His fingers squeezed tighter around me. Not enough to hurt me, but enough to keep me from wriggling.

My voice meekly fled, "can't you take it easy on me, Lev."

"Easy?" A smile rose upon his lips, bending with his devious temper, "I'll be easy, alright, Lynette.~" He brought me to his maw and took a breath over me. It was like a gust of scentless steam expelled from an engine.

His thumb pushed under my chin, holding my head in place, while he forced me to stay at the same level as his lips. He kept me so close I saw his tongue flick with every syllable, "I'll gently savor every inch of you over the next hour~."

...

My eyes fluttered open. I threw my arms up to protect myself and squeaked when I felt something touch my back.

"What happened?" Wicks yawned. He had me halfway to my bed.

His voice, motions, and current dark yet familiar surroundings made me sigh.

My arms fell in defeat. "I had a bad dream."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"It was just a monster..." I wavered for a moment and told him, "attacking me."

Wicks rubbed my back, lovely, a harsh concern in his tone. "Monsters don't exist; even if they did, they'd have to go through me." He chuckled after, "sleep drunk," with his giggles.

"Yes, sir," I said with a light salute. If only Wicks, but I would never get you involved with this. I don't want you to suffer too.

Wicks ushered me into bed, throwing the small sheet over my body.

"You don't have to do all this."

"I know." He tucked me in, and I could hear his smile, "now stay put. If I find you-awwwuh," he yawned again, "roaming around, I'm gonna get my old sockem' bopper and hit ya with it."

Please sock me. Maybe I'll forget this whole thing or go into a coma and still get the money. "there's no way you still have that!"

"Perhaps." He patted my forehead, "if you can't sleep or want to talk, wake me up, okay?"

I nodded, "I will."

He sleepily bobbed his head, walked out of the room, and shut the door behind him.

I reached for my phone's charging station and checked the time. It was already three o'clock. A few more days of this. I said in my head. Then I could rest.

I regrettably undid Wick's tuck-in. Sorry. I apologized, swung up, took a shower, and changed into my work clothes. Then I plopped down on the edge of my bed. I knew if I talked in the shower, Wicks might hear me.

I folded my trembling hands into my lap. Monday was on my mind. Why can't they be nice? Am I that mean? Have I done something to them?

I continued to filter through my actions. I get snippy with Xander, but I don't think he cares what I say. And Lev… I held my head. He just likes terrorizing people. Why? I didn't want to take the first answer he gave me seriously. Like-how would it make people taste better? Sweat? My hands shook in the air like they were wet. That's gross-NO. EATING PEOPLE, IN GENERAL, IS GROSS. HOW- The dream was too recent. My brain wouldn't let me toss the thoughts.

I'm never going to get used to that. They're not human, Lynette. Well- I raised a brow. Alexander looks human-. I pushed off my bed, unable to keep still. I'm not the crazy one here. Anything could happen, like what if they bite me in half! Or their bodies decide to hurt me. I'm helpless!

I couldn't shake it as I stepped in circles along my plush rug. I don't care what they say about it. They're not going to convince me it's safe.

I looked at my closet, I should practice for Monday, so I don't have to deal with the worst outcome... I opened its door and peeked inside. A lot of outfits were hanging up, styled by me. I also had the ones that Lev and Zilla picked for me too. See, why can't they just be snarky and helpful? Nothing else. I asked myself, though I knew Zilla helped for a favor later. And Lev helped...I actually didn't know his reasoning. He remarked that dressing funny would make them want to eat me less, didn't he? I grumbled.

Like I don't have style. Just like everyone else in the family tells me. I kicked out my closet stool and stepped on it to reach the open cardboard box. It had accumulated a bit of dust on it.

Looking at the board instead of the box, I felt like I could hear him showing me again. My eyes traced its numbers and rings before I looked towards the closet and bathroom wall. Beyond it would be Wick's room.

How would it have been if...The thought started to make my eyes well up. I closed them tight and turned my head away. No. Don't think about the hypotheticals. Lynette. I opened them to stare at the board again. It's okay. I have to deal with them in an hour. And for some reason, despite how hard it was, dealing with them felt much more comforting than thinking about how I got here.

…

Drake

He looked down at his phone while the shenanigans ensued between Beatrice, Zane, and Alexander while Elliot slept on the back wall.

Lynette: Thank you for yesterday; I really appreciate your help. 4:21a.m.

He brought his phone up. Lynette- He tapped his phone to his forehead. Why- He tapped it on his head again. Do- tap You- tap Think- tap I'm- tap So- tap Innocent!

He didn't respond to her text. His mind continued to rewind what she had said at the festival. His own gripe worked its way up his body. Just like every other human. Or monster... He looked at Alexander.

And studied him. Even though he's supposed to be considered weaker, he's imposing. Not that Drake didn't already understand Alexander was on the luckier side compared to most mixed breeds.

He looked down at himself in comparison and sighed. He put his phone away and let his ears tune into their conversation.

"Alexander, you get Lynette during the night shift, so you should give Beatrice a turn.

Alexander threw his hand up, "hell no. I didn't eat anyone last night. I'm starving."

"Why should I care? That's your fault." Beatrice said, smiling at her own reflection in the compact. "If I want to eat her, I will have her."

Alexander put a hand in front of her mirror so she couldn't look at herself, "just because your human left doesn't mean you can steal Lynette." He's far more aggressive today. He can't get mad because he pulled an all-nighter again.

She slowly raised her gaze, "move your hand, half-breed." She told him.

Alexander snickered; he pressed his glasses up, flashing the apparent bags under his eyes, "OH."

"Alexander," Drake said.

He pulled his hand back and grumbled, "don't act like I did anything wrong, Drake." Alexander complained, "you should have heard the crap coming from her mouth."

She closed the compact, and her shoulders rose, "excuse me?" She lifted her hand and pressed her manicured pointer finger into Alexander's chest. "I've been nothing but nice, and yet you have such a brassy," she continued to poke him, "unwillingness to help your superiors."

"Superiors?! I've worked here longer than you!" He looked at her finger, "and if you poke me one more time, princess-"

"Superior species wise." She remarked as she readied to press it to him again.

Elliot, who no one noticed, got up from the wall and grabbed their shoulders. "Alexander, you know the rules; Lynette's free game to anyone, whatever. And you-" He glared at Beatrice wildly. "I don't care whatever you have going on in your head." He shook his, "But quit saying that out loud. Who cares what anyone is. We're at work, so you're going to either interact civilized...both of you, or call it a day, got it?"

Drake looked over the two. Alexander's shoulders dropped, and he agreed. While Beatrice looked ready to snap at Elliot, she opened her mouth to say something, but Zane spoke.

"Morning, Lynette, Good morning, June!"

They were coming down the hall. Elliot let go of Alexander's shoulder but stared down Beatrice. She exhaled and conceded too. Elliot nodded, then pointed at Lynette as she got in, followed by Drake and Alexander.

"When you guys get scanned in, I'm delegating some new tasks since Tila's not here," Elliot said,

Lynette followed along with them. Drake, who was the closest to Elliot, heard him whisper.

"Is it always this lively during your shift?"

Drake weakly chuckled, "not hostility-wise."

Elliot sighed, "I don't even want to imagine handling this all day."

…

Lynette

Beatrice left the break room for a phone call, and Elliot passed out on the couch. Meanwhile, the five of us sat at the table,

Zane leaned over my shoulder. I expected him to ask a question as I looked through memes. He didn't. He remained silent.

I worked up the courage to turn to him, "yes?"

Zane pulled back and smiled, "sorry. I didn't interrupt whatever you were doing with my question."

"You can ask. I don't mind."

He gestured to the whole table. "Who's your favorite?" Zane asked me.

"Favorite what?" I asked.

Zilla's fraternal twin teetered closer, our seats were already close, and he continued to make our space apart smaller. "Favorite person on the night crew? Don't worry about saying who's your favorite on Day crew." He whispered, "I know it's me.~" He joked about the last part. At least, that's what I assumed. It was hard to tell.

Do I have a favorite? I looked up at Alexander. I have least favorites. I thought to myself. No. I shouldn't be rude, even in my head. I shrugged and was about to say, Drake. However, I realized a very important fact about him.

ZILLA'S HIS SISTER. He wants me to say her! I'm glad I haven't given my answer. I was going to say, Drake. I chuckled nervously. Every time Zilla "helps" me, I get punished for it! I grumbled; why do they punish me for it? I don't eat them!

Zane poked at my cheek, "Lynette?"

I snapped out of it, "huh? Oh-yeah-uh-I like something from everyone. I can't choose favorites."

"OH, that's such a sweet answer," he patted my head after, "what do you like about everyone?"

SHOOT. I realized the other three were tuning in now and stopped talking about Olden Ring.

"It's-not-" I felt the bearing pressure of their gazes.

"You weren't lying to me, were you?" Zane said a devious smile on his face.

You did this on purpose! I looked over at June, who smiled at me cutely. Start easy.

"June's one of the sweetest to talk to," I pointed back at Zane, "you're friendly..." I pointed at Elliot, "I like that he has a lot together," then to Drake, "he's always helpful, which I appreciate, and-" when my finger went to Xander, my voice wouldn't leave my body.

Is there anything I can say about him that I like? He's been a mixed bag, it's like sometimes he's bearable, yet most of the time, he's crazy. "I guess he could be worse."

Drake held in a laugh. Zane didn't.

"I don't know if that counts as a compliment, Lynette," Zane said.

Alexander looked to expect that as he was eyeing his phone.

"I didn't mean-I guess if I had to say one good thing about him, his honesty? Even though I hate what he says most of the time. He's at least to the point." It's easier to understand that than playing games with me constantly like Lev.

I accidentally looked up at him when I said that. Before he could say anything, Zane did.

"Aw, now..." Zane chuckled, "tell me what you like about everyone else?"

WHY!

…

Elliot, Zane, June, and I went to lunch first. I jittered in my seat, playing with the water bottle I got from the fridge.

"What's your plan?" Zane asked.

"I don't have one." I tipped the bottle over, "I don't know how I could avoid both of them unless I could disappear."

Zane snickered, "isn't that what happens when they eat you?"

I squeamishly replied, "Why did you say it like that." I keep forgetting he's a monster, too, and he mentioned he eats humans and magus's, unlike Zilla...

My mind teetered to Thursday, AND she ate me even though she doesn't like to! Then-

June ate another granola bar whole. "They aren't very friendly with you, are they?"

"No," I like how I wasn't the only one who noticed. They make it really hard for me to even try with them. "They don't care whether I want it or not."

Zane's violet hue scanned over me, his still had a different feel than Zilla's. "You are an energy-packed human, so I can see why they'd want you." Zane shrugged with innocence, "but if you're tired of Alexander going after you, give yourself to Beatrice. I've heard she's nicer if you're willing."

I picked my bottle back up, "I would never willingly give myself to someone-"

"Didn't you and Alexander have a deal-"

"THAT was for a different reason!" Don't think I liked that. It was awful. I opened the water bottle, "I'm here to do my job, not get..." I hate that this has to be said so often.

"And hanging out, right? Because I like hanging out with you, Lynette." June said.

He is by far the friendliest, sweetest monster I've ever met. And...honestly, better than most people I met. "The feeling's mutual, June." I sighed, "I wish I worked with you."

"You only have two options here," Zane tapped twice on the table as if he had folders with both the options in them.

"Maybe I can outrun them while they fight?"

He chuckled with a head shake, "They can grow to three or four times your height. There's no outrunning them."

I glanced at Elliot, who was passed out on one of the couches. Could I even ask him for advice? June trusts him. Tila's gentle reminder pinged in my head. No, wait, don't wake him up; he's attacked Beatrice before...

The sinister idea popped into my head. "How willing would any of them be to wake Elliot?" I whispered to him because Elliot wasn't that far from us.

Zane laughed, "not at all. He'd eat anyone who wakes him up in a heartbeat." Then his smile dropped when he saw my expression, "are you planning to-"

I stood up, "I'm going to hide under the couch."

June giddily smiled and wanted join me, "Oh! Are we gonna play hide and go seek! That sounds super fun."

"No, no. June." My heart hurt seeing the sad pout on his lip.

"Okay." He sat back down and pushed at his granola bars. Stop making me feel bad! You might get in trouble!

The grayish-haired male raised a brow, "you understand what's going to happen if you mess up." He sounded more informative than concerned for my wellbeing.

I decided to walk to the back of his couch. It was the one that sat across from the TV. He looked so peaceful. Would he really attack me if I woke him? I slowly lowered down behind the couch and examined my space. It's a good thing these couches are big. I thought as I got onto the floor. We cleaned the break rooms in the morning, so I knew I wouldn't get too dirty as I squirmed underneath it. I hit something when I scooched as far as possible from the end facing the entrance.

I heard a light groan from above, and the thing I hit, which was too loose to be a couch leg, grabbed the back of my head. I must have gone too far back and hit his arm!

"Lynette," Elliot's low, tired tone pierced my ears. "I don't know what possessed you to go under the couch. Frankly, I'm too tired to care." He didn't let go. "but as a word of advice, if you wake me up again, I will eat you." He said. "Do you understand?"

I couldn't nod. "Y-yes."

Elliot let go and shifted above me into a new comfortable position. I laid back, afraid to move in either direction. Why do I feel like this is a terrible idea? If anything...Beatrice wouldn't try to get me. And Xander would try to get me and then get eaten...

OH NO, then he's going to blame me again! Plus, it's his game today. I didn't really think this through!

Not that I could leave as the door to the break room opened...

...

Drake

He walked alongside Alexander. He didn't want to say it, but he could hear the unsteadiness. He had since yesterday but never mentioned it. What can I tell him? He'd brush it off.

"I'm glad that prissy drama queen isn't back yet," Alexander said.

Drake played along, "not that you're any better."

"Shut up," Alexander said endearingly. Even when he cursed, it sounded softer toward Drake; it held their woven trust. Something that had taken long to even pick a string.

Alexander continued with a grin, "besides, I think I'm doing her a service."

"Do tell." Drake's head tipped forward with his light sigh, not that I know what to do in this situation. We're so different. You're everything I'm not.

Alexander got to the time clock. First, he only showed his arrogance, "who would you rather be eaten by, a stuck-up drama queen or-"

"Or a tactless, obsessive brute? Tough decision."

Alexander scanned his badge, "funny." He waited for Drake to do the same. "And what about you?"

"Me?" Drake scanned out. "I don't know about you, but I'd rather avoid being in anyone's stomach."

"You know what I meant-" Alexander pulled back his statement, he waved his hand back and forth with a groan, "and if she doesn't like it, she shouldn't be so edible."

The absurd thought made Drake laugh. "Right, like she can choose." They approached the door for break room three.

He looked up at Alexander. He had the same waft wash over him once the door opened. Except Drake didn't feel it as strongly unless he heard her heart. While he knew Alexander locked onto it.

"She has choices, Drake."

Is this really the best option for you now, Chase? "Just like you have the choice not to eat her."

Alexander

Choice? And what? You want me to ignore her and let Beatrice eats her. That'd piss me off more.

Alexander couldn't prevent his shifting gaze. It scoured the room for Lynette. He knew he could smell her. Most of her scent lingered over the table where June and Zane sat. The two greeted Drake and him as they approached. Not that he paid them any mind.

He'd rather focus on his ravenous craving and fill the empty pit in his stomach.

He followed the traces of her, and he stopped at the dark couch. Don't tell me he- Alexander quickly surveyed Elliot's body. He concluded she hadn't been eaten, but she was in the area around him for some reason. How can she be here and not at the same time...She's hiding.

He turned his head, smiled, and dropped down into a push-up. He could see her legs closest to him.

"Did you think you could hide from me?" It was laughable. You're the easiest thing for me to track, shrimp. He propped his hand against the couch end, and then his other hand reached under it with his face pressed to the fabric. He reached out, and she didn't move her foot in time. He gripped partially at her ankle.

Once she yanked her foot closer to herself, he lost his grip, and her shoe slipped off. He let go of it.

She's making this really annoying. Alexander pulled back to see her better instead of throwing his hand every which way and hoping he'd grab her. Plus, given the couches' length and her size, she could easily go out on one side and avoid him.

I can't even flip the damn couch. Alexander said in his head.

Fine, I'll make you leave.

"Do you like spiders, Lynette?" The question left Alexander's mouth with annoyance.

Her worried voice came out, "what?"

His eyes started to glow. It'd waste his energy to do this, but he expected to catch Lynette soon.

Even though Alexander excelled at using manipulation type of spells, he rarely used them like this.

Lynette's eyes shined with the same glow as his. It made her view what he wanted her to see. In this case, giant, fuzzy, Yorkie-sized spiders with fangs dripping venom. She'd feel their venom and clinging step along her body. They crawled up with the intent to reach her face.

She cried out and scrambled out from underneath her hiding spot.

He abruptly stopped the effect as he saw her panic was worse than he thought it'd be. If he used it on someone in the past with the same low effort he did with her, they'd be distracted momentarily before breaking out. He forgot he was dealing with a human.

He sprung up. Lynette had hit Elliot on her way up. SHIT. Instinctually, his body moved when he felt the pressure from the tear. It was such a subtle drop most beings couldn't understand it.

Alexander's form leaped to her. He grabbed Lynette and stumbled back as the case fully burst. An explosion of black ashen' fur, it looked much more beast than humanoid.

Alexander ran the process in his head, then tossed Lynette to the side, and even though his size shifted, it wasn't quite as fast as the case break from Elliot. He tried to get him into a shoulder throw, but his maw was wide open and went over most of Alexander's body instead. The moist giant tongue wetted his face. Fuck me!

The glasses-wearing male reached his full shift before Elliot lifted him into the air to eat. Alexander wrapped his arms over the werewolf's teeth. It couldn't puncture his skin unless Alexander let it. He held tight, feet planted down, and swung Elliot partially by his jaw, enough to make him let go once Alexander did.

He didn't go far. Elliot hit the table the others once sat. They got up before his body got close to them. Alexander captured Elliot's attention now. And even if the blonde was willing to eat the werewolf back, he was not big enough.

So with his limited number of options, he ran for it. At least if he left the room, he wouldn't have to worry about getting everyone involved in their fight.

...

Thank you for reading! :D Have a gouda day! (Nonnegotiable, if you're lactose intolerant, you're about to be in a lot of pain, sorry, not sorry. Lol).

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autisticmao · 5 months

Text

GENRE: angst - hanahaki

FEATURED: kuro, anzu

WARNINGS: blood, throwing up, one-sided love, death

PROMPT: isara suffers majorly from hanahaki for a certain producer

WORD COUNT: 2,374

Blood dripped thickly, causing a light tap into the metal bin as soon as it hit. Small and thin yet rough petals of a kind of flower followed afterwards with every cough he heaves. His skin burns from the major fever this disease has caused him. Rashes forming around his limbs started to blister from the thorns that begged to be free from being wrapped around his heart and twisting through his veins.

"This is three steps worse than last night." Comes a mutter from the fellow redhead of the dorm room - Kuro, his hand rests on his chin as he glances towards where Isara leaned over his bed, still sitting under his summer duvet silently begging for the coughs to cease to a stop.

"At this rate, we may have to call your little friends that you're not coming to the convention and take you to the hospital instead to get you checked in for the night."

"I can't do that. This event is an important one to go to...!" His throat felt raw with the intensity he spoke. The stinging sensation of the nettles crawled through his windpipe with every syllable he breathed out. The vines dared to grow further upwards, letting the leaves take space in between as they began clogging his throat up slowly.

Isara Mao had what is called the "Hanahaki Disease," and so far, Kuro was the only person who knew about it. Only by mere accident. The older male even knows who he is suffering because of, and he feels bad for the younger male. Especially because the said person was already in a relationship with someone else, not long after Isara had developed feelings for them.

The said person was also too busy and oblivious of Isara's feelings for them.

Another heaving cough reaches Isara, causing him to lean over the bed once more as more of the red fluid flows, petals reminding him of the amount of time he has left. He waits a minute after the wreck of a coughing fit, his mouth still slightly open from the urges to throw some up more.

Kuro leans over from where he stood and grabs one of the many water bottles that sat in a crate amongst many by the door of the dorms room and hands the cold bottle towards Isara. He unscrews the glue-tight-like lid before doing so, raising an eyebrow at the younger. "More than death? I don't think so. You're going, Isara, and I'll make sure of it."

Isara stayed silent at the response, taking a few gulps or sips possible of the clear liquid when he could. His eyes cast down to his lap, a frown of discomfort never once leaving from his facial features.

In the corner of his eye, he could see Kuro tapping away on his phone — most likely chatting to either one or all of the rest of the members from Trickstar. Possibly even Eichi or anyone else who's a member of the student council, too, about Isara's situation.

A sudden groan then comes from the beaujolais-haired boy, causing Kuro to switch his phone off and inch closer towards the younger who seemed to hold his stomach tight with one arm, as the other clutched tight against his blood stained top grasping to grip against his chest on the same side that his heart would be.

"I'm definitely calling you an ambulance." He hears Kuro mutter once more, the older student already waiting on call for the emergency line to pick up. Thankfully, in Kuro's opinion, the person on the other side of the line picked up right away, letting him speak of the needed help immediately.

"I'd like to call for an ambulance, please..." Kuro's voice fades from Isara's hearing as he lurches over his bed once more, more droplets of blood hitting the bottom of the bin in such disgusting swirls as the various flower petals floated amongst the terrifying red.

More coughs surge through, causing a non-stop fit of heaving the pleads to breathe freely for a moment. Isara could feel tears from the pain pricking at the corners of his kelly green eyes. Shivers of the hot fever going up and down his spine repeatedly, causing him to shake every now and then.

The only thing Kuro could do at that moment was rub the youngers' back in comfort as he kneeled down to the floor besides Isara's bed, his phone was still up to his ear as he spoke about Isara's situation to the person on call. Kuro's voice would often go up an octave in worry, or deeper than his usual voice when talking stern and begging for ways on how to help Isara in his situation.

The call suddenly ends as Kuro places his phone onto Isara's bedside table. "The miss on the other side said the ambulance will be here in twenty minutes at most." He wished they could get to the place faster for Isara, but with how busy traffic can be from one side of the town to the other during these hours of the week, the older student knew it would be impossible for them to do so.

Kuro then suddenly stands up. "She said for you to stay sitting up and drink your water if needed. Don't force the blood out." He turns around to face the rest of the room and headed towards Isara's own chest of drawers that sat at the end of his bed.

"What are you doing?" Isara heaved. A large cough erupts from his throat after he spoke.

"I'm packing you a night bag, just in case they tell you to stay in for the night or so. I wouldn't be surprised if they did tell you that, with your situation."

Isara only nods mutely as his reply.

Minutes go by as the two wait. Kuro helped Isara as much as possible with his situation every time the smaller felt pain or needed to throw up.

If there was an analogue clock in the room, Isara would definitely be able to hear the loud ticks the hands cause every second or so from the amount of waiting he has to do. He'd rather be free of this impending doom and either practice with Trickstar, play sports with Midori, to sit with Ritsu and carry him around, or help Eichi and the others in the councils office — literally anything but sitting around like a loose toy would do.

Half an hour extra passes some more. Some students of the music course had knocked on the rooms door, asking how Isara was. It was mostly from the ever so impatient Trickstar and Eichi who came by to check up on him, even helping Kuro with looking after Isara until their short minutes were up.

Isara was finding it even more difficult to breathe. The ambulance had yet to arrive, and there was no way Kuro or anyone could get Isara to the hospital by their own hands.

He shivered again, now laying on his side with one arm draping over the edge of the bed, his hand grazing the carpet flooring. Kuro scolded him for laying down, but it's not like the younger could hear him anyway.

"Kuro..." Isara could just about manage through his short breaths. Kuro stood by the rooms only window, peeking out of it every millisecond possible as he clenched his phone tight in his strong hold, always prepared to look for any messages or calls from the emergency lines. The ambulance still has yet to come. It was frustrating, in Kuro's opinion. They said they'd be at the campus grounds as soon as possible, but they were more late than intended. Here was a kid dying, and the medics were casually taking their time like as though they were on holiday in France.

He turned around, looking at Isara in his weak state. Fear iced over his veins as he quietly stepped towards the other — with how slow the ambulance was at arriving, there was no way Isara would be saved, and it ached in Kuro's heart horribly.

If there was a magical way of saving Isara, Kuro would happily sacrifice himself for the other to complete that mission. He knew of the classic three ways to get rid of this disease, but Isara has already attempted almost all of them... and failed. He had such bad luck that it made the duo of redheads upset together.

Kuro kneeled down besides Isara, ignoring the mess of failed attempts of getting blood and petals and puke alike into the bin, he grabbed ahold of Isara's hand that grazes by the carpet flooring, a sudden quick emotion of shock goes through his mind of how cold the other felt. Isara usually was warm. Like the perfect temperature of a radiator during a winter storm, but now he felt as cold as a snowy blizzard.

Kuro glances up to meet eye to eye with Isara as much as he can. Isara's kelly greens were shaking from the amount of shock his body was letting out without his control. The greens of his eyes were dulling of its shining radiance with every minute that clocked by. Isara couldn't even see the older in front of him any longer, as he shouted out in fright from ten minutes ago about it.

Kuro has never heard such harsh fear from the other before. It was something he wished to never sense again, only for the other to be genuinely happy.

"I'm still here, bud."

Isara's cries cease to a stop. The only movement there was left of the beaujolais-haired teenager was still of his shaking and the few rare breaths he let out. He couldn't even talk anymore. He only let the blood flow from his mouth and the few petals that started to slow its rising existence from his throat. Kuro tried to clean the mess around Isara as much as he could repeatedly.

A sigh of the unknown suddenly comes from Isara. His eyes were fully closed, but his body still shook and twitched. Kuro didn't once let go of the youngers' hand as a sudden knock came from the dorm room door. He shouts for whoever is on the other side that the door is unlocked.

A few pairs of footsteps tred inside of the room towards Isara and Kuro.

...

The door closes automatically by itself as Kuro and Anzu leave the funeral directors office, thanking the very director for their time. The aura around them was darker and dull than ever as the cold winters breeze wraps around their figures.

"I have a question..." came the broken voice of Anzu as the two stood at a set of traffic lights, waiting for the big lights to turn from green to red for them to cross over the street. "Who did... Who did Isara have feelings for to suffer that much of the disease?"

Kuro stayed silent for a moment, watching some of the vehicles that pass by. Ordinary cars, lorries, and motorbikes alike zooming without a notice.

"If I tell you, do you promise not to blame yourself?"

Anzu was confused, but she nodded right away. She hears the male student sigh and turn to her with a meekly glance.

"It was you." Kuro then suddenly chuckles low and sadly, "I remember him ranting to me a few months ago in our dorm about his crush on you when it was just us alone one evening. It was... refreshing... to see him act like a normal teenager for once other than this doll of exhaustion he built himself to be. He'd always come to me about ways of wanting to impress you with whatever he does. Hell, he tried writing a solo song during practice time with Trickstar, Akehoshi told me one time because he wanted to impress you so much. He even asked Kaoru on some tips — I'm just glad Kaoru was careful with his words for once on what to say in that type of situation."

Anzu's eyes widened with surprise, letting all the words she was told melt into her thoughts. She suddenly frowns and looks down, "but he knew I was in a relationship with Rei..."

The beeping noise coming from beside Kuro suddenly sounded as the two crossed the road to the other side of the street.

"Maybe so, but feelings like love isn't so easy to repress, especially for someone like Isara."

...

The dorm room felt empty, in Kuro's opinion. With the other two always so busy doing their own things, and now Isara...

He shakes the thought from his mind and walks over to his own bed, exhaustion has hit him harshly from the last month and a half — it was needed, though. For the plans of Isara's funeral and who was bound to come to it when the date is known from the funeral director. Kuro has tried getting Eichi and Ritsu to call Isara's family members about the sad happening not long after the youngers' passing, but no one ever answered their calls, it made Ritsu and a bunch of other frustrated at the situation. No matter how many times they all tried to call, the numbers would always be sent straight to voicemail.

It made Ritsu especially far mad than everyone else, especially because of knowing about Isara's past with his family.

Kuro sits down on his bed, about to lie down, but something small and white catches his attention. He turns to look at his pillow to see a small and soft feather sitting there, there was nothing to indicate in the room for a feather to make its presence known. He picks it up — Kuro knows what feathers mean when it comes to the thought of the dead.

He wraps his hand around the small white feather, raising his hand to his chest as he closes his eyes in thought.

Isara was at some final peace on the other side. He hoped to bring some hope and a new beginning for Kuro and everyone else of Yumenosaki as a thank you.

Kuro lets a soft smile crease his features.

"Rest well, Isara."

#angst #ensemble stars #ensemble stars game #ensemble stars trickstar #enstars #fanfic #isara centric #isara mao angst #mao isara #oneshot #isara mao #mao isara angst #cross posted on wattpad #cross posted on ao3 #kuro kiryu #kuromao #maoann #rei x anzu #enstars fanfic

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Crimson Ties (Bela Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 2

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village

Rating: T for language and mild medical drama

Warnings: Typical Vampire shenanigans

Genre: Hurt + comfort

Summary: Bela is somewhat unprepared to deal with a soulmate who has no clue about her condition, her family, or any of the village's secrets. Thankfully, her sister Cassandra is more than willing to be a bad example. Also there's some fluff.

Notes: For reference, each of my soulmate stories take place in their own contained timeline, since they each involve different types of soulmates. So in this one, Cass doesn't currently have a soulmate.

Previous Chapters: 1: Stem the Flow

2: Tangled Strands

A gentle humming fills the space around you, as fingers slowly run through your hair. As far as you can tell you had fallen back asleep, for several hours, and you were just now waking back up. No longer holding you down, your soulmate is curled up next to you. There’s still a needle in your arm, much to your irritation, but now you can finally see what it’s connected to: An IV for a transfusion. Explains why I’m feeling so much better than before, you think. Then you’re turning your head to the other side, eager to finally get a good look at your soulmate. Instantly you’re blushing, tongue tying itself into a knot, because wow are you lucky.

“Feeling any better?” She asked, as soon as your gaze met hers. You try to stutter out a confirmation, but you’re too distracted by the soft curve of her smile to speak, and barely even manage a nod. That beautiful smile grows wider in response. “Good. I couldn’t stand the thought of you suffering more, after what you’ve already been through.” Now her smile fades, and she looks away for a few moments. Watching it makes your heart ache. So you swallow the lump in your throat, willing yourself to relax, before trying a little comforting of your own.

“I am safe now, am I not? Moreso, we have too much to talk about for us to dwell on the ill circumstances of our introduction. Let us cherish this time, in respite, with our hearts open wide to one another,” you said, donning your softest smile. Somehow your words fulfill their purpose, and your soulmate is once again grinning. Slowly she leans forward to rest her forehead against yours. Then she’s speaking, voice as smooth as the sheets you lay on.

“You are right, of course. I simply wish I could have saved you sooner,” she replied, tone betraying the sadness that her expression otherwise hid. Before you can protest, she continues talking, and you soon forget all about your qualms. “To think I don’t even know your name yet… nor you mine, I suppose. Let’s remedy that, yes? I am Bela Dimitrescu.” Something about her last name feels familiar to you, but not to the point of clear recognition. Instead of inquiring, you return her favor, giving her your own name. She repeats it back a few times, letting the syllables roll off her tongue, and you feel your heart skip a few beats. “A lovely name for a lovely soul, perfectly paired.”

A pause, followed by Bela reaching out to examine your IV. Following her gaze, you turn to the metal hook adjacent to the bed, where a blood bag hangs. Only a few drops remain inside. Just as when you first awoke, Bela gives a soft hum, then rises into a sitting position. Your first instinct is to copy the motion, and you’re relieved when (this time) she doesn’t push you back down. Both of you quietly inch your hands closer until they’re laid on top of each other.

“I wish I knew more about medicine, but unfortunately my family is more experienced in the creation of wounds than the treatment of them,” Bela said, scowling. Confused, you tilt your head at a slight angle, watching her with interest. Am I supposed to know who she’s referring to? My memories of the past couple days are still hazy, you think. “Do… do you remember how you ended up in the dungeon? I know you wanted to speak of happier things, and we can, soon. It’s just… Knowing how you arrived here may help me deal with the consequences of freeing you. Mother will be dreadfully upset that I’ve interrupted a draining, even if we are soulmates.”

“Wait, are you saying…? The intimidating giantess who strung me up and attempted to bleed me dry… is your mother?” You asked, jaw nearly dropping to the floor. This was an unexpected development, for sure.

“You didn’t know?” Bela replied, eyes going wide for a moment. Clearly she wouldn’t have said anything if she realized you weren’t already aware. Suddenly the tension in the room is palpable, with an uncomfortable silence overtaking the two of you. In the moment, you cannot even bring yourself to look at Bela, too stunned by this new knowledge. Eventually she breaks the silence, voice sounding unsure for once. “I realize that this is a lot to take in, if you need time to process it, I… I can go. But you need to understand that our situation is far more complicated than it might appear. We cannot survive without the blood of others- it is what sustains us when nothing else can.”

Now you’re staring at her like she’s crazy, and she’s standing up, moving to the other side of the room. She draws back a curtain, gazing out into the snow covered hills. Every muscle in your body is urging you to run while she’s distracted. Thread of fate be damned, this went far beyond anything you had ever imagined having to deal with. You come so close to ripping the IV right out of your arm. But a gentle tug on your soul string makes you pause, remembering all the times this bond gave you hope in dark times. Had she felt the same way, all these years? What had she gone through, in this absurd castle, on the very edges of civilization? You pull on the red thread, feeling a wave of composure wash over you.

“It appears there is much I need to learn. But is that not the very nature of our connection? We know, simply, that we are bound to each other, though we know not what shapes our souls take so that we might put them together, nor even what roles we must play. I cannot say that I understand your plight, my dear, but I will try, as is my obligation, and my honor,” you said, wishing you could hold her, and cursing your IV. As soon as the first word leaves your mouth, Bela is turning around, watching you with a bittersweet expression. Once you’re done she’s moving closer, as if reading your mind, extending a hand to cup your cheek. Then she leans forward to press a brief kiss to your forehead. “Oh, how I have longed for this- to be with you, to get to know you.”

“As did I,” she murmured. You can’t help but lean into her touch, closing your eyes and enjoying the moment. “Perhaps I should introduce you to my family? I imagine you’ll be needing breakfast anyway, and bringing human food back to my quarters would raise more suspicion than I’d like.” Well, the moment couldn’t last forever, could it?

“Only if you promise that your mother won’t suspend me by my wrists again. Or by any other part of me. Shall we simply put suspension off the table altogether?” You asked, half teasing. To be entirely honest, you were equally worried about Bela’s sisters. Well, the people you had heard other prisoners whispering about, who were the daughters of the giantess, and by connecting a few dots were also, presumably, Bela’s sisters. Apparently they preferred to play with their food. Unless, of course, Bela was one of the daughters you had heard about, and would have easily torn into you if not for your connection. Let’s not dwell on that concept, you think, glad to be distracted by your soulmate.

“I will not let anyone harm you anymore, my beloved. My mother would not stand so firmly in the way of my happiness,” Bela reassured, though you detected a hint of uncertainty in her tone. Still, there wasn’t much you could do other than trust her. “Now, let me take care of your bandages, then we’ll head downstairs…”

---------------------------------

“Who the fuck is this?” An unfamiliar voice asked, as you meandered down the corridor, arm around Bela for support. As soon as she hears the person speak, your soulmate is freezing in place, casting a worried glance over her shoulder. When you turn as well, you spot someone dressed almost identically to Bela. However, the woman wears a yellow pendant, as opposed to a red one, and her hair is a dark brown. It feels safe to assume that she’s one of the sisters you’ve heard about. Which understandably makes you nervous, to the point where you almost want to hide behind Bela. Instead, you stand tall, attempting to seem unfazed by either her presence or her vulgarity.

“Mind your manners, Cassandra,” Bela hissed, taking more of an aggressive stance than you had anticipated. “This, dear sister, is my soulmate. And if you even think about harming them, or getting in our way, I will tear you apart.” While you’re downright shocked at the intensity of Bela’s statement, her sister doesn’t look at all impressed, and eyes you with minimal interest. Better than looking at you with hatred, right? Apparently not, as Bela moves to stand between the two of you, eyes narrowed. There’s a clear stiffness in her posture that leaves you anxious. Cassandra seems to notice it as well, and laughs, before taking a few steps in your direction. Then your soulmate mimics the movement, forcing you to do so as well.

“They’re human,” Cassandra snapped, pausing to sniff the air and scowl. “Here I thought your soulmate would have to be special, if they’re to compare to your ego. You’re disappointed, aren’t you? Having to settle for this.” With that she shifts, flesh writhing, making your stomach churn as you watch her disintegrate into a cloud of… flies? What the hell is wrong with this family? Can Bela do that too? I hope not, you think. Soon you’re pulled from your thoughts, however, as the swarm circles around you, single insects occasionally surging forward to cut at your skin. But Bela is grabbing you by the sleeve and tugging you to her chest, moving against a wall so that her body shielded your own. Your eyes clamp shut as you shake in her arms. When the buzzing stops, it is quickly replaced with cruel laughter. “That fragile, hmm? I can’t wait to see what mother thinks. See you at breakfast, sister!”

Then the two of you are alone, still pressed against the wall, staying still until the sound of footsteps fade. You’re stunned, unsure of how to react. The fact that a few drops of blood roll down your cheek only makes things worse. Still, Bela managed to prevent you from getting too hurt, and the few wounds on your body are negligible. Ever filled with gratitude, you hold her close as you try to stutter out a few sentences.

“Is she always this hostile, or am I truly not what you had expected? No, pay me no mind, it hardly matters. Thank you for protecting me,” you whispered. In response, Bela gives you a little squeeze, then pulls back enough to wipe the blood from your face. There’s a hint of something odd in her expression, which you interpret to be related to her apparent ‘need for blood’. Thankfully, she is in perfect control, and does not frenzy the same way you had read about fictional vampires doing. But she does hesitate, words dying on her tongue, like there are a thousand things she wants to say, and no words to say them with. “It’s alright, my dear. Let’s just go to breakfast, like we planned, and hope your sister behaves better when supervised.”

Bela nods, quickly, before taking your hand in her own. Whatever awaited you in the dining room, the two of you would be ready. Hopefully.

#babe why aren't you this nice to ME #bela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu x reader #resident evil: village #re8 village #soulmate au #imagine bela's soulmate meeting cassandra's #they'd be very unlikely friends #cassandra would HATE how well behaved her soulmate would be #like #tumblr keeps rearranging the order of my tags???#I'll fix that later

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jiangwanyinscatmom · 3 years

Text

Once again, as a reminder, Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji are the text's literary mirrors to each other, in all adaptions. I am not a fan of the plot shift for CQL so this will mostly just be talking about the novel for this rant.

Lan Wangji is the positive pillar of maturity growth, while Jiang Cheng is the stagnant regressive one. They are the opposing points of moral conflict for Wei Wuxian to choose from and is the classic set up even with choosing the childhood friend (that nice false romantic lead reading) and the Love Interest that beat for beat follows the main character's subconscious yearnings and ideals of morality.

The most blatant tellings of this are the way Jiang Cheng and Lan Wangji choose to deal with Wei Wuxian when he is faced with the backlash of the cultivation sect's anger.

“Wei WuXian, have you still not realized what the situation at hand is like? Do you really need me to say it out loud? If you insist on protecting them, then I won’t be able to protect you.”

Wei WuXian, “There’s no need to protect me. Just let go.”

Jiang Cheng’s face twisted.

Wei WuXian, “Just let go. Tell the world that I defected. From now on, no matter what Wei WuXian does, it’d have nothing to do with the YunmengJiang Sect.”

Jiang Cheng, “… All for the Wen Sect…? Wei WuXian, do you have a savior complex? Is it that you’ll die if you don’t stand up for someone and stir up some trouble?”

Wei WuXian stayed quiet. A while later, he answered, “So that’s why we should cut ties right now, in case anything I do affects the YunmengJiang Sect in the future.”

Or else, he really couldn’t make any guarantees on what he’d do in the future.

“…” Jiang Cheng murmured, “My mom said that you do nothing but bring our sect trouble. It’s true indeed.” He laughed coldly, talking to himself, “‘To attempt the impossible’? Fine. You understand the YunmengJiang Sect’s motto. Better than I do. Better than all of us do.”

He sheathed Sandu. The sword returned to its scabbard with a clang. Jiang Cheng’s tone was indifferent, “Then let’s arrange for a duel.”

Three days later, the leader of the YunmengJiang Sect, Jiang Cheng, arranged for a duel with Wei WuXian.

They fought quite a fight in Yiling. Negotiations failed. Both resorted to violence.

Under Wei WuXian’s command, the fierce corpse Wen Ning struck Jiang Cheng once, breaking one of his arms. Jiang Cheng stabbed Wei WuXian once. Both sides suffered losses. Each spat out a mouthful of blood and left cursing the other. They had finally fallen out with each other.

After the fight, Jiang Cheng told the outside that Wei WuXian defected from the sect and was an enemy to the entire cultivation world. The YunmengJiang Sect had already cast him out. From then on, no ties remained between them—a clear line was drawn. Henceforth, no matter what he did, they’d have nothing to do with the YunmengJiang Sect!

Jiang Cheng chooses to exasperate what Wei Wuxian had told him, he chooses to stage a fight in order to display the fact that he is not in connection with him. It is a staged fight but he does go in for a dramatic blow that wasn't needed as Wei Wuxian says later, covered in a jest to downplay Jiang Cheng's violence. Jiang Cheng only secretly visits Wei Wuxian once and with no other's knowledge as he is still committed to staying in favor with the other sect's for his own safety within the cultivation world.

Contrast that to Lan Wangji's stance at Koi Tower.

Suddenly, somebody came from behind him. It was Lan WangJi, who had followed him without speaking a word. Wei WuXian’s reputation had always been terrible, so it wasn’t his first time in such a situation. In this life, his mindset was different from how he was in his past. He could already face these situations calmly. He should get away first. There might be a chance of a counterattack in the days to come. He wouldn’t push it even if no such chance came. If he stayed, all that would come out of it were more than hundreds of slashes from the swords. Saying that he was actually innocent was even more of a joke. Everyone believed with utmost certainty that he’d return to seek revenge sometime in the future. Having destroyed countless sects, nobody would listen to his explanation, especially when Jin GuangYao would be there fanning the flames. Lan WangJi, though, was different from him. He wouldn’t even have to explain, and people would explain for him, such as how HanGuang-Jun had been deceived by the YiLing Laozu.

Wei WuXian, “HanGuang-Jun, you don’t have to follow me!”

Lan WangJi looked straight in front of him, saying nothing in reply. The two left behind them a crowd of cultivators shouting to kill. Amid the chaos, Wei WuXian spoke again, “You really want to go with me? Think carefully. After you walk out this door, your reputation will be destroyed!”

The two had already dashed down the steps of Koi Tower.

All of a sudden, a coldness passed through his stomach. As he looked down, Jin Ling had already pulled the white blade—now red with blood—out of him.

He didn’t expect that Jin Ling really would come at him.

The only thought that passed in Wei WuXian’s mind was, He could have been like anyone, yet he just so happened to have taken after his uncle Jiang Cheng. They even like to stab the same places.

He couldn’t quite clearly remember what had happened next. He felt that he tried to attack. Everything around them seemed frenzied. Not only had it been noisy, their escape seemed to bump and jolt as well. He didn’t know how much time had passed, but when he hazily opened his eyes again, Lan WangJi flew on Bichen, while he was carried on Lan WangJi’s back. Blood had spilled onto half of his snow colored cheeks.

In truth, the wound at his stomach didn’t hurt too much. But it was still a hole in his body, after all. In the beginning, he had managed for a while, as though nothing happened. It was likely, though, that this body hadn’t received many injuries before. As the wound bled, he couldn’t help but feel light-headed, and this wasn’t something that he could control.

Wei WuXian called out, “… Lan Zhan.”

Lan WangJi’s breathing wasn’t as placid as usual, feeling somewhat rushed. It was probably from carrying Wei WuXian while fending off attacks and being on the run for too long.

The way he replied though, was still the usual single syllable, as steady as ever, “Mnn.”

After the “mnn”, he added, “I am here.”

Hearing those words, made something that Wei WuXian had never felt before sprout within his heart. It was like sorrow. His chest hurt, but also felt a bit warm.

He could still remember how, back in Jiangling, Lan WangJi came all the way to assist him, yet he didn’t appreciate that kindness at all. With all kinds of disputes between, the two of them often parted with disapproval.

But what he hadn’t expected was that while everyone feared him or flattered him, Lan WangJi scolded him right to his face; when everyone spurned him and loathed him, Lan WangJi stood by his side.

It is an exact replica of the situation Jiang Cheng had faced with Wei Wuxian. But Lan Wangi neither condemns or speaks for what Wei Wuxian should do. He only wordlessly protects him and stays by his side in support that he does believe Wei Wuxian. His reputation is not worth the continued condemnations against Wei Wuxian and he very publicly solidifies his standing with Wei Wuxian where Jiang Cheng said he stood against him with that duel. Lan Wangji several times even when they had been young tried to stand with Wei Wuxian knowing his intentions were meant well, and Jiang Cheng further alienated Wei Wuxian placing further blame on Wei Wuxian and calling him self-serving with a savior complex.

Years later, Lan Wangji is able to take actions finally for Wei Wuxian that makes him understand that Lan Wangji is fully willing to stay with him and is a safety net. Jiang Cheng has cemented himself as an enemy without the deception for Wei Wuxian's complacency.

#mdzs #mo dao zu shi #lan wangji vs jiang cheng #don't mind me

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internalsealpanic · 3 years

Text

Love Through the Ages (Jason Todd)

Summary: Love like baggage needs to be declared.

a/n: This is part three of a series that is a fic rec list disguised as a fic. For these fics, most of the characters will be speaking different languages, so unless specified otherwise assume that the characters are speaking in the first language I mention. They’re all vampires with centuries under their belt. Why wouldn’t I make them all polyglots. Also, thank you to the proof reading gang for putting up with my shenanigans. I will have links to the fics I recommend in the fic itself. ALSO, y'all can thank @littleredwing89 for the poem that comes up.

Warnings: Everyone is dramatic.

Masterlist

Series Masterlist.

You tap at your phone screen, planting seeds in a satisfyingly hypnotic rhythm, the sounds of the train vacillating in and out of your periphery. It was soothing having your own compartment, a little world you can isolate yourself in while you anxiously await for the inevitable.

It wasn’t a secret that you found Gotham stressful. It was about as much a secret as Tony Stark’s civilian identity. You pulled your knees up to your chest at the thought. Big cities were stressful but Gotham was a different beast entirely. It was a writhing monster of steel and smoke. You wrinkle your nose deciding to sweep the thought away.

Instead, you concentrate on your plants and your farm. You wince looking at your journal. It looks like you’d forgotten another quest. Pursing your lips, you decide to turn your phone off for a bit and pretend the NPCs can sort it out on their own as you look out the window.

You lean against the wall, pressing your cheek to the cool window. You can’t help but smile to yourself thinking of a sea of black curly hair interrupted by a shock of white, sea green eye perpetually alight with mischief or intelligence (9 times out of 10, you really couldn’t tell which it was.), freckles like star map, and a mouth permanently set in a cocky grin. It’s hard not to smile like an idiot when thinking of Jason Todd.

Your skirt flutters in the wind as you dance your way through the crowd, bobbing up and down on your tiptoes over the sea of humans. Sometimes the smell of them still makes your mouth water but not now, not when the smell of Gotham is so pungent in the air.

You see a gloved hand wave at you on the other side of the crowd. You pin your sunhat against your head as you rush through the crowd, your luggage dragging behind you.

Jason waves a two fingered salute at you in front of a motorcycle, his foot clearly stomping a cigarette. You toss your hat to him. It flutters over the crowd. Jason catches it easily, putting it on his own head.

"Hey Princess, welcome back." Jason greets, the syllables of your native French gliding off of his tongue so easily. Fighting down a blush, you swallow your own greeting. Jason would have been a great ambassador in a different life were he not inclined to murder someone with a desert spoon for being a jackass.

He offers his hat back to you, but you shake your head. "You might freckle too much in Gotham's sunny weather." He gives you a hearty chuckle keeping the hat on.

"Missed you too, princess."

You roll your eyes. Pinching your nose, you look around. "You forgot to tell me to bring a gas mask."

"Every city smells like this."

"Darling, you've been in Gotham for too long."

"And you've been in your French villa for too long." Jason says, putting his sunglasses on you. You glare at him through them.

"First of all, it's a cottage."

Jason snorts, "As if that makes a difference. It's still in the idyllic French countryside, isn't it?"

"I-"

"I rest my case."

You cross your arms. "You're welcome to visit, you know?" It was a hopeful suggestion at best.

"We both know the quiet will drive me crazy."

"I said visit," you say, "besides, I think the train ride alone would drive you up the wall." You remember how Jason is with tight spaces.

"Not with you there." Jason winks.

Your heart presses a bruise into your throat and you hate Jason Peter Todd all over again.

"Ah yes, you plan on driving me mad. Evil. Truly evil of you." You say, grinning back at him.

"Here's a wild idea, how bout we just not listen to Roy? How does that sound?" Jason gently suggests, handing you your offensively pink cup of caffeinated goop. Jason can smell the sickening amount of sweeteners added. He might gag.

"Nope," you say, smiling at him as you slurp your ooze. Jason's stomach rolls. Alfred would have an aneurysm. "He was even nice enough to get us both tickets." You hand him one, fingers brushing against his. They felt calloused as they always did. Jason suppresses any oncoming reaction.

He instead turns his attention to the ticket in his hands. Love Through the Ages: Gotham Museum Exhibition on expressions of love. Jason runs through the numbers. "These are $59 each."

"So sweet of him, isn't it?" You chirp adorably.

Jason makes a mental note to kill both of you. "You're only going along with this cus you want to watch me suffer." Jason says, slumping his chair. His foot kicks out to tap your foot.

"I'm doing it affectionately," you say, tapping his foot with yours. "Besides, it's a universal pass time at this point." You swirl your drink and grin at him. It was your real grin, all bright and eager and stupidly sweet. Something in Jason's chest twists. It's always hard to breathe when you smile at him but really Jason would rather all the oxygen in the atmosphere be burned up than see your smile disappear.

He sounds dramatic and he knows that but still he knows it's true.

"C'mon Jay, it'll be fun."

Shoulders slouched, Jason smiles at you indulgently. "Fun for who?"

"Mainly me but you can have fun too."

"You are so lucky you're adorable when you're being evil."

Your smile brightens and with a tap of his foot against yours, he thinks he'll survive whatever Roy has in store for him.

You and Jason have been walking around the museum for quite a bit with Jason's arm wrapped tightly around your shoulders and homicide radiating off of him every time someone even looks at you funny. He'd said that the arm slung around your shoulder was so that you wouldn't get lost. As for the homicide, he elected to ignore the question entirely.

You flush as Jason quotes another line from 'Master Valentine' back to you. You definitely regret letting him house sit. You regret even more not hiding your books. You squirm as Jason whispers the quote in your ear in a husky drawl. The erotica in the book is amazing and you're normally comfortable with talking to Jason about everything, but this- this was just cruel and unusual punishment. It's what you get for trying to make him suffer.

All the pet names he murmured in your ear crawled up your spine. You shove his face away hiding your own in your sleeve. He laughs into your hand enjoying your sudden bout of shyness.

Jason mumbles a half-hearted apology into your hand, pressing a soft kiss into your palm. You lower your head. You're still clearly avoiding his gaze but you let him press you to his side. Jason Todd is an asshole.

You point to a pair of ice skates so well worn and well loved that you almost miss the little penguins stitched on the side. "Love on the ice? That's so cute!"

Jason glances at them with mild interest. "Sounds like hypothermia." He says, shrugging.

Swatting at his chest, you pout at him. He rolls his eyes nudging your shoulder with his. You scowl at him and stick your tongue out. Jason leans down, unable to stop the urge to press a kiss to your brow. You scowl even harder.

"Admit it, doll. The whole exhibition is just Dickie's favorite fanfiction tropes."

"Professor Todd, be a dear and enlighten my troglodyte ass."

He snorts, "Princess, if I was a professor we both know I'd have the highest attendance rate."

"And the highest failure rate." You say cocking a brow.

"Probably."

"You're terribly humble today."

"I just know I look good."

No, you don't, you think. You shake your head. "That explains the leather jacket."

"You love my leather jacket."

"Well, Biscuit certainly loved your previous one."

Jason wrinkled his nose thinking of the yellow disaster. "That dog was a menace."

"She is the sweetest creature on earth."

"She destroyed my jacket and ate my wallet AND phone."

"I never said she was smart... wait, we're getting off topic."

Jason narrows his eyes at you then points to a crown. It was an intricate lattice of silvers and golds with diamonds that glittered like starlight. "Royal AU," he says simply, "go on read the description."

"A prince and a princess from rival nations are bound by a marriage of convenience. Through a series of missteps. They fell for each other.... that one was pretty easy. Do it again."

He points to a blue feather. "Mythology AU."

You arch a brow at him. He waves at it, urging you to read. "A god descended to earth to be with his mortal lover only for him to lose his memories of her." The feather's glow is incandescent. You can feel the power radiating off of it, a sure sign of divinity.

Once, you would have brushed it off as mere story. You've spent more than twice your lifetime now dipped into the world of myths. You glance at Jason. Simple divinity no longer fazes you.

"See?"

"I- Nope."

"You're just being stubborn."

"Would you have been my friend if I wasn't?" Would you have saved me if I wasn't?

You think Jason hears your unspoken question when he frowns. Instead, he turns on his heel to face the other direction. He points to a bouquet of wilted roses tied together by a green ribbon. They still smell of blood and something you couldn't identify. Your eyes drift down curious. Your eyes trace over the words feeling your stomach tumble.

"Gruesome." Jason vocalizes inanely. He hooks his head on the crown of your head, neatly slotting your body under his. You're safe, surrounded by walls of muscle. The crease in your brow softens. You would think that Jason would be less protective after you'd turned but now that you were a vampire, he was somehow even more protective. Roy always joked you only got Biscuit and your other dogs as lap dogs because you already had Jason. He may not have been too off on his guess.

"This should be in a horror exhibit," you say leaning into Jason's chest, "kind of reminds me of you though." You tilt your head up grinning at him.

"If you make a joke about me being jack the ripper again, I swear I'll-"

"-Bury me alive 6 feet under concrete with a recording of Roy singing Auld Lang Syne in a terrible British accent. Got it. What I meant was... you're just as protective as the man in the story." You say, smiling at him.

For good reason, Jason thinks.

Jason buries half of his face in your hair, hiding his answering smile. You smell like sugar and cinnamon. It's a familiar combination of smells that puts him at ease despite the atrocious amount of people in the museum.

You point to another artifact, afraid that you'd accidentally picked at an old wound.

"Star-crossed lovers." He mumbles into your hair.

"Bullshit!"

"Read it and weep, doll."

You read the plaque and the words 'meet' and 'different world' assault your eyes. You scowl at him. "Fuck you."

The grin on Jason's face is genuine. It makes something in your veins sing knowing how much fun he's having.

Your face softens. "You really love this romance stuff, huh?"

Jason narrows his eyes at you.

"You were the one bawling your eyes out when we binged Spaces Between Us. Who the hell cries during erotica?"

"IT'S TRUE LOVE AND YOU KNOW IT IN YOUR SOUL," you protest, pounding your fist against his chest,"besides, you're the one who was crying nonstop when we watched the IDHY duology."

"I was crying because they were accurate book adaptations."

You blink at him confused. "There's a book?"

"Yes, you illiterate heathen."

"You sound like a conquistador."

“....”

"At least they got their happy ending." You say, changing the subject.

"That's true."

"Still better than Titanic."

He furrows his brow at you. "What's wrong with the Titanic?"

"First of all," You pitch your shoulders like you're about to give him a lecture, "That was 3 hours of my life wasted on a shitty movie. It wasn't even that accurate."

"Princess, not everyone can survive the Arctic."

"And second, the most romantic scene in that romantic movie was the old couple staying together as they sank."

Jason laughs, a deep rumbling sound. It scrambles your brain, almost dissolving your annoyance until he opens his mouth again. "You sound like Damian."

"Jason Peter Todd, take that back." You screech, swiping at him.

He jumps back, his laughter still echoing. "Stop sounding like the demon brat first."

You run after him, telegraphing your murderous intent. Jason walks away faster, sticking his tongue out at you. Your growl and claw at the air. You screech obscenities as Jason continues to evade you. He is having way too much fun with this.

You chase Jason around the exhibition for a solid half hour before you come to a skittering halt.

Your eyes land on a vermillion book, leather bound and carefully crafted by skilled hands. You step closer to admire the swirling, arabesque patterns lining the leather. No title is embossed on the front. It's thick. You would wager it was at least 400 pages.

Your eyes drift down even further, finding a familiar scrawl. Below the book were photocopies of some of the pages. Pablo Neruda's 'If You Forget me', Beethoven's 'Immortal beloved', Ibn Hazm's 'My Heart', and a bunch of other poets you didn't know but recognized as ...

"Jason these are your favorites."

"What?" He says, walking over to you cautiously.

You look back down at the pages and your eyes catch on the one in the middle. From the numbering, it was the last.

Love is such a hard thing to define,

I don’t know if I could ever find,

The words to truly express the complexity of such an emotion.

It is an emotion felt in the heart,

Long before it makes sense to the mind,

illusive and uncertain until suddenly it just clicks.

Like so many things in this world,

we tend to know it when we see it in others,

even if we can’t be sure of it ourselves.

I think I’ve always known how much I love you,

When I look at you,

I see everything I’ve ever wanted.

When I look at you,

I see nothing else but your perfect beauty.

Inside and out.

I'm not a poet, (Y/n), but I will tell you anyway I can how much I love you.

-Jason Peter Todd

Jason is a stone next to you.

His mouth is filled with sand as he looks at the far too familiar handwriting. He knew. He knew the moment he saw the red book what it was. Hell, the moment you told Jason it was Roy who told you to go to the museum, he knew what it was. God, why can't he just turn to ash.

Jason can't make himself turn to you. He can't bear to see what ever disgusted expression you make. He just can't.

He feels a tug on his sleeve. He doesn't move. He feels another tug, this time harder. When he doesn't respond the second time, you lace your fingers in his and spin him around.

You squish his cheeks in your hands. "Jason, you actual sap." You say. You look like you're glowing. You beam at him, all toothy and scrunched faced. Jason's lungs stop working again. His mind can't process what you're saying. All Jason knows is that something warm is crowding his chest, pushing everything else out.

"Wha?"

"Jason, you absolute dork!" You repeat, unfazed by his temporary bout of insanity.

Jason is blushing, looking like a strawberry with his freckles. Jason is more adorable than anyone has any right to be. But that's ok. That's perfectly ok cus he's yours.

In a moment of uncontained affection, you pull Jason to you, pressing a kiss against his lips. It's soft and earnest and exciting. It was a kiss Jason spent lifetimes dreaming about. It was you and completely you.

"Jay, they're beautiful." You say in a breathless laugh.

Jason looked down at his feet. "I-" was never planning on giving it to you, he thinks. Because, why would you ever love someone like Jason? Especially, after what he'd done to you.

As if reading his mind, you press your forehead against his. "I love you too, Jay, and you can't argue me out of it. Sorry bud, you're stuck with me."

Jason can't help the smile as it curls on his lips.

He's happy. He's so stupidly happy and he blames you.

"Plus, I already knew."

"Why didn't you say it first?" He asks, his fingers brushing against his tingling lips.

"Cus," you say, pirouetting away from him, "you wouldn't believe me if I did."

"How-"

You put your hand up. "Trust me, Jay. I've tried before." You tilt your head back looking up at the sky light. The curtain of light fell on you like a spotlight highlighting everything ethereal about you. "Remember in Milan? When I told you I cared about you and you told me I didn't."

Jason remembered that. He was angrier back then. He snarled that to you like some wild animal and threatened to throw you out on your ass if you ever so much as spoke a word of that nonsense again. It was the first time he'd seen you look hurt. You face was wide open with shock. Jason felt something in his chest tear at that look. He stormed off, leaving you in that room.

When he came back, you offered him warm tea and a smile. You were quiet, inconsolably quiet.

It didn't…

He didn't…

It didn't occur to him that look in your eyes was heartbreak.

Jason curses under his breath.

You chortle at him, the mirth in your eyes incandescent.

"Yeah. Exactly." You say, clasping your hands behind your back. Jason would like to be buried six feet under with the only words carved into his gravestone 'I am so sorry (Y/n)'.

You snick seeing the look in his eyes. "Or that time in Paris. The one in the little patisserie when I told you in perfect Catalan that you meant more to me than anything else and do you remember what you told me?"

"I told you you were possessed." Jason's shoulders slump. "Please tell me you don't have a third example."

You smile at him pityingly. "I don't-"

"OH THANK FU-"

"I have 50. Well, 51 but the last one didn't count since I was joking that time."

In Jason's mind, his jaw hits the obsidian floor with an audible 'plop'. It would be loud enough that the entire museum would hear it were it real. He blinks at you. "You tried more than 10 times?"

"I was encouraged." You say shrugging.

"Of course, you were," he grumbles and you laugh. Jason's heart skips a beat but he pushes past the feeling in favor of pleading with you. "Please don't list them."

"Oh, I'm not." You hum.

Jason sighs with relief.

"I'm gonna leave that to Roy."

"Son of a- He knows?"

You look over your shoulder. "Yeah. Who do you think I complain to?"

"Who else knows?" He asks, trailing behind you as you walk to .... Jason doesn't know at this point and he doubts you do too.

"Oh just your family."

"I'm surprised they haven't given me shit about it."

"Oh I bullied them into not doing it."

"Impressive." He whistles and you preen.

"Always," you say smugly. You begin to walk a bit faster, craning your neck. "Now, let's go find out if Dickie installed that bakery I asked for."

"That's what you're after?" Jason laughs.

"It's a noble goal." You protest.

"You don't even need to feed."

"I need to feed my inner sweets monster. She's very fussy and is demanding crepes specifically."

Jason smiles softly at you, amused that of all the human traits you could have retained after being turned was a sweet tooth.

"Sorry to tell you doll face, Dickie still hasn't done it."

You look aghast like he'd slapped you in the face with a large baguette.

"What?!"

"He hasn't put in your suggestion from 10 years ago."

"Where am I supposed to get my fix?"

"Are we still talking about sweets or have you moved on to cocaine?"

"Dunno, have you tried snorting sugar?"

"No. Why- Have you?"

"...my lawyer advised against answering this question."

Jason cackles. "How am I the stupid one?"

"I-" Your scowl turns sickeningly sweet. "Yanno, the third time I tried was when-"

"OK. Stop." Jason's face lights up again. "I give."

"Pfff." You smile, looking far too pleased with yourself.

Jason straightens up, something sly passing through his eyes. You stop. The look in his eyes makes you nervous.

"I think I know where you can get something sweet."

You swallow nervously.

Jason leans in. He’s so close to you. You can feel his breath brush against your lips. Nothing else around you seems to exist at the moment.

You lean in to kiss him but you freeze when you register his voice.

“I’m taking you downtown. There’s a new bakery there and I heard the crepes were to die for.” He chuckles, turning to walk towards the exit.

“What the hell?!” You call out falling into step with him.

He grins down at you, arms folded behind his head. “Something wrong, princess?”

Heat rises in your cheeks and elbow him in the side.

“I want to take you on a proper date and I sure as hell am not starting here.” He says, rubbing his side and conspicuously not looking at you. There’s a dust of peach on his face. Your anger fades away. It gives way to a fluttering in your chest.

“Where?”

He looks at you then, brow furrowed.

“Why don’t I take you to the fair, princess? There’s plenty of sweet treats there that’ll tickle your fancy.”

Your mouth waters when you think about all the cotton candy they have.

“I heard there’s a kissing booth too, so if you’re lucky,” Jason continues, winking at you. Predictably, you blanch at him. You knock your knuckles against his chest. Jason chuckles, rubbing his chest. “Sorry princess, I mean if I’m lucky enough to get a kiss from you.”

The temerity.

The gall.

“As long as you get me something sweet.” You huff, exiting the building.

Jason stops on the steps, turning to you with a sly smile. Crossing your arms, you pause bracing for whatever trick is up his sleeve. Jason tilts his head. He says something but the little noises of the city make the words hard to discern. You lean closer to hear him better. Jason steps closer to close the distance, his lips warm against yours. You’re stunned. Your entire body divided on how to react, some parts stiffen while others turn to jelly.

He pulls away, wolfish grin unwavering. "That sweet enough for you sweetheart?"

@batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @bungunz, @birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red

#Jason Todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd imagine #vampire au #food

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morkofday · 2 years

Note

for the meme: pingxie? (yes i just want to hear about your love for them :D)

this bingo card honestly doesn't have any of the options that would describe my love for pingxie. and bc of it being so, i am going to talk about them. a lot. but i guess that is what you asked for :'D

tbh am not always sure i can contain the feelings i have for these two. i've had intense shipping phases before but pingxie manages to overcome even most of those as a ship? maybe it's the yearning. maybe it's the inevitable tragedy of them. maybe it's the idiocy they show while being oblivious of each other's feelings. maybe it's the fact that they're not canon but they're still Canon. npss might dig pits faster than we can fill but he's always been very sure about pingxie lol

but they just. they. they are Amazing. in all of their stages they are amazing bc there obviously are different stages to their relationship. they go as:

'having my first boy crush and being a mess/oblivious about it' wu xie + 'why do i keep saving this idiotic boy again?' xiaoge where both of them are intrigued and dance this dance that makes me want to tear my hair out

pingxie both going 'i would die for you' 'not if i die for you first' (and pangzi shaking his head tiredly, give this man a break)

mafia widow wu xie and zhang qiling the immortal warrior, guardian of the bronze gate, larger than life itself - which only brings me pain and suffering but which i would still die for bc they're funky like that, you end up thanking them for your pain :D

'i will never lose you again, it's my turn to protect you, please stay home with me' househusband wu xie + 'i never thought i'd see you again, you have changed but i love all these sides of you, i will cherish all the time that we have' xiaoge who both trust the other so much it makes my eyes sweat

watching them in all of these stages is a joy. i love watching them be in love with each other. i love to see the development of their relationship where we go from wu xie's outright suspicion to him being willing to both die and kill for xiaoge and xiaoge learning the art of living again just bc this one man looked at him differently and thought he was worth fighting for. there's so much growth and change and even bad type of change and still, they accept each other just the way they are.

also, one addition bc am trying to keep this a bit shorter than an essay but want to talk about how much i love digging into them and just finding these tiny details that speak for my soul:

lately i've been toying with this thought of pingxie and their different approaches to their names. they are often opposites of each other and i guess the fandom in general loves the symbolism of wu xie being white and xiaoge being black (and then managing to throw this upside down in some ways bc that's also so them, breaking out of the box) and when it comes to names, it's the same.

wu xie's name is a wish and an omen. his family chose it for him like that and it carries a lot of hope in it. we know his uncles even put this against him at times. but when zhang qiling says wu xie's name, it's something more. it's everything xiaoge has ever felt for wu xie. it contains so much it's about to burst. it's more than just two syllables. it's xiaoge's heart and soul and everything in his world. wu xie's name in this sense, is full. but, it's less too. it doesn't hold any burden to it. with xiaoge, wu xie is simply wu xie. there are no expectations or his family's wishes to follow. it's kind of... freeing i'd say.

zhang qiling again lacks a name. he doesn't remember who he was called back when he was born (if he was called anything at all? most likely not) and all he has left is this title that has been passed down from person to person. it's not a name, it's a chain. it's a burden. a fate, a destiny bigger than himself. a death sentence. a killer. a monster. a shadow and then nothing at all.

xiaoge doesn't really like calling himself zhang qiling (even if he does) and it's obvious to wu xie very soon too. others might call xiaoge zql but not wu xie (not often at least). instead, wu xie takes this most common nickname, 'xiaoge', and does with it the same thing as xiaoge has done with wu xie's name. he makes that impersonate nickname feel full. he fills that name with meaning. he gives xiaoge a name to connect to (and well, men youping is another one but wu xie doesn't say that to xiaoge's face right? so it doesn't really count). he gives xiaoge a name wu xie can connect him to and it works so well that he despises that nickname for a decade, tough luck. but it is what it is.

so, in wu xie's mouth, xiaoge's 'empty' nickname becomes full. and in xiaoge's mouth, wu xie's very meaningful name becomes even more meaningful but in a different way. it doesn't hold the wishes of his family but only xiaoge's heart. is it easier to carry like that? maybe it is, maybe not. at times. for them, it's always 'at times'.

(also, just like pingxie themselves sometimes do, i too wonder should those two even exist together. it would be easier for them to live if they weren't so in love, if they didn't fight so hard. everything would be so much simpler. but would it make them happier? i cannot answer that. i am just happy they persist. i am happy i can make them persist.)

thanks if you read this far :'D i hope any of this made any sense? another option would've been just me going I LOVE THEM and leaving it to that bc i have no words. i tried to humor you. hope you enjoyed ♥

#thank you!!#this was so much fun XD #also you should've heard the noise i made #when i first saw this ask #bc wow you really wished to hear me talk about these two #that's an honor really ;;#pingxie

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anonthenullifier · 3 years

Note

Tommy get caught making out with his girlfriend pls

Thanks for the ask! I hope you enjoy!

———

With a soft click the last light on the main floor extinguishes, leaving Vision to bask in the serenity of lumenless solitude. It’s a simple joy he gets each night after the others are in bed. Satisfied with the main floor, he rises an inch off the ground, hovering above each step instead of touching it, ostensibly to keep the wood from creaking and waking either of the boys, but truthfully he finds it soothing.

At the top of the stairs he glances to the right, checking that the doors are shut and the lights off, particularly the bathroom since Tommy has a habit of leaving everything illuminated. It is all blissfully shrouded in night. Vision’s lips curve ever so slightly up, the evening remarkably calm, no squabbles between their sons or unnecessary name calling. Even Tommy managed a mumbled Love you on his way up the stairs. It’s almost too calm.

Vision shakes away the thought, not even certain where it came from, and begins to head towards his own bedroom. That’s when he hears a pathetic whine from behind, body whipping around until he spots the culprit. “Did he shut you out?” Sparky's ears perk up at the attention, little tail giving a forlorn wag. “That is an easy fix.” Vision hovers back to Tommy’s door and goes to open it, except the handle doesn’t move. “How odd.” They don’t have a locked room policy but neither of their sons has ever locked anyone (especially Sparky) out, likely because a locked door stands little chance against any of their powers.

As if attuned to his own confusion, Sparky stares up at Vision, head cocked to the side in anticipation of his solution. He could easily phase the lock open, but privacy is a right he wishes to allow his sons. “I suppose you can sleep with us tonight,” the words are meaningless to the dog, head still held at an adorable forty seven degree tilt, one fine tuned to get treats and balls thrown. “Come along,” Vision nods towards the master bedroom, the joyful tapping of nails on the hardwoods hard not to smile at. When they get to the door, Vision sets a single cheeky ground rule, “Keep your paws off my wife, understood?”

A little sniffle and wag of his tail accepts the rule and Vision opens the door, Sparky racing in and immediately leaping into the bed, trouncing across the duvet until he is laying with his head on Wanda’s stomach and paws on her arm. “Why hello there you handsome man,” Wanda pets his head and Vision provides a good-natured glare at the rule breaker who lacks any sense of regret, or so the lolling tongue suggests, “and hello to you as well Sparky.” Vision shouldn’t feel a sense of victory over a dog, but he can’t help it, especially when Wanda’s eyes alight in flirtatious glee that draws him to sit on the bed.

“You can thank Thomas for our company.”

Her “Oh?” is cooed at the dog, who has flopped sideways for a belly rub, his back paws discourteously shoved into Vision’s pillow.

“He locked him out.”

Wanda leans down so that her nose is almost touching Sparky’s as her fingers scrunch behind his ears. “That wasn’t very nice of him.” If one were to imagine the expression of a customer being pampered at the world's most luxurious spa, it would no doubt pale in comparison the overflowing exuberance on the dog’s face. “Probably safest not to be in there anyway.”

The comment is said with an air of knowingness and a tinge of innuendo. Vision had not even thought about that possibility, truthfully he hadn’t even thought much of the door being locked but it’s likely not an unfair assumption, the boys are teens now, a time he has read is filled with raging hormones and exploration. Perhaps they’ll need to have another talk about boundaries if this becomes the norm. For now he’ll simply not think anymore about it.

“Sparky, may I,” he attempts to scoot the paws away from his pillow, but they spring back immediately, forcing Vision to lay down farther than he’d like from Wanda. “This is why he sleeps with Tommy.”

Wanda shrugs, still playing the role of world's best masseuse, “I’m comfy.”

“That is a relief.” A throw pillow is tossed at his face with a flick of her wrist, except, having been married for so long and understanding the statistical patterns of her reactions, he is able to catch it, pointedly fluffing it before sliding it behind his neck. “Thank you, darling.” What he expects to see next is the purse of her lips, a sign she is striving not to laugh. Her lips are pinched together but there is no amusement to be found on her face, even her hand stalling in petting Sparky. “Is something wrong?”

A tilt of her head to the side sends his autonomic system into action. “Did you check the perimeter?”

“Of course.” He waits for more and when it stays locked behind her lips, he presses on. “Why?”

Scarlet wavers along the blanket, her fingers rising and falling like a puppeteer until she seems to reach a conclusion. “There’s an extra mind in Tommy’s room.”

The locked door becomes menacing instead of a minor annoyance. “I will check the outside and you—“

“Inside, yep.”

Vision leans back, phasing through the bed and the wall until he is eight feet above their deck. Through controlled trial and error he knows the best density for stealth, his molecules bursting into a frenzy until he is lighter than air. Only then does he dare fly towards Tommy’s window. It is wide open, concerning and not economical since it will increase their energy costs, not that it is a concern at the moment, but for later. Window ajar.

Door still locked. Confirmed second mind in his room. Not Billy.

If Wanda recognized the mind, she would alert him. I will proceed inside. Vision breathes in, always wanting just a second to settle all raging thoughts, and then he phases into the room, Mindstone glowing faintly so as not to alert the intruder. With hushed breath, Vision inches forward, noting what appears to be Tommy on his side, pajama clad back facing him.

Nothing seems amiss, other than the open window and extra mind. It is unsettling. Vision increases his auricular and ocular sensors as he continues to investigate, hands lifting into stance #5 of Natasha’s recommended hand to hand combat defenses.

There is a quiet smacking noise, a recognizable one though he can not place it, and then there is a...giggle, not belonging to his son. It is when he notices the splay of dark hair on the pillow that it all clicks. Oh. Vision begins to back up, not desiring to intrude further even if he also has this instinctive need to interrupt, but he quells that.

I’m coming in. The three quarters of a second it takes him to process Wanda’s comment is half a second too long, his abort mission not arriving until after the door opens with a very noticeable click

This is when everything erupts into chaos.

A pillow is thrown through his face simultaneously with a, “What the fuck, dad!” and what sounds like a shriek from Tommy’s bedfellow. Then a blur of green fills the room, Tommy grabbing onto Vision’s semi-transparent waist and hauling him towards the door, just as Vision’s politeness kicks in with a cheerful, “Terribly sorry for interrupting.”

And then they are in the hallway, the door shut behind Tommy, whose face is contorted in rage and breath is uneven. Wanda stands frozen, hands raised and shimmering, her eyes bouncing between Tommy and himself. Tommy only looks at Vision, voice shaking, “What are you doing coming through my wall?”

“Was that,” Vision mentally reconstructs everything as best he can, “was Lisa in there with you?”

All at once the anger is knocked off their son’s face and replaced with a completely fake innocence, “Who’s Lisa?” It doesn’t even take the entire time for Vision’s brows to rise for Tommy to realize the misstep. “I um meant, um,”

Wanda doesn’t allow him to flounder, oddly. “Is she still in there?”

Perhaps it is the Young Avenger’s training on being interrogated or the fact Tommy’s thoughts are always racing away from responsibility, but he won’t even answer this question, “I don’t um know what you’re talking about.”

A deep, disappointed sigh comes from his wife before she wraps Tommy in red and drags him from the door. “I’m taking her home.” With that she disappears into the room, light peeking out from under the door and muffled words floating through the wood.

All Vision can do is stare at Tommy, lost in what exactly to say in this situation. Unfortunately, Tommy doesn’t share the same hesitation. “You know Billy does this all the time,” the door to his twin’s room opens slightly, “he just can block mom’s powers from noticing” and then it shuts with an aggrieved click. Wonderful.

“Um well,” Vision isn’t sure why he falters so gloriously, as a father he’s expected to handle these things and yet this wasn’t in the books he read while Wanda was pregnant nor in the literature on problem behaviors at school, “perhaps you help your mother take Lisa home and we will discuss this in the morning.”

-----

“I think we just ground him for a couple days,” the last word is muffled and more syllables than necessary, ending only when Wanda stifles her yawn.

This is what she suggested before leaving to take Lisa home and what he has been mulling over until she returned. “But under what rule is he being punished?”

There is not actually any rule thus far uttered in the Maximoff household concerning sneaking in significant others. An oversight, clearly, and yet Vision knows that what happened is wrong, he just cannot find a suitable reason beyond that it feels wrong. “Curfew?”

This he considered. Unless otherwise specified, the boys must be back by 9pm on a school night and 12am on the weekends. “But he was home and we never explicitly specified that curfew applies to their friends or partners.”

Wanda does not suffer this sort of agonizing rumination, “He was hiding it, he knew it was wrong.”

A truth and annoyance because it’s not like they don’t allow their sons alone time when their significant other is over. He recalls and empathizes with the thrill of young love and the need for solitude. Which brings him to the next point of scrutiny, “But does it not feel hypocritical to punish him for this when we broke international law to do the same thing?”

“I thought you said that was a false equivalency?”

It is, insofar as there are too many confounding variables for their lawbreaking tryst to be considered equal with the current indiscretion and yet…”Tommy will leverage it against us.”

“Good thing he doesn’t know how often we break compound PDA rules...”

Another hypocrisy if they hand down a harsh sentence. “Again, does it not feel incongruous to punish him when we commit the same offense? We did sully the billiard table last week…”

“That was fun.”

“It was.” The way she stretches out, head propped up on her hand and robe fluttering open along her thigh, he’d recidivate in a heartbeat. Which is why he stops his heart long enough to finish their conversation. “But how can we hold him to a higher standard than us, when we, as cognitively mature individuals act similarly? Authoritative parenting requires us to explain the logic of our punishments.”

Their eyes meet in joint contemplation, the weight of the topic forming endearing wrinkles on his wife’s brow. “You say we act similarly,” her voice is steady, distant as if it is hauling the reasoning in though isn’t sure it will make it, “but you always calculate our odds of being caught or harming someone else with our actions.”

It is a structural equation model he keeps to himself, one that even the thought of calculating sends electric thrills along his spine. “I do and we tend to have a threshold set of when it is and is not acceptable.” The billiard table, for instance, had an 87% chance of not being caught and, with proper sanitation, a relatively low impact on others.

“Do you think Tommy put much thought into tonight?” Knowing their son the extent of effortful planning was likely how to get her into the house. “He seemed surprised when Lisa’s dad was furious.”

Vision isn’t surprised at the man’s reaction but is perturbed that was not even a thought to Tommy. When entering all the variables into his model, Tommy had a dismal 10% chance of success and a rather high 87.5% chance of harming someone else. “How do we handle this alongside the accusation lobbed at Billy?”

Deviousness parts her lips, hair dancing along her shoulders as she nods, “I have a great idea.”

----

This formation, with mom and dad in the armchairs, hands linked over the chasm between the armrests, and Billy next to him on the couch is the formation of doom. The silence that lays heavy over the room is the warm up to the interrogation. Tommy braces himself for what’s to come.

“Would you like to explain your reasoning for last night’s actions?” Dad is always so damn calm, irises not even budging to betray any sign of how bad this will go.

Tommy knows there isn’t a right answer here, and honestly, he doesn’t exactly have a good reason and annoyingly Billy played dumb last night when he begged him for advice. Apparently throwing him under the bus was an asshole move. After the bad lie last night, Who’s Lisa a fantastic way to piss everyone off (especially Lisa), he defaults to short and sweet (fingers crossed) honesty. “Thought it would be fun.” It was, until dad interrupted.

There’s no immediate response, not even a blink, the entire room focused on his continued idiocy. “I see.” That’s never what he wants to hear from dad.

“You two have to understand that!” His arms sputter about, trying to drag their attention to what they all know. “At least I’m not breaking the law.”

Mom scowls. Shit. “Very different circumstances.”

“Yeah, yours was way worse.” No no no, why can he not just shut up like Billy, that Grecian statue next to him, ramrod straight and eyes dead to the world.

The shared look, one that means the infamous mind voodoo is at play, an entire conversation occurring between mom and dad that only he can’t access, assuming Billy is brave enough to tap into it. If he is, he’s not sharing with Tommy. “You are right.”

Wait…”What?”

Dad isn’t capable of something so casual as a shrug, but the leisurely blink of his eyes and dip of his chin is roughly equivalent. “We understand the reasoning. Your mother and I are intimately,” gross, “familiar with the thrill of skirting rules of affection.”

If this isn’t his punishment, heaven help him. “No details needed.”

Billy’s “Please,” is practically silent.

Mom smirks and he fears the worst, until she speaks, “Which is why we aren’t grounding you,” hallelujah, “this time,” fair enough. “But going forward you can’t do this. Either of you.”

An I hate you drops into his mind. Tommy tries to send back a No you don’t but Billy has already shuttered their connection. “Agreed, so…” Tommy stands from the couch, hands brushing away the discomfort of the meeting, “we’re good, right?”

Dad’s “No,” ties itself around his waist and yanks him back onto the cushion. “Given Lisa was not so fortunate in her punishment,” she’s been forbidden from seeing him again, but Tommy isn’t planning on abiding by that, assuming she wants to see him again, “I believe a long talk about respect for your partner and the need for consensual, in depth decision making when it comes to risk taking is in order. You both are still too young and cognitively immature to fully weigh impulsiveness and so we would like to walk through a variety of scenarios to work through this topic.”

He’d rather die. “Can I just be grounded instead?”

Scarlet outlines mom’s pupils as she stares him down, “No.”

Dad clears his throat, needlessly pulling a painfully thick packet of stapled papers from behind him. The transition into his academic voice is only the first sign that their torture will be unrelenting. “Scenario 1: you and your paramour are driving down the road when they suggest a rather risqué activity…”

Tommy accepts that today marks the loss of his soul and all ability to feel alive, all to the chorus of Billy’s reaffirmation in his mind: I hate you so much.

#wanda maximoff #vision #tommy shepherd #Billy kaplan #tommy maximoff #billy maximoff #scarletvision #Wandavision #scarlet vision #mine #ask anon #the maximoffs

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buryyourfavouritestrope · 3 years

Text

Goodnight - Soryu Oh

Author Note: So I played some Otome games randomly and one of them was Kissed By The Baddest Bidder. Interesting plots. Soryu was one of my favourites, so was Shuichi. Anyway, enjoy this maybe. A little suggestive at points. Also just straight uploaded not checked yet.

On any other day Soryu would’ve avoided the establishment; he despised the heavy stench of alcohol blended unevenly with a few of Mamaru’s cigarettes. He’d suffer once he returned to the sanctity of his room for the evening, he could already feel the scent clinging to the insides of his nose. Soryu would hold this against his friends for a while; even if neither of them had forced him to come. His body had moved of its own accord the second the young maid had shone a bright smile and asked if he was joining them.

The Ice Dragon had situated himself on the opposite side of the table from her, if it had been a possibility, he would have sat on a bar stool beside the bar. Instead, he suffered sat besides, what could only be called, the useless Detective. Perhaps Soryu had been to harsh in that thought, Kishi may be lazy but he’d helped Inui out of a spot of bother a few times. The Dragon couldn’t help the sparks of Envy that had lodged in his chest once again, albeit for a different reason, as he pondered on Kishi. No-one could blame Soryu, Mamoru held the second thing that Soryu could never have.

After a while the Auction Managers had dispersed, each going their separate ways as they bid farewell for the night. A few a little more than tipsy as they staggered by the many bar patrons. Baba had been the first to leave; a charismatic grin on his face as he promised to do this again before following a rather scantily clad woman out of the bar. Ota and Mamoru had been the next to go, a exasperated Detective wrapping an arm under Ota to support his drunken frame. With those three gone it had left Soryu with a nonchalant Eisuke and a close to tipsy maid. He should have left after Baba; it had been his intention to go but the young maid had started to speak to him and so effortlessly he had found himself lost as they conversed. They hadn’t even noticed when Eisuke had left; and that thought had made the blood in Soryu’s body run cold.

“What about those two?” Came a partially slurred voice, the syllables gently tore the man from his thoughts. His ever-observant gaze falling briefly to the woman. She’d stayed; the second they’d both realised Ichinomiya abandoned them she had chosen to stay and so had he. Soryu convinced himself that his presence was for Eisuke. He was staying to make sure she didn’t embarrass the man or cause any more trouble than she had since the Auction. It hadn’t been because Soryu had noticed the several less than sober men whose eyes lingered on her for a little too long when she went to order herself another drink, nor had it been because her presence beside him soothed his stress-riddled body.

Soryu lifted his gaze from his companion to gaze at the pair situated in a booth by the entrance. A rather thin salaryman with comedically thick rimmed glasses and a sort of awkwardness in his actions that rivalled a nerdy schoolboy sat across from another scantily clad woman. Her fingers danced around the rim of her glass as she watched the man with vague interest. Every so often she would lean further forward allowing the salaryman a clearer view of her cleavage.

“He’s a nerd and she’s an escort” Oh commented idly, he reached for his seventh whisky of the evening, relishing briefly as the liquid seeped down his throat. Normally he would stop at four and switch to a light beer but then again, he would never have been out drinking for this long unless he was making a deal. As he placed the, now, empty glass back on the table he reminded himself that he should’ve left before Eisuke.

“Soryu that’s not how you play the game” She chuckled a little as she finished the rest of her own drink. Her fingers danced around the rim of her own glass as she hugged it against her chest. At some point she had slithered into the seat beside him, and he could smell the lavender that swam through the air around her, offsetting any other smell from the establishment.

He’d frozen. His mind replaying the same word in her voice as though trying to retain how the syllables had rolled from her tongue in that innocent tipsy tone of hers. She’d never called him by his name before. It had always been ‘Mr. Oh’ or ‘Sir’. Never Soryu as much as he had craved it. He’d have told her if it hadn’t been for his pride. If he hadn’t wanted to save himself from being teased by Baba or Ota.

“You’re supposed to say something like. She’s asking him to buy her cat.” She whistled, another sip of her drink and Soryu caught the gaze of the bartender. In a brief flick of his wrist, the Bartender nodded. “But he’s allergic to cats, so she’s offering herself with the cat but he’s just waiting for the other members of his DnD club.” Soryu couldn’t help the soft chuckle that tore through his throat. “Do that again, I like that sound.”

Her drunken words meant nothing currently, yet it didn’t stop the warmth from dusting Soryu’s cheeks. The Ice Dragon caught the way she began to rock sideways, and he was certain that the room was spinning around her; so as the bartender set down a tray of coffee, Soryu placed his arm on the back of their seat, it was a precaution to keep her on the cushioned bench. He inched closer to her – just to make sure she had something to keep her propped up. Not because he wished she would fall towards him. Or so in that moment he could hold her.

“Ok, how about he’s a police officer in disguise, and she’s a widower. They matched on a dating app whilst he was trying to get closer to a drug ring. She guessed the code correctly and he wants to arrest her, and she just wants to get her rocks off. Two crossed wires.” Soryu smirked. Stifling her laughter, she placed hand in front of her mouth. She shifted in her seat, her leg brushing against his, an innocent action that had Soryu’s muscle tensing and his mind malfunctioning. The ever-composed Ice Dragon felt pathetic – she could reduce him to dust with just a smile and they hadn’t even known each other that long, not before the man had fallen for her soothing presence.

“Better…who next….?” She sighed, her head roaming the other patrons. Soryu lifted his coffee to his lips, the liquid lingering on his tastes buds as he revelled in the bitter drink. The second it hit the back of his throat he felt the caffeine kick in, doing its best to rid him of the alcohol coursing through his system. “Him” she practically beamed pointing to the bar.

For a second, he wondered if she meant the bartender, who stood cleaning an already immaculate wine glass, but then his gaze just skimmed a man hunched over his drink. He was younger than the other patrons, his dishevelled brown hair damp from what Soryu assumed was the rain outside. A hefty sigh masked the mumbles that came from the bartender, and for a second Soryu recalled a face in his mind’s eye. Especially when he caught sight of the glasses that sat beside the man’s drink, he paired them with the off brown three piece that adorned the man’s body and it suddenly occurred to him, just who he was looking at.

“That’s Shuichi’s and Eisuke’s love child. See the bartender doesn’t like him, clearly, he has the aura to get on everyone’s nerves just from his presence alone, probably from Eisuke, but arguable from Shuichi too. Then there’s the hair, the poor eyesight, and that sigh.” Soryu announced.

The room fell silent before hysterical laughter rang out. Soryu almost jumped at the sound as it resonated in his ears. She wrapped her arms around her body as she struggled to compose herself or even breathe. A grin spread through Soryu’s features, as they ignored the quizzical looks from the other customers. Even from the love child whose scowl imitated Shuichi so well that the woman’s laughter doubled.

“I bet…” She paused, inhaling deeply, “I bet he’s sad because his dads are fighting so he left after coming all the way to Japan to see them. Maybe he went to Dubai first to look for Shuichi but when he found out that he came to Japan he followed. Poor guy. Don’t worry sir, your dads will stop fighting soon” She shouted the last of her sentence. Soryu hushed her, sending the man an apologetic smile.

“Here. Have some coffee” He uttered. The mug remained untouched, her body lifting from their shared seat. She stumbled towards the bar, hands gripping the wooden surface tight as she ordered another drink. The bartender, whose eyes flew between her and Soryu, nodded before handing her a glass of what Soryu knew would be water. The mafia boss had slipped some money to the bartender when he had delivered his coffee, a silent look passed between the two men in a wordless contract to cut her off.

Soryu had been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn’t noticed the pair of legs now stood in front of his coffee. He lifted his gaze carefully, cautious not to linger on any places he shouldn’t. She grinned down at him, rocking on her feet to keep herself steady.

“Look Sor, I’m taller than you now” She giggled. The nickname held an effect on him that he was too ashamed to admit to. The Mafia boss stood his hand hovering in the air before he turned around.

“Get on, it’s time we left” He announced; he bent slightly at the knees whilst he waited. She took a moment to understand what he meant, her body all but jumping onto his back. She hung her arms around his neck as her legs wrapped around his waist. Neither of them missed the way her body shivered the second he placed his hands under her thighs, or the way his body seemed to relax further.

To any outside observers they looked like a couple, a boyfriend who had come to collect his drunk girlfriend carrying her back to their room. Especially with the way she grinned, every so often blowing on the shell of his ear. The action would have Soryu jolting slightly, his fingers squeezing her thighs in a false warning. The Ice Dragon Leader wore a softened expression, a small smile gracing his usually frowning features.

“We should tell Mr Ichinomiya and Mr Hishikura to kiss and make up so their son can have his family back. He looked so sad; I wonder what Mr Ichinomiya did.” She mumbled, her voice seemed quieter now and she slurred her words a little less. A soft rumble in Soryu’s chest alerted them both to just how entertaining the idea of waking Eisuke up to tell him his fake son was waiting for him was.

“Maybe not tonight. I don’t think Eisuke will be too impressed” Soryu laughed. The woman fell silent even as she continued to blow on Soryu’s ear or tap her fingers against Soryu’s chest. What he had failed to notice in her silence was her reaction to his laugh. He’d only chuckled earlier, and yet the soft exhale that could barely be called laughter had the maid craving for more. “Ok, I need to put you down now” He added as they stepped inside the Penthouse elevator.

She didn’t move to release him, in fact she tightened her hold on the man, her legs wrapped tighter around his waist as she buried her head into the crook of his neck. He could feel the pout she wore, especially as her lips skimmed the skin on his neck. He moved his head away from her, a small shudder running through his body as he gazed at her through his peripheral.

“The elevator card is in my pocket; I can’t reach with you on my back.” He informed her; she continued to pout, shaking her head a little. A mischievous spark in her eyes startled Soryu as he felt her press further against his back, her fingers running down her chest towards his jacket pocket. His eyes closed struggling to maintain his composure until he felt the soft prick on his check. He peeked through a crack in his eyelid to see the familiar white key card.

“Here you go” She beamed, “Now onwards Sor.”

Mentally he was scolding himself, he should’ve told her – forced her to get off him. Anyone else and he would’ve. He’d done it many times in the past, each with a different drunk woman who would remember little of Soryu’s kindness and forever wind up hating him for his harshness the next morning. He should’ve left when Baba left.

He stood there, in the middle of the penthouse longue, unsure of where to put her. He couldn’t walk up the stairs and dump her on Eisuke. Not with his ill-temper when he gets disturbed. Nor could he leave her on the couch, not with the wandering hands of both Baba and Ota. He couldn’t think, not with her head resting in the crook of his neck, her breath gliding across his skin eliciting goosebumps in its wake. He shook his head as he headed towards his own suite. She’d stay in the spare bed tonight, if Eisuke hadn’t removed it already. Soryu would leave her there and make his way to his condo for the rest of the night. By the time he reached it, he’d have just enough time to shower and go to the Ice Dragon’s headquarter.

This wasn’t her first time in his suite, and much to his dismay he hoped it wouldn’t be the last. She’d cleaned the room many times before, but this was the first time that he willingly brought her to the room. The first time he had placed her on the bed. He was a statue by the bed; watching as she hid her face with her hands. Her clothing hung dishevelled on her body, her skirt rising just high enough to have Soryu’s mind wondering. He’d imagined her many times in his bed, and he wished he could say those thoughts had remained in the dead of night at his condo, but often he found himself fantasizing during his meetings with Eisuke. The Ice Dragon Leader would catch her cleaning in her maid uniform – hardly the most scandalous outfit but enough to have his blood racing and his eyes glossing over.

“Do you need anything? Water?” He frowned at himself. He knew the answer already and with that knowledge he’d bring her some water before he left. In the morning he’d send Inui over with some pain medication and perhaps some breakfast to keep her hangover at bay. With that settled he turned to leave. Just as quickly as he had moved, he felt a significantly smaller hand pull at his. His eyes drifting to the fingers that wrapped around his wrist as he let himself be pulled down.

“Don’t go” She paused; her words sounding panicked. “Not just yet” She continued. The simple sentence attacked what little self-control Soryu had left. It’s when his head hits the pillow that the alarm bells ring. A harsh reminder of just how bad things could turn out. At that point he should’ve stopped, told her she was drunk and left immediately. He should have. Yet he remained there, his body turning to lay on his side. Neither spoke, for a while, at least not with words. Soryu’s usually calm eyes roamed every corner of her face, a silent plea. He drank her in as though this would be the last time, he’d see her. Which should Eisuke find them was a very real possibility.

“Hold on” She whispers, breath warm against his face. She reaches out to him. Two fingers gently running over the skin of his forehead as they push back a stray hair. “There much better” She adds. Her hand remained there, it pulls him closer to her and he doesn’t stop the way his body shuffles closer on the bed. He can feel her rubbing her fingers against the skin of his temple. Soryu can feel her breath on his lips, and that on its own is enough to send his heart racing, he can smell the alcohol and the heavenly scent of Lavender. A scent he would forever associate with her, with this. It’s a smell subtle enough not to irritate him. Her fingers run over his hair, and he can’t help the shiver that escapes him. Nor can he stop his eyes from closing as he revels in the sensation. She eats at his control, and he can feel it slipping. He should be scared by just how easily she made him weak, but he’s not.

“I should go,” He mutters, he doesn’t mean these words anymore, “and you should get some rest before we do anything we’ll regret”. He doesn’t move, any conviction in his body went the second her fingers fell from his hair to the nape of his neck. She doesn’t force him to move, its written in her eyes how she feels, especially when he places his hand on her thigh. His fingers rubbing slow circles into her skin.

It’s innocent. The soft caress of her lips on his. She made the first move, he’s painfully aware of that fact but he kisses back regardless. His mind savouring the way her lips move against his, its everything he imagined it to be. The innocence depleting quickly as his mind races with the countless scenarios he imagined in his early morning showers. Her lips tempt him just as much as he tempts her. His hands pulling her body flush against him. Both ignoring the burning sensation in their lungs demanding them to breathe. His hand resting on her thigh rises higher; high enough to feel the material of her underwear.

Her own hands move to his shoulders desperate to rid him of his jacket. It doesn’t take long for the material to fall to the ground in a crumpled heap. His lips travel from hers to skin of her jaw, he leaves wet kisses as he turns his attention to her neck. In turn she moves her attention to the buttons of his shirt. He can feel the air stabbing against his overheating chest and the sensation knocks his brain into gear. He’s quick to hear the alarm bells, quicker to release her neck from his torment.

In an instant they both stop, her hands caught in one of his hands whilst his other remains still on her thigh. He inhales attempting to muster some control as he pulls himself off the bed.

“I’m sorry, I can’t” his words end in a pitiful chuckle; aimed at himself. In a reckless moment he had ruined what little closeness they could have. She wasn’t his to hold, to kiss or to touch. She wasn’t his as much as he wished she was. “I better say goodnight before I change my mind” He utters. He casts one last look at her, face red and dishevelled.

The second the door closed behind him; he fell against it. He hadn’t bothered to grab his jacket, nor had he bothered to rebutton his dishevelled shirt. Soryu lifts his fingers to his lips, he can still feel her lips against his, still feel the lingering warmth on his body. He was changing his mind the second he fished for his phone in his pocket. If Inui didn’t answer he’d go back in, deal with the fallout tomorrow.

“Was it everything you’d hope it’d be?” Eisuke’s voice filled the silence. The tight-lipped syllables turned Soryu’s blood to ice. “I do hope it was worth touching what belongs to me. I can see you enjoyed it and this once I’m willing to overlook it for an old friend.” He added.

#soryu oh #kissed by the baddest bidder #kbtbb soryu #Soryu Oh x reader #Kissed by the baddest bidder imagine #I just rolled with the idea #Sue me #but don't actually #voltage otome #kbtbb

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zutarasecrettunnel · 3 years

Text

For Zutara Week 2021 Day 6: Spirits

Your Face, I See

Synopsis: The war is over for everyone but Katara, who keeps seeing the scarred face of the boy who sacrificed himself for her and for the world, everywhere she looks. When she finds out why she is experiencing these so-called hallucinations, she may be led right into a trap centuries in the making.

Read Chapter 1 here or on AO3:

After the war, scars were everywhere.

The earth lay scorched, trees stood singed, soldiers returned mangled to their homelands. The blemishes of war seemed to stain every surface, no mark more personal than the other, all a collective memory of survival for a world too long drenched in strife. None except for the mark that constantly haunted the waterbender. That mark was familiar. Each surface seemed to contain the same ragged skin, the same aged trauma, the same golden eyes.

It had been three months since she had escaped war into peacetime physically unscathed but obliterated nonetheless. Three months of seeing the scar that marked him, the banished prince of the Fire Nation, in nearly every object and landscape that entered her vision. It started in the Fire Nation palace only a week after the cacophony of flame and lightning that had ended the 100 Years War for good. Flickering flames cast the shadow of ruined layers of flesh, folded in on themselves like the staggering billows of crimson curtains they would appear behind. For months she stifled gasps as cat-like eyes seemed to watch her from around the imposing columns of the nation's grandest hall. Flashes, like the one that had taken him during the blaze of Sozin' comet, nothing but small jolts appearing out of nowhere like the snapping of a campfire during a ghost story.

The first time she saw him she almost believed he was real. His face had appeared in the blackness of the doorway of her borrowed chambers one night as she sat rocking at the edge of her bed, having only just awoken from another nightmare. In the soft candleglow, she had almost believed he had miraculously returned. This face was the one she remembered - taciturn, loyal, fragmented, handsome. It was not the ashen face of suffering he had held before finally succumbing to his family's dynasty of cruelty while his sister shrieked in her chains. This face, the one she had so long ago described as the face of the enemy, was the one she had begged the spirits to let her see ever since the Fire Sages had whisked his lifeless form away from her in the smoky aftermath of the Agni Kai.

But that's all it was. His face, unaccompanied by a body, and fading almost as soon as she had been able to adjust her eyes to the sight - a one-time hallucination brought on by sleeplessness. Just another aspect to the nightmare she was experiencing while awake and asleep, a side effect of watching a boy who had quickly become one of her closest friends die in her arms. As the plain blackness returned, so did Katara's heartbeat, sputtering back to work as if it had forgotten its role in her body and only just now remembered it had to keep her alive. She blinked again and again, feeling wetness on her cheeks. She would not sleep for the rest of the night.

It wasn't until the next time she saw him that she started to become concerned. His face appeared again ten days later, this time emanating from the bark of the willow tree near the royal turtleduck pond, illuminated plainly by the midday rays of the Fire Nation sun.This time it could not be blamed on candlelight and tired eyes. The waterbender gasped, dropping the rice ball she held. It rolled ungracefully into the pond, immediately being devoured by a small family of turtleducks.Her companions stopped their own consumption at the sound of her sharp intake. Sokka stared at his sister with concern. Suki followed her stare to the willow tree, looking back at the younger girl puzzled. Toph was the only one who continued nibbling absentmindedly on her own rice ball as if she hadn't noticed Katara's outburst at all.

"What is it?" Aang's voice broke through Katara's shock. She blinked, and already the second hallucination of the prince was gone.

"N-nothing," she stuttered, trying to recover, "it's nothing. I thought I saw a cave hopper and I-I-I thought they only lived in the caves!" She felt a reassuring touch on her elbow, looking to see Sokka offering a half-smile. He had noticed the deep circles forming under her eyes, the way any upturn of her mouth never reached them. Unsure of what else to do, he offered his presence as some semblance of reassurance to his sister, trying to impart that he was there for her no matter what.

"Oh," was the only response from the Avatar, hesitation clear in the single syllable. He hated seeing Katara like this, jumpy and anxious. None of them had been the same since Zuko had entered the spirit world, despite how they had all tried to move on. They had gotten everything they had worked for, an end to the century-long suffering of the four nations, but the cost seemed as if it was too great to bear. He worried he would never see the carefree Katara he had spent so much time trying to cultivate in the overburdened young girl again. The world was finally better, finally the way she deserved it to be, and yet he still couldn't make her happy.

The already somber mood of the group's lunch only soured more. It was then Katara decided she would work harder at keeping the ghostly image of the fire prince at bay, or at least keeping her hallucinations to herself. Despite her silent commitment, the visions only got worse. As time went on they became more frequent. First it became every day, then what seemed like every hour. Everywhere she went in the palace, in the streets of the capitol marketplaces, and even on the shores where she sought the healing nature of her element. Every inch of this vibrant and troubled nation was haunted for her, from the planned peace festivals to the pop-up protests of the now displaced ruling class. She stayed to help Aang restore order, working to ensure the stability of the nation her friend had so dearly loved, the nation whose honor he had sacrificed everything for.

With the increase in frequency of the hauntings, so increased the abject panic rising in Katara. It was becoming more difficult to hide her affliction from the others. After months of torment, while floating secluded in the star-speckled waves of a small, hidden inlet not far from the crater's edge, she finally asked for help.

The rising tide sent salt water lapping at her skin, while her eyes caused it to flood her face. She would often seek healing in these waters, but had so far been unsuccessful in drowning her grief. Tonight she basked in Yue's light, and finally got the courage to beg her celestial friend for relief.

She wasn't sure it would work, ignorant to the communication abilities of the spirits, but desperation consumed her. She had heard Sokka try talking to the moon shortly after they had left the Northern Water Tribe, sadness laden in his usually upbeat voice. She suddenly wondered if he had also seen visions of the princess after she had left them.

"Please, spirits. Please, Yue," she began her sorrowful overture to the large lunar surface overhead, floating parallel to the enormous heavenly body. "Why do I keep seeing him? Why do I keep seeing Zuko?"

She swallowed hard in the ensuing silence, trying to wait patiently for an answer. She was met only with a quiet, steady glow. Eyes closed tightly in despair, she listlessly started swimming back to the shore. As she neared the empty beach she heard the velvety cadence of the moon spirit speak softly between her ears.

"I know you miss him."

Katara froze in the water, settling upright, her toes sinking into silky sand. The ocean still covered her up to her shoulders. The voice arose in her again.

"Tui and La must circle each other in an eternal dance. One is not complete without the other. This is not what was meant to be," she explained. "Your anguish has pierced even the spirit world, and many have taken note."

Katara let her body sway loosely in the waves as she listened intently, her sand-covered feet her only anchor to this world.

"There are some that might use-" The sweet tones emanating from the pale night sky were sharply interrupted by a graveled voice. The new voice called out loudly, direct and authoritative.

"Katara!"

At the sound of that voice calling her name, she snapped her body toward the beach, searching the dimly lit shore for it's source. She hesitated for only a split second, taking one last glance at the moon, before summoning a grand swell of ocean to deliver her directly to the dry sands. Once ashore, she continued seeking the source of the voice. Her eyes darting from dark cliffs to jagged palm fronds, her heart beating wildly.

Finally she saw it, and immediately crumpled into the sand.

It was his face again, staring back at her from a rocky, moonlit crag. Just as it had been the hundred times before, his expression was serene, tranquil. Except this time it changed. This time the face curled into a twisted smile, an expression more suited for the deposed Phoenix King than his son. She stared, horrified, watching the distorted lips form the syllables of her name over and over. When it turned, revealing a hulking, segmented body like that of an enormous centipede, she finally screamed.

She could hear Zuko's voice continuing to call her name, begging her to help him, as she quickly picked herself off the ground and darted past the monster back toward the palace, heading recklessly into the heavy night.

#zutara #not me writing a whole ass chapter fic for zutara week!#it will not be done before the end of the week #but i will try not to abandon it!#zutara week 2021 #zutara fanfiction #better late than never #zk week 2021 #zutara week day 6 #this is gonna be a short chapter fic #with short chapters #unfortunately i dont have time to write an epic #im still on hiatus from my wip

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lepidopterium · 3 years

Text

Reading narratives written about being LGBT and Arab feels like poking at an open wound because sometimes they’ll be like,

“Awkward with the idea of perversion, with S/M and sex-positive culture, with my long hair, with my general racial self-consciousness, I could not walk or talk queer. By the time I had started to feel like a bona fide queer subject, I had the opposite worry: I had figured out how to fit in all too well. I had become queer in a matter of just a few years, but with it was a pronounced feeling of shame...it felt like my final arrival to queerness was also my adieu to Arab culture--no thanks to my mother, who insisted that homosexuality did not belong to Arabs.”

“That bedroom, it’s not enough space for us, for the potential our love could be. And to stay like this, ignoring our desires, we might as well be dead. I wash my face and look at my reflection in the filthy mirror, at the drops of water clinging to my despicable face. Is there anything more pitiful than an Arab who attached emotions to his homosexuality?”

“It was funny that both English and Arabic have so many words that explored every dimension of what I was feeling, and yet not one word that could encapsulate it all...I needed to belong somewhere, even if it was between the syllables of an obscure word in the dictionary.”

“...I was confronted with something completely new: my Arabness. I wanted to scrub my skin off, my name off, my accent off, anything to deflect the suspicious looks.” / “And so what did it mean to be Arab now, under America’s harsh gaze? What is Arab or Muslim if not a fabrication one invented and reinvented by politicians who engineered meaning behind these words to suit their history.”

“What you wanted did not matter, because the certainty of eib trumped the ambiguousness of desire.”

“I discovered that when America chooses to go to war, the invaded country became a situation. History and people and songs and art are swept away, and the country becomes a political event that takes on new dimensions that tell a story. An American story.” // “ I chanted and I thought of power and imperialism, and I realized that it was all linked, that challenging lies and oppression was also fighting on behalf of love.”

“Sometimes I feel that I don’t want to be Arab anymore. It is causing me too many problems. Instead I wish I were a cloud. I mean that. Or a bird so I could opt out of all of this, this history of our people.” // “Me? I’m fucking sick of the hypocrisy of white liberals...Everywhere I look there is violence...I feel bombarded with all of this and I don’t know what to do with it or how to make sense of it all anymore. I’m left with this...this sinking nausea that is closing in on me.”

“The pain in your eyes is different from the pain of those of us living on this side of the world. Let me tell you brother, here or there, us Arabs will always carry some kind of pain.”

“As far as I could see there was nothing to be proud about. There was only pain, humiliation, and shame. If I were to join this group, I would have to act proud and hide my feelings of rejection and loneliness. If I were to show these men and women that I was terrified for my future, I would be regarded as misguided or a victim of Islam and Arabness.” // “I didn’t despise my shame. I had no reason to do so. My shame illuminated my intense attachment to the world, my desire to be connected with others.”

“...it becomes clear that the emotional strategies to survive and negotiate the difficulties of post-coloniality are different from the strategies of post-Stonewall pride culture. Rather than stifle shame with the insistence of queer pride, this community is creating itself by expressing its suffering from the effects of shame and social humiliation. The narrative thread that comes through is not pride but hope.” // “What do you use your voice for? To seduce men to your bed? Is this a good use of your voice? Look around you. Look at this country. Look at what having a voice means.” // “But in the midst of this decaying, burning city, there are pockets of hope.”

and i’ve barely figured out the words i need to articulate just how meaningful these narratives are to me

#dont even get me started on how bittersweet it feels to see organizations like tarab ormeem exist #or bands like mashrou' leila #actually thank u to the lgbt community in lebanon for carrying the entirety of SWANA's lgbt community lmao #if youre wondering. most of these quotes are from 'guapa' by saleem haddad a few are from this academic review written by dina georgis abou #bareed mista3jil which is a collection of memoirs from Meem members #there's more to be said about colonialism and imperialism and fundementalism and the west and arabness and the different global lgbt #identities are but anyways. yeah.#q slur reclaimed #swana #mena #guapa #saleem haddad

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dracosaurusrex · 4 years

Text

Chasing His Sun

Part 4 to Notebook!

Summary: Where Y/N tries to take her mind off of a certain Slytherin, only to have it backfire.

Pairing: Draco x Gryffindor!reader

A/N: Doesn’t a day spent in Hogsmeade sound fun? I got cravings for chocolate while writing this. Honestly tho, I threw up this entire chapter. I certainly hope you enjoy it, pero lyke I’m just going to let my imagination roam free at this point. I would really appreciate your feedback!! <3

Your eyes opened upon the feeling of sunlight hitting your face. Hints of orange and yellow that scattered through a blanketed, cloudy sky indicated to you that it was still early. You took in the peace that emitted through the sounds of birds chirping and felt at ease. It was a beautiful Saturday morning. You looked around your room, feeling groggy, as you recalled the incident that occured the night before. Piercing eyes, a teasing smile--a blush rose to your face as the embarrassment filled you up once again. You had no time to process what happened, because as soon as you met your bed, you knocked out. With the scenario now settling in, all you wanted to do was bury yourself in your grave.

‘The notebook. Oh shoot. Where’s the notebook?’ Your eyes widened when you realized that you had fallen asleep with it in your grasp, out in the open, where Hermione and Ginny could see it easily. With your heart racing and hands moving in a panic, you frantically shot up from your sheets, hoping that you haven’t been caught. You locate the notebook under your pillow and release a huge breath of relief as you hold it near to your chest. Not wanting to suffer another scare, you placed it into your bag.

“Y/N, are you up already?” Hermione asks. She must’ve woken up from the commotion that you just caused. Sleep was still visible from her eyes.

You chuckled nervously, “Yes I am. It’s a beautiful morning and I can’t seem to go back to sleep.”

“We’re going to Hogsmeade today…” She starts off, “Would you like to join us? We leave at 10.” She lifts herself slightly from her bed to look at you with eyes half opened.

“Yea, I’d love to. I need to pick up a few things also.” You reply. In response, she gives you a tired thumbs up and drops herself back into her pillow.

Since there wasn’t much sleep left inside of you, you decided to get ready. The cold air from your window prompted you to bundle up. As you dress into something comfortable, your mind drifts back to the incident with Draco. Warmth took over after remembering what he had said in response to your little incantations.

‘Why did he say that?’ Yesterday was a whirlwind for your heart. How was it possible to keep your emotions in check when everything that happened gave you sparks of hope and longing? You thought back to potions, to the notebook, and to the encounter. There was no way, right? Would a guy, who held much pride for his house, develop feelings for a random girl in Gryffindor? You weren’t sure. Your heart leaned toward that possibility, but your mind wanted to set itself on the opposing side. All you knew now was that you had to avoid him at all costs.

You glanced up at the clock hanging on the wall. It was now 8:30AM, and your two roommates were beginning to stir from their sleep. Having been done preparing for about ten minutes now, you decide to gather your things and pick up breakfast, ready to start the day ahead of you.

--------------------------------------------------

You, Hermione, and Ginny stepped foot into Hogsmeade. Despite the grey clouds that covered the skies, you took delight in the small peaks of sunshine, which was joint with the cool breezes that blew through your hair. The cold, although nipping on your nose, evoked a warm feeling in your chest. Autumn was the best season.

The small town was filled with numerous shops. It wasn’t as plentiful as Diagon Alley, but its coziness added to its charm. You followed your friends as they explored Zonko’s Joke Shop and Honeydukes. The prior was too loud for your taste, so you opted to wait outside for the two girls. However, time spent in latter was always good fun. You admired the confections from the window, and excitedly went inside. The sweet aromas that flitted the shop draw a memory from the back of your mind.

In connection to the interactions that you had with Draco the day before, you can’t help but recall the first time you ever had a real conversation with him. How his affections caught you off guard. How it caused your heart rate to speed up numerously within one sitting. How you realized that he wasn’t as bad as others make him out to be. He was actually quite sweet in contrast to his typical personality. There weren’t chocolate chip cookies available in Honeydukes, but the goods made you think of him with much fondness as the coziness that you initially felt in your heart spread even more.

You examined the sweets that were arranged neatly on their respective racks, picking out several bags of chocolate frogs in contentment. ‘I wonder if Draco likes chocolate frogs.’ you thought. After scanning the shelves for a few more minutes, you came across peppermint toads. ‘Draco, oddly enough, smells like mint. His behavior also reminds me of a toad.’ You laugh at the thought and keep an inward smile stuck to your face. He wasn’t around you, yet the thought of him weighed a huge deal in your heart. Not that you didn’t mind it.

You added the packs of toads into your little basket. ‘Maybe he’d like some too.’ You thought.

Happy with your selections, you bounded to the front counter to pay. You weren’t aware of how much time you spent in the store, because you totally lost track of Hermione and Ginny. They were nowhere in sight, and now you were left alone. You stashed your purchases in your bag and waved the shop owner goodbye. Once you stepped outside of the shop you scouted out for your friends. You stared at your surroundings with your eyebrows furrowed, only to have your attention to be stolen by the sound of a very shrill laughter.

Off in a distance, you see a mop of platinum blonde hair. Draco stood with his hands wrapped around his waist. He sported a sleek outfit, clad in black, which was emphasized by the rings that adorned his fingers. The cold air made the flush of red more apparent on his cheeks. Furthermore, the way his laughter escaped his lips gave life to the butterflies in your stomach. You made it firm to yourself that you were trying to avoid him, and yet the universe decided against that.

Draco felt your eyes burrow into the back of his head, causing him to turn to your direction. He had stopped laughing at this point when you came into his sight. The way the sun seemed to act as a spot light to you caused his heart to flutter. You weren’t even dressed in clothes that would be considered eye-catching, but to him, you were just that: The apple of his eye. He remembered the way you called his name, how you emphasized every syllable. Your voice seemed to give his name meaning and it made him genuinely happy.

You on the other hand still couldn’t bear the thought of him catching you swooning over his name. It was embarrassing to have been caught in your own feels--a moment that was only meant for you. You broke off the eye contact that was held between the both of you and walked in the other direction. Hoping that he wouldn’t attempt to follow you, you made your way to Scrivenshaft’s Quill Shop, your ultimate favorite.

Draco’s line of sight followed you. He was driven by the thought of seeing you again. The way the sun hit you, the way you smiled warmly at him, the image of you so focused and wrapped up in your own affairs elicited such a huge surplus of emotions from him. You didn’t have to do much to get his attention. He was extremely enamored by the thought of you.

“Hey you guys. I have to run some errands. I’ll go meet you at Three Broomsticks.” He announced.

“Let me go with you!” Exclaimed an excited Pansy.

Draco sternly gazed at her, “No. I want to be left alone.” Coldness was laced within his words with efforts of pushing her away. It worked as she was seen dejectedly turning to Crabbe, Goyle, and Blaise. The boy continued to make his way through a crowd of people, his head turning from side to side with hopes to catch you alone once again. He peered carefully into a number of stores, often throwing a second glance just to make sure he didn’t miss you. His heart was beginning to pick up its pace as his concentration solely focused on finding you.

As if the sun was listening to his thoughts, light was casted to your figure in the small stationary shop the same way it had the first time you spoke in the library. Draco stopped dead in his tracks, breath hitched once he saw you. He couldn’t describe the reason why you made him feel the way he did. You looked so unreal. You seemed so unreal. You weren’t even aware of how beautiful you looked at this very moment, and you didn’t even need to make an effort to do so.

From the very first moment you shared up until now, interactions were limited and minimal, but Draco couldn’t deny the pull no matter how much he tried. The image of you smiling under the sun was something he knew he wanted in his life. If the ambitious traits of Slytherin took form, it would embody this very moment: Not wanting to lose you again, he stepped forth into the shop.

He delicately pushed the door forward. The shop itself was quite inside and smelled of parchment and old books. He didn’t want to catch your attention right away, so he roamed through the aisles quietly, keeping close sight of you. You were excitedly examining quills on display, testing them out with a satisfied expression on your face. You thought it might’ve been weird to others, but you absolutely loved stationary.

Draco witnessed as your eyes glimmered at the sight of shelves filled with journals that resembled his. They were neatly arranged by color, starting from shades of reds and blues on the bottom shelves, and greens and yellows on the top. You ran your fingers across the spines, and stopped once you were met with the green journals. The top shelves were a little bit beyond your reach, requiring you to step on your tiptoes in order to snag one. Proving to have a tough time, you placed your items on the side so that you’d have more access. However, the struggle to obtain a green journal remained. Your body was stretched, your arms were extended to its full length, and your calves were starting to burn. Having enough of a delight in seeing your effort, Draco quietly made his way to you without you noticing.

Your focus was still extremely concentrated on the object until it was broken by the feeling of a warm breath hitting the back of your neck. Your eyes widened. You saw a black arm extend from behind you, grabbing the green notebook with ease. Startled, you jolt backwards, hitting Draco’s chest with your back. As you turned to see who your mystery helper was, a free hand held your arm, stabilizing you and preventing you from falling over. Your eyes were met with Draco’s silvery orbs, the distance between your bodies was minimal. His gaze was intense, and it excited you inside. Suddenly, a child came passing through the aisles, causing you to push your back against the shelf and enclosing you between Draco’s arms.

Realizing the position you were in, you couldn’t help but draw your stare away from his eyes. The closeness made it all the more intimate, and a blush threatened to grace your face. Hearts were racing at a hundred miles per hour at this point.

You heard Draco curse under his breath, “Idiotic child.”

You chuckled, still trapped against the wall. The sound of your laughter garnered the attention of the boy as he turned his head to your direction. You didn’t realize how tall he was until this moment. You looked up, sucking your lips in to hide the smile that had already formed.

You grinned at him, “Nice seeing you here, Malfoy.”

Draco cleared his throat and straightened his posture. After taking a good look at your small figure beneath him, he spoke, “Pleasure’s all mine, darling.” His face was graced with a smirk. You felt heat rise within you as the unfamiliar nickname--that directed towards you--rolled off his tongue.

“Is this the journal you were looking for? It looks awfully similar to mine.” With a huff, you tried reaching out for it, only for it to be raised well above your head.

“Damn you and your long arms!” He only laughed. You tried to create a mad expression, but you couldn’t hide your smile. Draco’s actions kept taunting you as you jumped desperately to take the notebook out of his grasp.

“What do you want from me!?” Your blush was already so apparent, and your hair was disheveled.

“‘What do I want?’ You ask?” Draco stopped moving and dropped his arms to his sides. Noticing how some hair strands covered your face, he reached out to you and pulled them behind your ear. Your eyes followed his movements and went back to his face. His expression turned serious as he handed the notebook to you. He began to scan your face before leaning into you. You subconsciously pressed yourself further into the shelf. You could feel his breath tease your ear.

He whispered, “Spend this day with me.”

You were so flustered at this point, you didn’t even bother to say no. The intention of avoiding him was thrown out the window as your attempts to do so were ultimately deemed futile. The effect this boy had on you was indescribable.

Draco bent down to your level and smirked, “I’ll wait for you outside.”

A/N: I’m really grateful for all the support you all have given me! Seeing you all happy makes me happy also. I hope you have a great day!

PS. Feel free to talk to me! With that being said, should I open up requests?

Taglist: @m-winchester-67 @bbeauttyybbx @un-limit-edd @poetontheblock @tttyrus @stretchyice @vaeonshi

Here’s Part 3!

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagines #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x oc #harry potter #harry potter fanfic #draco malfoy fanfiction #slytherdor #gryffinrin #slytherin #gryffindor #hogwarts

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livesincerely · 3 years

Note

alriGht what about jacks dad becuase now im interested 👀

Might I offer you a scene in these trying times? ;)

00000

“Just because I’ve lost control of my life doesn’t mean you have to give up yours,” Davey says.

“You ain’t lost control of your life,” Jack says, which is so incredibly untrue and so thoroughly not the point that Davey could almost scream in frustration. “You barely had a life to lose control of⁠—it got stolen from you months ago.”

“Jackie,” Davey says, determined to stay on track. “I’m not saying I don’t appreciate it. These two weeks have been like something out of a daydream, and I’ll never be able to thank you enough for giving me all this. But I can’t let you sacrifice everything you’ve worked towards for me⁠—that’s not fair to you.”

“Davey,” Jack says, already shaking his head. “I’m not sacrificing anything I can’t live without. I want to be here, with you.”

“You say that now,” Davey counters. “But a few weeks from now? A few months? You’ll regret all the time you wasted worrying about me when you realize what you’ve lost, I know you will, and I can’t risk⁠—”

Davey cuts himself off, biting his lip.

He takes a breath, re-centers, then carefully continues with, “So, we should just stop this now, while it’s not too late. We can turn around, head back home, beg forgiveness... and go back to our lives.”

“Is that what you want?” Jack asks quietly.

“It’s what’s best,” Davey says. “We can’t run forever, so we might as well save ourselves the heartache.”

Jack doesn’t respond for a long time⁠—long enough that Davey thinks he’s not going to acknowledge what he said at all. But then he lets out a soft, whispering sigh.

“Do you remember freshman year, when my dad got outta prison?” Jack asks.

Davey's head whips around to stare at him, eyes wide. But Jack’s hands are perfectly steady on the steering wheel, his gaze fixed out on the sprawling highway before them.

Suddenly uncertain, Davey says, “Of course I do.”

“Then you remember how bad it was, right?” Jack continues, and it’s only the tone of his voice⁠—too perfectly controlled and even⁠—that gives away the depth of his feelings. “How I fell apart, just absolutely raging at everyone and everything, all the time? I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate. I stopped turning in assignments, then stopped going to class altogether, because what was the point? What was the point in anything, in pretending to even try, if they were just gonna give me back to my old man?”

“I remember,” Davey says softly, and he does.

He remembers it like it was yesterday, the worry and fear that welled up inside him, watching Jack spiral and sink under the weight of it all, how utterly useless he’d felt watching his best friend struggle and suffer. It’d been absolute hell.

“You held me together, Dave,” Jack says. “I wouldn’t have made it through that year without you.”

“Yes, you would’ve⁠—”

“No, Davey, I’m serious,” Jack insists, and even at this angle Davey can see that his mouth is set, grim and solemn, across his face. “If you hadn’t’a been there, I’m not sure what woulda happened. Because the others… they love me and they tried their best, but you were just… you were fucking incredible. You put up with all my mood swings, kept me from doin’ anything irreversibly stupid⁠—and god knows I considered doin’ all kinds of stupid shit back then, just desperate and panicking⁠. Half the time you knew what I needed even before I did, and when you didn’t you would sit there and listen and help me figure it out, or just keep me company when I couldn’t stand to be alone with my thoughts but also didn’t wanna be around anyone.”

“What, did I not count as someone?” Davey says, and he’s trying for a bit of levity, but the effect is ruined by the rasp in his voice.

Jack looks at him. It’s just a brief meeting of their eyes before he looks back at the road, but it feels weighted, a deliberate contact: like how it feels to have an arm thrown around your waist or a hand pressed against the space between your shoulder blades.

“You ain’t someone,” Jack says, the words ringing with warmth. “You’re more than just someone. You’re Davey.”

Before Davey can come up with any kind of response to this declaration, Jack continues with, “You were there for me. Not ‘cause you had to be, but because I needed my best friend to drag me, limping and sweating and bleeding and crying, through the worst year of my life. Because you loved me enough to make sure I got through it, no matter what. That’s what you told me, remember? That you were gonna get me through the year, even if you had to carry me along on your back?”

Davey nods, helpless to do anything else, his voice trapped somewhere in the back of his throat.

“So the only way I’m wastin’ my time now is if you were wastin’ your time back then,” Jack says, each syllable crisp and concise. “And, well, I wouldn’t blame you for thinkin’ that, but⁠—”

It comes tearing out of him: “You are not a waste of my time⁠—!”

“And you aren’t a waste of mine,” Jack smoothly interjects, and he’s smirking, just a little, because he’s an asshole. “Glad we could agree on that one.”

Davey blinks at the side of Jack’s head, realizing, finally, that he’s been thoughtfully outmaneuvered. For several minutes there’s nothing but blur of open fields on either side of the road, the wide expanse of endless blue sky above them.

“This is different,” Davey says, once he thinks he can manage the words. “I know you’re trying to make me feel better about it, but we both know this is different.”

“Don’t seem so different to me,” Jack says calmly. “Seems like we’re both making sure the other gets taken care of, however that has to happen.”

“It’s different,” Davey insists. “You needed someone to lean on during a rough patch, I’m dragging you across the fucking country. You’re putting your whole life on hold for me.”

“I would argue that I’m the one draggin’ you across the country,” Jack says. “You ain’t exactly puttin’ a gun to my head⁠—”

“Stop pretending like this isn’t a big deal!” Davey shouts, and the outburst takes them both by surprise. “Jack, you have to see that this is⁠— That this isn’t just⁠—”

“David,” Jack says, and there’s a world of feeling in just that one word. “You’re not gonna be able to talk me out of this. Because you were hurting. Because they were crushing you. Because you needed to get away from all of that and someone had to drive the getaway car. Because you needed someone to push you to go and keep you from talking yourself into a life of misery, because that’s what this is, you know? This is you feeling guilty about stealing even a fucking second of your happiness back, and I’m not gonna let them have you again until you can tell me that you actually want to go home, not just that you think you should.”

“You stayed,” Davey whispers. “Back then, with everything… you stayed. I made sure that you stayed.”

“And that’s why I needed you: to anchor me, to keep me steady.” Jack says. “But Dave, if they weighed you down with any more chains, you’d sink right through the ground. It’s different on the surface, yeah, but not at the heart of it. Not where it counts.”

Jack reaches over and places his hand over Davey’s, giving it a gentle squeeze, then leaves it there—their hands curled together over the console.

“Let me take care of you the way you took care of me, okay?” Jack continues softly, carefully. “Let me be the place where you hide, at least for a little while.”

Davey stares down at their joined hands for what feels like an eternity⁠⁠—until his vision goes blurry and his eyes start to sting⁠—feeling at once horribly guilty and terribly, terribly grateful.

With a shaky exhale, he squeezes back.

“Okay,” Davey says quietly, because there’s nothing else to be said in the face of all that is Jack Kelly. “At least for a little while.”

00000

#*ask #*editor's note #bits & bobs #run away with me fic #*the writing desk #javid #newsies #I still need to add some stuff to the top but I’m pretty happy w this one #thank you for the ask!#blessings on your house

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fallingappleshurt · 3 years

Note

Tommy being a little shit with techno with “Why should I share with you?” “Because you love me 😌” Please and thank you :D

Cause of Love

Hi!!! Sorry this took me so long!! I just bounce between projects!

Techno has different ways of showing love and bonds with Tommy

Or, three times Tommy said “Cause you love me!” And one time Techno said “Because I love you”

This takes place in the same universe as Project Pink and Sneaking Stars!!

Some fluff!!

Techno did things out of love, he always had, that was almost exclusively reserved for Wilbur. Everything he did for Wilbur was out of love, making sure he didn’t do anything too reckless and that he at least finished his assignments and that.

Then they had been placed with Phil, so he started doing things for Phil. It started off with little things like doing more chores, to sometimes making Phil’s bed before he got home, to helping start on dinner and making sure his brothers were home safe.

Then came Tommy.

He didn’t really do anything new for Tommy, sure he helped him with his homework but he also did that for Wilbur. He really didn’t do a lot of stuff out of love for him, not that he didn’t love him, he just didn’t really have a way to express it.

At least he thought he didn’t.

“Can I have some?” Tommy asked, leaning over top of the old sagging couch, reaching for Techno’s small bag of chips. Techno pulled away, raising an eyebrow and the bag.

“Why would I share that with you?” He teased, Tommy rolled over onto the couch, back of his head on Techno’s lap, still reaching for the chips.

“Cause you love me,” Tommy drew out the last syllable, grinning at him, while still reaching for the bag.

Techno rolled his eyes and snorted, he let his arm back down and let Tommy grab a handful of chips, the bag crinkling loudly against the crackling TV in the background.

Tommy didn’t lift his head from his brother’s lap and Techno didn’t push him off.

Techno’s head was jerked to the side and he yelped, “Hey! If you’re gonna mess with my hair then be gentle!”

“You’re such a pussy- I’m making it look better!” He felt Tommy pull on another section of his hair, messily wrapping it up in a hair tie.

“Yeah sure, ‘better’.” He deadpanned, Tommy frowned, sticking his tongue out. He shifted in the old folding chair Tommy had drug out of the garage, kicking at the cold metal legs.

“Yes better! You have no sense of style, Blade!”

“Oh yeah this coming from the guy that has 14 of the same red and white shirts.”

Tommy narrowed his eyes, “You’re a real dick, you know that?” he said with no real heat.

Techno snorted, they sat in a comfortable silence as Tommy continued to twist his hair around.

“There! It’s done!” Tommy handed him a mirror and Techno already knew before that it was going to be terrible but that still didn’t prepare him for what he saw in the mirror.

His hair was up in random ponytails and twisted together in a pink tornado, bobby pins sticking out at random angles, Techno could already feel the tangles.

“Alright this is bad,” He set the mirror down, pulling at one of the hair ties, Tommy slapped his hand away.

“What do you mean! It looks great-” He couldn’t finish the sentence with a straight face.

“To you maybe but I’m not walking around like this!” Techno took down one of the ponytails.

“Aw you bitch- you bitch! It took me so long to do that! You have no respect for the art of hair styling!”

Techno sighed, “Why do I let you do these things to me?”

“Cause you love me- or did since you’re destroying my hard work!”

Techno snorted, pinching the bridge of his nose, nodding lightly before going back to untangling the whirlwind of pink on his head.

“Did you preheat the oven?” Techno asked, checking over the list of ingredients.

“Did I what the what?” Tommy asked, twirling the ring of measuring spoons on his finger.

Techno stared at him for a moment then walked over and set the oven to 350 degrees, cooking with Tommy was always a new experience.

They were making cookies, mainly from boredom, Techno would’ve done it himself but Tommy insisted on ‘helping’.

They started to mix the ingredients together, Tommy handling the dry while Techno mixed the butter and sugar.

Tommy spilled half of the ingredients before quickly sweeping them back in the bowl.

“Good job there Innit,”

“Shut up Blade!”

They folded the ingredients together, Tommy added more chocolate chips then necessary, then rolled them into balls and set them on the trays.

Techno put the cookies in the oven then started cleaning up their dishes, putting them in the sink when a puff of flour hit him in the face.

Tommy grinned at him, Techno wiped some of the white powder off his face and shoved back onto Tommy’s, dragging his hand up the side of his head, ruffling his hair.

Tommy laughed, dipping his hand back into the flour container, throwing more at Techno, who did the same, aiming for the other side of Tommy’s face.

It escalated into both of them flinging flour at each other, getting all over their clothes and the kitchen.

Techno ducked behind the counter, flour sifting through his fingers, he jumped out only to slip on a flour dusted floor and fall.

Tommy cackled, trying to move forwards but slipped and fell himself, a wave of white dust flying up upon his impact.

Techno laughed, shoulders bouncing, as he scrambled to his feet and slid over to Tommy, helping him up.

“This is a mess,” He said as Tommy scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, “Why’d I let you do this?”

“Cause you love me!”

Techno snorted, brushing the flour off his hoodie, “Yeah, that’s the reason.”

Techno blinked awake in the middle of the night, throat and mouth dry as he blindly reached for his water bottle on the nightstand, sitting up and chugging it.

He paused for a minute to breathe and was about to lay back down when he noticed Tommy shaking in his bed, quiet, panicked, murmurs drifting through the room.

He debated it in his head, wasn’t it dangerous to wake up someone having a nightmare? Or was that just an old myth?

He decided it was better for Tommy to wake up in shock then suffer in dream hell and was about to get up when Tommy shot up with a sharp gasp, grabbing his chest, panting and frantically looking around the room.

Techno waited for a minute, noticing how Tommy wiped at his face, then whispered;

“Tommy,”

His little brother jumped, jerking to look at Techno with watery, wide blown, eyes.

Techno patted his bed and lifted up the blankets, an unspoken invitation that floated through the dark room.

Tommy shaky pulled himself up, wrapping one of his blankets around his shoulders, then shuffled over to Techno’s bed. He climbed over Techno and laid between him and the wall, Techno pulled the covers around them and laid to face Tommy, wrapping an arm around him, pulling him closer to his chest.

Tommy pressed closer, obviously trying not to shake, and Techno rested his chin on Tommy’s head, fingers running through his hair.

He didn’t know what happened to Tommy to make him have a nightmare like that but he wanted to make sure nothing bad every happened to him again.

After a moment Tommy whispered,

“Why are you letting me do this?” Almost like he was scared of Techno realizing how close they were and pushing him away.

Techno paused, squeezing Tommy tighter, after a moment of hesitation he whispered back;

“Cause I love you.”

#Finding a Home AU #mmmmm #technoblade #Apples Writing #foster care #fluff #asks #answered #requests #fanfic #fanfiction #sleepyblr #family dynamic #tommyinnit #sleepyboysinc

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shiversdownyerspine · 3 years

Text

5. Deprived

Gettin a little hot in here. :B

18+

The kittens arrive in the quiet of the night, stars dotting the deep dark blanket of sky. Sleep had failed to find you, and so you had shuffled your pajama-clad way to your kitchen with a chunky knit blanket wrapped around your chilly shoulders. The thick charcoal colored material dangles to the backs of your knees as you wait impatiently for your kettle to boil water for a big cup of chamomile tea.

As the water softly bubbles to your earnest desires of being lured to sleep, you find yourself distracted by a soft knock on your front door. You perk up, knowing by experience that this would be your nameless, faceless animal transporter. And just like with every other task animal, when you open the door you find nobody in sight, just a randomly sized pet kennel resting on your doorstep. You kneel and scoop up the crate to bring it inside.

Excitement momentarily stealing away your drowsiness, you quickly switch off the heat of your stove and carry your cargo to your room. Tea can wait a moment, the water will still be plenty hot by the time you're done. Closing the door behind you, you take a quick peek to find two fuzzballs huddled together at the back of the crate. The kittens are awake but clearly tired, and judging from their quivering bodies, probably a little bit stressed. Not wanting to cause more discomfort, you quietly unlock the kennel door to slowly reach in and gather them up for a quick health check.

Eyes, ears, and noses look clear and healthy, tiny claws and whiskers and tails are where they should be, no bumps or scratches to be seen. You briefly tut at the lack of towel or blanket in their kennel, worried about the absence of warmth and comfort. You've tried requesting some basic amenities for when your task animals are being prepared for delivery, but your needs have yet to be met. You're fairly certain by now that they never will be.

Both kittens are male and look to be around seven weeks old, still a bit too young to be neutered. As a matter of fact, they are still too young to be away from their mother, but some things just can't be helped. Judging by the pale bodies and dark brown coloration of their ears, face, tails, and paws, they are chocolate points. Satisfied, you pop the babies back inside and grab up the fluffy towel waiting on your dresser, carefully pushing it in and around the kittens before moving them to your bathroom.

Nestling their kennel in the corner of their 'room', you drape another blanket over them to offer privacy and leave the crate door open a crack for if they choose to explore. Softly closing the door to your bathroom, you head out of your bedroom and step once more to your kitchen to finally fix your mug of tea. Hot drink in hand, your gaze settles on the stove clock which reads 4:57 AM. With a sigh, you sip your tea and tug your blanket further up your shoulder, lamenting the lack of sleep you will be suffering from come morning. You suppose in the end you'll just have to rely on good ol' fashioned coffee to offer you any sort of alertness today. Resigned, you wander off to your bedroom, but are interrupted before you can make it there.

Midstep, you nearly drop your mug when the door to your guest room opens and there in the doorway stands a groggy, long john wearing Otto. Long hair ruffled and eyes half-lidded, he peers down at you questioningly. You freeze, your eyes sweeping up and down over his defined muscles before a blush rises to your cheeks and you drop your gaze to your feet, murmuring an apology for waking him and quickly explaining away the disrupted sleep because of the kittens arrival. You apologize once more and quickly scurry to your room as a befuddled Otto looks on, wondering why you had been up long before the kittens arrived.

Three cups of coffee in, the morning comes and goes relatively uneventfully. You do have to insist to an avidly interested Oscar that he wait just a little while longer to meet the kittens as they are still waking up and quite uncertain about their new home. You promise after their breakfast he can visit, lightly patting the grumbling man's back in reply as his brothers drink their coffee. With kitten food in hand, you hope this will help coax the babies out of their kennel. You amusedly eye Butternut and Pumpkin who are crowded around the door to your room, smelling intently.

You nudge them away with a hum of, "In due time you goofs."

To your delight the kittens perk up noticeably after feeding, and after some consideration you poke your head out your room to softly call for anyone interested to come see. As long as they keep the other cats out, that is. Oscar is naturally the first one up out of his chair while Axel and Otto hesitate before joining their younger sibling. They were simply bored, but they did have some interest in the mystery surrounding you and thereby extending to your room as well.

You tell the brothers to mind their feet before noticing Otto subtly eyeing your odd assortment of bits and bobs you have collected in a small jewelry box that had long since lost its shine and its lid. As Oscar and Axel carefully slip into the bathroom, they linger to watch you curiously from the doorway as you step to Otto to reach in your treasure box.

"I'm a bit of a collector, if something has a good texture and makes an impression, I tend to keep it."

An old bullet casing brushes your searching fingertips; you hold up the item for Otto to take, which he does, warm fingers brushing against your own slender digits. He rolls the hollow shell between thumb and forefinger as he inspects it closely. Perusing your other little knickknacks, you muse aloud how you never really plan to do anything with the trinkets, just allow yourself to indulge in an odd whim every once in a while.

Hearing the squeaky inquisitive sounds from the kennel in your bathroom, you and your little entourage find your attentions being redirected. With a gentle bump of your knuckles against Otto's wrist, you motion to follow you. Behind you the man's eyes drag up and down your figure in a surreptitious slide, settling minutely on the full curve of your rear before forcing himself to focus instead on the little jewelry box as he returns the tiny article to its rightful place.

With curiosity sated and more information shared about the tiny fuzzy additions to your home, you usher your guests out of your room as the kittens settle in for a much needed nap. You're tempted to follow their lead and crash on your bed, but you have a couple more things to do. One task being to introduce the towel you had rubbed the two kittens down with to your cats as a pseudo meeting. The Swedes watch in the living room from the sofa as Pumpkin takes a whiff, fluffs up, and slinks away while Butternut just plops herself down next to the towel like it's the most interesting thing she's ever smelled.

The other task? Well, technically you owe Axel and his brothers a tidbit of information after you refused to answer a question about your feathers during his 'interrogation'. And as you admit to the Swedes that you owe them some extra information, Oscar jumps right in.

"What is...favorite animal..no..task animal?"...It's technically against the rules, but it's a good question so you'll allow it.

Excited, you gush, "My pekin duck! Now, I love all my animals, but being my very first task, she's special. Most likely she was going to be prepared for food but the target never made it to dinner. She was wild-caught so it wasn't difficult to rehabilitate and release her. Good thing the woods have a lake. Well, more of a glorified pond really, but she loves it."

Axel side-eyes you slyly, "Duck makes good meal, shame."

You gasp, "No!..Well okay, probably, but I could never eat Ducky!"

Simultaneously, Axel's brows lifted high, Otto choked, and Oscar gasped, "Ducky?! Her name?"

You hesitate, ears red, before exclaiming proudly, "Yes, Ducky. Ducky the Pekin duck...come on this shouldn't surprise you, I named my cats after squash! Don't you dare laugh!"

Otto was roughly huffing into his fist as you floundered. Oscar had shifted closer to you with a wide grin, bumping his knee against yours.

Axel smirked, teasingly sounding out the two syllables, "Duck-y..."

The glare you send his way is intended to be irritated, but is quickly ruined by your twitching lips fighting back a smile.

"I-It's a childhood thing! I couldn't bring myself to call her anything else!" You rub your cheeks, as if that would somehow lift the vivid color from your face.

"The lake by our orphanage had a variety of birds, and every single one in that water was Ducky. I was too young to really care about the differences. Also it drove our poor caretaker crazy, which ah...kind of enforced the habit."

Your mirth falters as you process your little slip up...that's what your lack of sleep gets you, you suppose. Okay, no use fretting. Push on.

"So when I saw my first animal, her name was already decided really." You smooth the material of the towel in your hands, relaxing your posture.

"Chickens." You blink, looking quizzically to Axel. He nods towards Oscar.

Otto shifts his weight from one leg to the other, hands tugging his suspenders as he adds, "Chicken thief."

Your gaze settles on the youngest Swede with a playful gasp, "Oscar, really?"

The man meets your feigned incredulity with his ever-wicked smirk and declares with devilish pride, "Salt and Peppar."

It clicks, "...You named them after seasoning. Because you were going to eat them?"

Axel drags his eyes from Oscar to you, "Eventually."

You can't help but giggle, the three men twitching at the sound, "So, when you were younger you stole chickens? Wait wait, I'm going to guess...it wasn't just Oscar..and he roped you two into it?"

Oscar barks a laugh as the other two sigh and nod. You grin, "Goodness, chicken thieves in my home. Did you all get caught?"

Smug, Oscar shook his head as Otto responded, "Nej. Too fast. We...kept for eggs, ate later...old age."

You bump your elbow gently against Oscar's arm, immediately drawing his attention to you, "I've never had chickens before, but my old Ducky does have a bit of an attitude. How were Salt and Peppar?"

Axel snorts, leaning forward, "Angry. Not bad killing mice. Also good flavor."

Otto folds his arms across his chest, nodding in agreement. You chuckle, "Okay if any of you see Ducky, you can't eat her. It's just not allowed."

Still staring, Oscar licks his lips, "..Can we eat you?"

Axel and Otto tense, eyes boring holes into the scoundrel. You scoff, completely missing the lewd innuendo, "Oh ha ha clever; I have feathers, like poultry. Very funny."

You stand with a smile, realizing you should really grab some kind of food mat for the messy eaters resting in your bathroom before lunch time rolls around. You retreat to the kitchen to search while the brothers linger in the living room, staring Oscar down. Butternut in his arms, the youngest removes himself from the floor just to lazily stretch out on the sofa, innocent as can be as he ignores his brothers obvious ire. Pumpkin slips out from under the coffee table to hop up and settle on his stomach in classic cat-loaf position.

Axel begrudgingly turns his attention to you, recalling your cheeky attitude and fiery stubbornness concerning his prior questions in the kitchen a good while ago...yes, he won't deny how heat had pooled in his loins at your antics, bubbling even more when he glimpsed charming pink shyly sweep between your lips. But obviously it wasn't enough to tempt him; no, he didn't imagine himself seated at that very same chair, boots planted firmly on the kitchen floor as his hands squeeze your rear, bouncing you naked in his lap, fucking the defiance out of you as you moan and beg and promise you'll be good- he sucks in a breath, nostrils flaring. Taking a moment to reign in his hormones, he stalks off to the garden for fresh air, scowling all the while. Oscar.

Otto grimaces at Oscar's impertinence and clenches his hands, hesitating as remorse unsettles his stomach as he remembers the feel of you, your back against his front, his hands holding your body helpless and trembling with distress...and wonders instead about making you shake with something else; smoothing his hands over soft fabric to push under your sweater and up quivering belly to gently palm your breasts, pushing fabric away to bare them to his touch, fingers brushing your nipples, lightly pinching and plucking as your head lolls back, your hips rolling to push your ass against him- he exhales, trousers feeling just a tad uncomfortable. With a rough swallow, he lumbers off down the hallway to their room to...regain his composure. Fucking Oscar.

Oscar knows damn well what he's done. He's noticed the way his brothers' eyes linger on you, their growing infatuation not nearly as hidden as they thought. At least not from each other. Now they won't be able to get some rather debauched ideas out of their heads; just like he can't get rid of the thought of your pretty startled eyes blinking up at him, but instead of up, you're peering down, doe-eyed as he moves down your body and between spread legs, preparing to demonstrate the actual meaning of his joke as his hungry mouth hovers teasingly over your panties, just close enough that he can smell you as the heat of his breath warms the dampening fabric.

Oscar strains his neck to sneak a glance at you in the kitchen, adoration softening his expression as he hears your joyful exclamation when you track down the food mat for the kittens. It's possible you were just doing your hostly duties, but they all notice how you blossom as you accept their presence and he and his brothers gradually accept yours. He has no doubt his brothers are subconsciously beginning to consider you theirs; he saw with his own incredulous eyes as big, brutish Otto held you still, firm but careful, not a single feather crushed under fist...or how Axel, steely, stern Axel, was opening up to you about their own lives, tiny piece that it was. He had almost been stunned into silence with that one.

The thought of you in their beds had been just that; a tempting thought, conjured by night and temporarily sated come morning. But seeing his brothers' walls cracking, little by little? How curious. He can't resist giving his stubborn brothers a little push, jostling their imaginations, maybe some taunting thrown in to strain those cracks?...oh, this will be fucking fun.

#the swedes #ikea mafia #tua swedes #the swedes x reader #umbrella academy swedes #tua axel #tua otto #tua oscar #...sleep deprived and sex deprived ;D

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