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#Mother of Pearl Plant

sprigara · 1 year

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Succulents in spring 🍃

I'm always drawn to succulents, even when I'm just on a walk, not really thinking about pictures

It's too humid to have them where I come from (as my involuntary manslaughter of a few would confirm). So seeing them in random flower beds is a treat ☺️

#darkroom app #halide app #iphone #photography #succulents #garden #plant #plant photography #spring #plants #mother of pearl plant #penwiper plant

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stormunderthesmile · 2 years

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Two new plants. My other plants I got to growing up to a decent point, but not fully and they left here one by one. 😢 But succulents (like these new plants) are easier to care for as the conditions they require are more straightforward and basic. 🌿🌿

The greener one is Crassula ovata (also called a Money tree, although I don't follow the thought that it can affect my financial life) and the lighter colored one is the Graptopetalum Paraguayense (also called Mother-of-pearl or Ghost plant because of the powdery white layer). 🍃🍃

#plant #plants #plant life #plantblr #plantcore #plant mom #succulents #nature #plant photography #Crassula #crassula ovata #money tree #graptopetalum #graptopetalum Paraguayense #mother of pearl plant #ghost plant #plant lover

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seismic-tartness · 1 year

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flickr

Indoor plant care guide by apairandaspare on Flickr.

[Image Description: Ink drawings of houseplants on a white background with text in the center that reads: "a pair & a spare: Indoor Plant Care Guide"]

Organized by increasing light needs:

Low-light tolerant

Indirect bright light

(Your plants see the sun; the sun doesn't see your plants)

Bright light

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aaassociates · 12 days

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How to Choose the Perfect Planting Pots to Enhance Your Indoor Spaces

Choosing the perfect pot to bring out the beauty of your houseplants is just as important as their lush foliage. A basic philodendron can become a magnificent centrepiece with the correct planter, but an incorrect one may take away from the beauty of even the most vivid flower.

But do not worry! You can easily improve your indoor sanctuary by selecting the perfect planting pot with the help of a few recommendations.

First, think about your plant's needs:

Size Matters

To allow for growth without drowning your plant in too much soil, make sure your container is 1-2 inches broader than the root ball.

Material Check

Choose pots with holes for drainage to avoid root rot. If the holes are missing from your favourite pot, you might want to try drilling some yourself or use terracotta pots, which naturally encourage drainage. Also, larger plants benefit from the stability that stronger materials like ceramic or fibreglass offer, even though plastic pots are still practical.

Style Sense

Select pots that complement your interior design and your plant. Here are some current choices to think about:

Natural Materials: Seagrass or jute woven planters provide an earthy touch that goes well with the bohemian-inspired decor.

Modern Minimalism: A sleek, contemporary style is achieved using neutral colours and clean lines. Mother-of-pearl pots provide a touch of refinement and look especially beautiful with delicate blooms.

Bold Statements: Use colour and pattern to give your room flair. Pots with brilliant colours or playful patterns can add visual appeal and enhance existing décor.

Pro Tips for Pot Perfection

Double Potting: For more convenience when repotting messy plants or those that require moisture, think about using a double-potting method.

Pot Covers: Use chic cachepots to hide ugly nursery pots and, if necessary, add pebbles to provide enough air circulation.

Conclusion

Keep in mind that the ideal pot, whether a bohemian pot or a mother-of-pearl plant pot achieves a balance between efficiency and visual appeal. You can choose a pot that improves the health of your plant and the interior design of your home by taking your plant's needs and style preferences into account. So go ahead and express your imagination, have fun, and let your plant pots showcase your distinct style!

#pearl pots #mother of pearl pots #mother of pearl plant pot

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peachesofteal · 3 months

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The Acheron

An Ichor Veil (of Flower Kings) masterlist

Ghost/Soap/female reader 10.6k words - AO3 Warnings-tags: 18+ MDNI. Modern retelling - Greek mythology AU. Hades and Persephone. Two Kings of the Underworld. Abuse (by reader's mother). Bad BDSM etiquette. Dom Simon Riley. Switch John MacTavish. Impact play, spanking. Ichor (blood) play. Non-con voyeurism. Kidnapping. Submissive reader. Reader is named Persephone but has no physical characteristics. Alcohol. Praise kink. Biting. Anal play. Subspace. Dubious consent. First they're sour, then they're sweet, then... they're sour. Tags are for your health, not mine. .A meeting, a trick, a meal.

Hebe’s is humming.

You nod to her through the crowd, a gaggle of mortals waiting at the counter, the line of them moving swiftly as they order their pastry-coffee duo for this dreary, rain slogged morning.

Her perpetually young face lights with exuberance once she spots you, and you can’t help the smile that fights into place at the sight of her. Hebe is a cherub. Soft, curved for ages, like she had been sculpted by her father himself. Today, she’s dolled up in tones of pink; pink lipstick, fuchsia stained cheeks, magenta streaks in her otherwise dark, tightly coiled hair that sits at her shoulders.

For a while, before you were brazenly corrected, you wondered if maybe your mother wanted Hebe as a daughter, instead of you. A perfect picture of untouched purity and power, an eternal cupbearer, worshipped as the goddess of Mercy. She was sweet, like her famous Portokalopita, orange syrup cake that drew a group of wanting mortals at the door every morning. She’s a stunner. A mountain of sunshine, a ray of positivity.

Sometimes, you hate her for it, even if she is one of your best friends.

Something about her cheerful demeanor can dig at you, scrape along the sticky matter of your brain, gnaw at the soft bits that you’re still trying to protect, tender pieces that match your heart.

You follow the hall to the back room, where bookshelves taper off and large floor to ceiling windows flank the east and west sides to allow as much light in as possible. There are others here, a few mortals curled in overstuffed armchairs, books and cappuccinos in hand, light jazz soothing the atmosphere through a few hidden speakers. Healthy clematis blooms along the stair rail, purple blossoms disappearing into the second floor, where more reading rooms wait, books and plants boundless inside Hebe’s.

A place for everyone.

You feed the clematis a little spark of magic, enough that the vine stretches, shivering and sprouting more flowers. “Aren’t you stunning this morning?” The plant curls around your fingers eagerly, imbued with the essence of power, drinking up the magic drops you encourage into its cell structure. “So healthy and strong, you’ve recovered so well.”

“Good morning.” A wraith of a voice whispers, and you catch the iridescent flicker of a cloud, of Nephele. The clematis will need pruning soon, probably next week, or maybe you can make time in the next few days, you don’t really have too much going on, just your birthday, and that delivery to Hera-

Ghostly fingers stroke the inside of your elbow, and the cloud nymph regards you with an insightful expression. “Earth to Seph.”

“Sorry.” Your apology is meek, and she shrugs.

“I asked what you’re doing tonight?” Oh.

“Dinner… with my mom.” She nods, and says nothing, jaw clenching, apologetic grimace lining her lips.

“And Friday… Aselgeia?” The club. Your muscles tighten. It’s been over a year since you’ve been to Aselgeia, the club of many vices, the ones where mortals and creatures and gods all mix interchangeably, chasing their own pleasure. The memory of last time heats your spine: A private room. A black chair. A stranger swinging a paddle towards your bare-

Nephele coughs.

“Yeah, definitely.” You put the box down that you’re carrying, twelve small pots containing strings of pearls, all crossbred to produce different colors, emboldened by their proximity to you in the Greenhouse for these past few months. They’ll sell well, you have no doubt. “I’ve got a few more boxes to bring inside. Don’t supposed you could do something about this slag weather we’re having?” You gesture, and she snorts.

“Hebe says they’re fighting. Probably looking at weeks of storms.”

“They’re always fighting.” You whisper it, even though most know the truth. Zeus and Hera were explosive. Tumultuous. Which is fine, you suppose, for a private life. A public life, however, one that belongs to the Golden King and Queen, should probably be a bit more… restrained.

After all, why should you and everyone else have to suffer because Hebe’s mom and dad can’t get along?

“I’ve got a lot of cataloging to do, so I’ll catch you around. Text me after dinner tonight, if you need to talk.” She finishes quietly, kindly, but without encroaching, and you squeeze her hand with affection.

“Thanks, Nell.”

The final two boxes stack comfortably for your dash inside. You're eager to get all the plants settled so you can get back to the Greenhouse, slink away to your personal temple, your place of refuge, somewhere quiet to prepare for your dreaded birthday dinner in peace.

“Hello.” A male voice calls, accented so strangely it’s impossible to place. He waves, trying to flag you down.

“Hello?” You turn, nearly stumbling back at the sight of him.

Who is this?

He’s stunning. Brilliant blue eyes study you from a mountaintop, taller than you by more than a head or two. His hair is short on the sides, but long in the middle, a fashion of mohawk you’re unfamiliar with except for in Hoplites, warriors who sacrifice themselves for the sanctity of the state. He’s broad, built like there’s a Herculean amount of muscle underneath his immaculately tailored midnight black suit, and his cheekbones complement the razor edge of his jaw, framing a full set of dark, plush lips.

He looks like a dream you’ve never had. A fantasy that failed fruition.

Fairer than Adonis. Brighter than Apollo.

Butterflies kick up a fluttering frenzied in your belly.

“Sorry to bother ye, I’m looking for Hebe’s?” Ah. You smile.

“You’ve found it. This is just the backside. Front door is around the walk to the left.” He steps closer, and you’re about to introduce yourself when you hear the whinny of a screech owl’s tremolo, a tinned melody that whistles past your ears.

Olympus tilts. Axis trembles. And so do you.

The stranger is keen, and glances around.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah, I um… it’s just that owl, I swear I saw the same one a few days ago… I didn’t think they were too common around here.”

“Dinnae think they are.” His eyes twinkle, celestial light that has you drifting, floating through time and space into starlit irises. The air turns heavy, hot- fresh fired bricks weighing down your chest, and everything spins, day turning to night, night molting black, deep hues of purple and blues streaking past your vision, spinning like moon, twisting you up until your balance is faltering, and you sway. “Whoa, hey.” Fingers fold over your arm, surprisingly cool, chilled, and it pulls you back into your body, spine uncurling, brow smoothing.

“Sorry, I…”

“Ye alright?” He’s still holding your arm, directing you to a bench, relieving you of your box in a swift motion.

“Yeah, sorry… I… I skipped breakfast.” There’s no other explanation, right? The handsome stranger tsks.

“Can I get ye somethin’? Maybe from inside?”

“No!” You blurt, horrified. Hebe would have a cow if she thought you were feeling faint or had skipped a meal. She takes caring for her loved ones far too seriously. “No, I’m almost done, and then I’ll be on my way home. I’ll eat there.” He raises an eyebrow, completely skeptical. “I swear.”

“Alright then. Let me help ye with the rest at least?” He’s standing with a hand extended, and you track the veins on the inside of his wrist until they disappear beneath his t-shirt, golden, tawny skin just barely allowing them to be seen. You wonder if it’s mortal blood that catapults through his body, or the rich, golden ichor that also spills from yours.

“Sure.” He lifts the box, gesturing for you to grab the other.

“I’m John, by the way.” John. It simmers in the front of your mind, stitching itself into the fabric of your magic.

“Persephone. My friends call me Seph.” Bold. Too bold.

“Ye’re Demeter’s daughter.” He comments, and you blink, fresh wave of regret curdling the sourness of your stomach.

“Yes.” Fool. Give your name to a stranger, and this is what will come. “Do you know-“

“Only in passing, dinnae worry.”

“Who said I was worried?”

“Ye wear yer emotions plainly.” Your cheeks burn, embarrassed at the blatancy of his statement. “It’s refreshing. So many of us, we play too many games, hide our true selves.” Us. Golden ones. Gods.

“You’re Cloaking.” You intend it to be a statement, an observation, but with a tight jaw and frowning brow, it’s an accusation.

“Aye. Wouldnae want to scare ye away, would I?” What? Your steps slow, gait pausing in concern. “Sorry, ah. Bad joke.”

“Oh, that’s alright.” He carries the boxes to the door, setting them down carefully, and then rising back to his full height. You swallow the lump in the back of your throat.

“Well, John,” you say it with a hint of sarcasm, and it conveys your doubt. That’s not your real name, is it? “It was nice to meet you.” You extend your hand, expecting a shake, but he holds it with both of his, back bowing, lips softly pressing the skin of your knuckles, tender touch making your knees weak, your heart swooping and swooning.

“The pleasure was mine, Persephone.”

“Have you given anymore thought to your role in the coming year? Your presence at harvest, or planting, would do-”

“I haven’t.” The wine is too oaky, so earthy it takes like dirt, the opus of your mother’s existence, and you swallow it down in silence.

“Persephone.” She chides, like she has a million times before. “If you just tried, a little harder-“

“I am Spring, mother. Life. Rebirth. Fertility.” You ignore her wince. “But that doesn’t mean I’m well suited for crops, and grain, and harvests.”

“It means exactly that. Otherwise, the Greenhouse would not exist.” Her knife slices into a bloody piece of meat, red dripping down the sterling to her fingertips. “Why must you fight your destiny?” Your mind wanders to your visitors the other day, the sisters. The Moirai. Does she know? Is that why she’s saying this? Did she send them? “You spend so much time actively trying to deny me, holed up with your flowers and silly little house plants-“

“It is you who denied me.” Her eyes narrow. “You who didn’t want me to become a fertility goddess, who wanted me to be some weapon of green light, to be the spitting image of you. You raised me to be a threat!”

“Is it so wrong, that I did not wish for my daughter to become a common whore? That I had hoped to prevent her becoming such a failure? That I dreamed of her becoming so much more than… what sits before me now?” The words do not shock you anymore. You’ve grown to expect them.

That does not mean they do not sting.

“It is wrong that you kept me locked in this house, away from the world, until I was too strong for you to control.” You spit, fork clattering against your plate. Rage sears white at the edge of your vision, overflowing bouquet of flowers in the center of the table blooming into massive blossoms, edges of petals beginning to curl inward.

“Control yourself.” She warns. “Or I will do it for you.” Your pulse thunders. The air in the dining room crackles.

You do not relent. Rationally, you know you should. You know this will only end one way, that this will sever another tie to your past, to your mother, one you won’t be able to repair… but you can’t stop. The magic itches under your skin, screaming.

The ivy that covers the outside brick shatters a windowpane above her head, springing through the opening like a virus seeking a host, sticking to the inside wall. Glass falls to the floor, rain pelts the roof.

“Persephone.” Shining silver spools, churning across the table, through the air until it takes form-

The Whip.

Your mother’s favorite.

It licks your skin, your fingertips, your knuckles. A different touch, from the reverent kiss you received only hours ago. It cracks through the air like the lightning.

“That’s enough.” She vows.

You will not cry. You won’t. You won’t let her get to you like this anymore. You’re a woman now. An adult. You’re not a child, you’re not, you’re not-

She sighs. Your fingers clench the stem of the wine glass so firmly you think it might shatter.

You finish your meal in stiff silence. Its heaviness droops all around you, blanketing the entire table, your fork, the distance between you and your own mother. It’s an eon. A millisecond. Never enough because you always crave more. More space. More time. More distance. Her eyes spark, anger burning hot behind them, but she says nothing.

When she’s finished, she rises from the table without another word, disappearing down the hall.

Happy Birthday, you guess.

In the middle of the night, the Greenhouse is quiet.

Even the plants slumber, most of the daylight seekers, pistils, stamens, all covered by their petals, lying in wait. In the back, you pad along the floor of moss, allowing the tiny tendrils of green to skim along your bare skin, pulling opulent, indulgent specks of power into themselves. Wisteria lines the walls, tiny blooms of purple and white falling like curtains of stars, only parting for the archway that leads to the spring, a small freshwater lagoon that spills from the crust of the earth as hot as tea, bubbling eternally, waiting for you.

Tonight, the water is ethereal. Steam rises from the pool, slicking its stone home, and you bask in it, muscle and bone turning languid, supple in the roiling spring. It’s nearly sublime, almost perfect.

Your mother’s voice still echoes. Even now, hours later, you can hear her.

A failure. A disappointment.

Your knuckles sting from the salt of the Whip, the silver crust that slices so effortlessly, just as it has since you were a child.

You cried a lot, then.

Now, it’s few and far between. You’ve grown, rebelled, retaliated. You’ve become a lost cause.

Ungovernable Persephone.

The pain still sits so heavily in the bottom of your soul, a wretched, tangible thing that sprouts blackened vine from the earth and a whole manner of other things.

You eye the marble encasement, the walls that harbor the spring. They too, are black. Born from your rage, your sorrow. Your uncontrollable, ungovernable power that grew from the depths of your despair and built you a temple.

The Greenhouse. Your home.

Everyone called it a wonder. A feat, proof of your power. Trees and vines and branches all twisted together, building a harbor, solidifying your presence, your Golden light.

You took your first offering in this place, the glass for the windows and the roof, the final piece of your shelter from the storm, the first stake of your life as a goddess, your life of freedom.

You left your mother’s house that day, only returning now on occasions. You never looked back.

Though, you can still feel the Whip, can still hear it whirl through the wind against your supine form. Can still feel the ridges of scar tissue that never fully healed.

You could have called Nell. Or Hebe. Or Melia. Anyone of them would be here for you. Would listen. Understand.

Outside the window, an owl hoots.

You sink beneath the water line, magma rushing over every inch of your body, washing you clean of her, of the Whip, of the wounds on your knuckles.

A trembling fawn. Still to this day.

A wicked daughter to have, they tell her. A vengeful soul. Rotted to the core.

Ungovernable Persephone.

Olympus is buzzing, even on its ninth day of rain. It’s a vibration that all manner of beings can feel, creatures, gods, even humans. The ground rattles like there’s a lightning bolt shoved into the center of the rail system, electrifying the wires and tracks, zinging from pole to pole between the buildings and above the streets where cars putter alongside those who walk to their destinations.

When you were a child, the name of the city was almost dirty. It made your mother’s nose turn skyward, disgust and disdain clear as the day on her delicate features. “The golden city is anything but.” She promised, on her knees before you, gentle hand at your back. “Those who live there are heathens, and naught else. They would seek to destroy you if they knew the truth.”

For many, many years, you never step foot here.

Not until University. Once you graduated, the rope around your neck, the bit in your mouth began to loosen, and you had already lost your taste for the expanse of metropolis, more interested in your own space outside city limits where you could feel your connection to the earth, where you could indulge your power in privacy.

“It’s not the city she fears.” Melia told you one night. “But Aphrodite. Demeter’s worried ‘Di will knock you right off the whole bloody planet.” She peered over your shoulder, catching the gleam of Apollo, his bright eyes tracking her from across a crowded bar. “Trust me. She’s a jealous bitch.”

Tonight, the city is waterlogged, soaked to the bone, raindrops splashing as you slide from the car to the black door tucked inside a black wall, a soft faced Harpy standing in front of the passage.

“Hebe. Persephone.” She greets, turning to your other companions. “Nephelle. Melia.” You pull your power through the earth that sits beneath cracked concrete and heavy asphalt, spinning your Cloak up and over your body, adjusting your appearance just so. Your mask slips into place, obscuring nearly all your face, both Nell and Melia pulling together something similar.

“Ocypete.” Hebe pauses. “Is there a riddle tonight?” The Harpy grins, flashing rows of too sharp teeth, fine points that can cut the flesh from bone in a clean bite.

“No riddle.” The door creaks wide, and she steps aside. “Enjoy your evening.”

You don’t notice the way her eyes linger after you’ve passed.

Aselegia is one of the safest places in the Olympus. Here, Golden ones must be Cloaked, mortals must be masked, and creatures must go to great lengths to hide their identity. All intermingle with one another, safe in the anonymity. Gods and Goddesses usually choose to mask as well, a practice, you believe, stemming from common occurrences of violent jealousy, an effort to prevent becoming the target of one’s wrath.

The club itself is big enough to get lost in. The first floor houses the lobby, and a set of elevators. The walls are covered in shiny waxed mahogany, red wine rich carpet covering the floor, and it smells different, sweet and smoky, cigars and finely spun sugar. Intoxicating.

The elevators will take you anywhere you have access, and most can visit three floors. There’s a dancefloor on the main level, with a giant bar, private rooms in the wings, bottle service, tables. Very standard. Other floors have gambling tables, quieter music, even a dimly lit pool and sauna.

It isn’t until you get above level three that things change. Endorsements or sponsors are required. Waivers need to be signed. Negotiations begin.

Pick your poison.

You start on the main level tonight. Melia insists, and you agree, grateful to the Oceanid for suggesting starting slow, the low rumble of nerves still present in your magic, your body. The music thumps, high to low song and symphony synthesized into something electronic, and it draws you into a sway, shoulders against shoulders, hips moving in time with the melody.

“Shots?” Hebe brightens, waving over a cocktail waitress, a pretty thing who eagerly does her bidding, enraptured with the way she moves in the skintight, cornflower blue dress. Her Cloak has disguised her well enough that no one would know who she is, but she does not ever manipulate her body. A cherished rule of her own, you’ve learned.

“You’re beautiful.” The girl coos, and Hebe nods, singing over the explosion of Nephelle’s laughter.

“I know, sweetheart.”

A slick sheen of sweat coats the space between Melia’s breasts. You’re both on the dancefloor, moving with the music, Melia perfectly in time, like she was born to it, and you pull her close, slinging an arm over her neck to whisper in her ear.

“He’s here.” A god’s dark eyes glint in the night, between the passages of writing bodies. He wears a white mask, stitched with the threads of glowing sun, but his obsessive gaze gives him away. He’s transfixed, focused solely on the Oceanid in the middle of the dance floor, and she giggles, turning so that her ass is pressed against your pelvis, her head tipped back on your shoulder.

Her hand extends, an invitation. A request.

He’s by her side within a second.

“Apollo.” You nod, and he barely spares you a glance, too busy cradling his Oceanid’s face.

“You have been ignoring my calls.”

“I’ve been busy.” He tenses.

“You’re still angry with me.”

“Of course, I am.” She rolls her eyes. “We’re here for Sephy’s birthday, not this.” He peeks towards you, sliver of regret flashing across his face.

“I’m sorry, Persephone.” You wave him off, not wanting to be in the middle of… this.

“It’s fine, we’re just… out. It’s not for anything special.” You look away from them, casually glancing around. You look, but you do not see. Not until…

There’s a male, wearing a pitch-black suit. A god? A mortal? He’s taller than anyone else in the room, broadest shoulders and proud posture, everything about him drawing you in, like blood in the water.

The room stands still. Silent. Empty, save for two.

Tempered water like glass, undisturbed. An undertow vicious beneath the surface, unknown to all.

“Hello.” The pitch of his voice is familiar, almost dreamlike, something that’s never been real, yet startling all the same.

“H-hi.” You stammer. His hand reaches, a magnetic force pulling yours from where it’s clawed against your thigh, and he grasps it like he’s cupping a dahlia bloom, a fragile collection of so many petals that make up an entire beautiful blossom, a universe unto itself.

Black leather caresses your skin. Clear, golden-brown eyes pin you in place, anthracite spiking around his pupils in a halo. You cannot see his face, or his skin, only what’s barely visible of his eyelids and dark spun lashes.

Still…

His beauty is terror. It’s the throat of a lamb, freshly cut. The mutilated carcass of a doe, feeding a forest. Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

It drags you out into a river, where your feet no longer touch the bottom. It sings to you from the depths.

You cannot tear yourself away.

He does not let go. Even when that same voice fills your mind.

“My darling. You shall rule all that lives and moves, you shall have the greatest rights among the deathless gods: those who defraud you and do not appease your power with offerings, reverently performing rites and paying fit gifts, shall be punished for evermore.” *

Warmth slips from your hand, sand flitting through your fingers, a fleeting touch of comfort and confusion fading into the night.

My darling.

My darling…

When the light comes back to you, the male is nowhere to be found. Only Apollo and Melia stand to your side, still in their own world.

“Will you let me take you upstairs then?” He croons, and your heart dances, nerves and anticipation all spiraling together like a sailor’s knot. You know what comes next.

“Only if the girls can come.”

You try to forget the strange encounter on the main level and focus on your needs instead; you’ll know what you’re looking for when you see it, and you say the same to Hebe, too, when she disappears with a male who seemed much too large to not be the son of a giant, leaving you alone on a small, velvet couch, Nell and Melia already long gone. Your second martini sits untouched, and you keep yourself from looking at any one being too closely, lest you get caught staring.

That’s when you see him.

Light blue eyes. Handsomely styled mohawk. Even with a Cloak and mask, he’s hard to forget.

John.

His mask is a red skull, covering nearly all his face, the sculpted brow severe, almost angry.

His eyes glow behind it, locked on yours.

Oh. Shit. You vibrate like a live wire, hanging onto yourself for dear life.

“Hello.” Your mouth doesn’t work. “I’m Soap.” He extends his hand, and you blink. Oh, right. The alias. Because what is the point in all this, if you give your real name?

“K-kore.” You manage to stammer, and the corner of his eyes crease.

“Why are ye here?”

“I’m sorry?”

“What are ye looking for, little goddess?” He still has not dropped your gaze, and you can almost taste him on your tongue, feel him in your mind, your body.

Myself.

Your teeth dig downward, pressing hard before you whisper the truth.

“Pain.” His eyes flash, and then he tugs.

John- Soap, takes you to a private room. You follow, numbly, shivering with a million emotions, stumbling through the chances, the possibilities of seeing him twice, when before he was a stranger.

A coincidence, you decide, putting it out of your mind. You’re dwelling on it too much, picking it apart, riling yourself up… over nothing. Over a handsome god, existing in the Golden city? Like you’ve never seen those before… like it’s so unbelievable.

“Are ye alright?” He murmurs, stepping up to your back. You can feel the heat of him, his warmth bleeding from beneath the suit to your exposed skin, the dress you chose wholly exposing your spine, your skin.

Your nipples tighten. Your heart races, and your thighs press together inadvertently.

“Yes.”

“Dinnae lie.” He’s gentle in the reminder, and you fill your lungs.

“I’m just… nervous.”

“Ye’ve done this before?” He’s assuming. You nod, quickly, and he motions to a very comfortable looking lounge chair, where you perch on the edge of the cushion. “What would make ye happy tonight?” Anxiety unsettles your posture, and you choke down the embarrassment that tries to claw its way up your throat.

“A… a spanking.” You whisper, pushing flimsy confidence forward. Far away, a piece of your mind, your magic, pleads. It cries, it begs for release. It urges you forward, and you lift your face to his, seeking approval. Comfort.

Reassurance.

The cold hand of doubt rears. It snickers at you. It laughs.

Reassurance from someone, anyone but yourself? Comfort?

No.

“Do ye-“

“My safe word is flower.” You spit, motioning to the stool that waits between you.

It’s an act. A song and a dance, something fake and forced. But he doesn’t know that.

He freezes. Thick tension runs the gamut, heavy and exhausting, and you smother yourself, your emotions, your reactions to this very moment.

Pain. The desire burns. It pushes you to the zenith, until you’re down on your knees, folding yourself forward.

Pain, to turn it off. Pain, to make it all stop.

Pain, to release you into yourself.

What matter of creature are you, that you can only feel whole, when parts of you are carved away?

“Up.” John commands, and you lean back, confused. “Ye’ll do this over my knee.” He bends you, with grace, back towards the soft cushion, laying comfortably, your palms flat.

A hand coasts over the swell of your ass.

“Ye’ll count.” His voice has shifted. Gone is the feather’s edge, now replaced by steel. His accent still rings true, but there’s a firmness to it, a finality. Dominance.

“Yes.”

“Ye’ll tell me yer name, and today’s date, when asked. If ye cannae answer, we’ll stop. Immediately.”

“Okay.”

“I need a yes.”

“Yes.”

“We’ll go to ten, then.” We.

“I can take more.”

“We’ll decide what ye can take, when we get there.” You acquiesce, fingers digging down into the cushion before forcibly relaxing. “Big breath.” He coaches, and then-

The first slap stuns you. Only with his hand, and yet still so much stronger than last time with a paddle. It punches air from your lungs, the noise that rockets out of your throat a mix between a scream and a moan.

“F-fuck.” You croak. “One.” He doesn’t hesitate and rains the next one down on your opposite cheek. Again, it robs you of oxygen. “Two.”

“Good girl.” The praise is very small flame at the bottom of the darkest well. It barely lights the path ahead, desperately trying to catch, to grow, but it’s too easily snuffed out. His palm rubs the base of your spine to the tops of your thighs.

Crack.

The sting sizzles outward from impact, and you gasp. “Three-“ Another, same cheek. “Four!” The whistle of the swing alerts you a second before the next, and when you shout “Five!” it sounds off kilter.

“What’s yer name?”

“Seph-Persephone.” Raw warmth simmers beneath your dress and underwear, and the fire at the bottom of the well starts to rage, growing larger, eating what it’s been given, hungry, seeking, trying to build momentum. He asks you the date, satisfied at the lack of delay, and swings so high, you can see the shine of his palm from the corner of his eye. Your toes curl.

Whack. Two, too quickly.

“Six!” A choked cry. “Seven.” Your face is wet, saltwater tracing the plush swell towards your mouth and chin. You sniffle.

“I know, I know. Ye poor thing.” He bunches the fabric of your dress, scratching it across your scorched cheeks. “Ye’re doin’ so well, almost there.” The words barely register, only the sentiment cuts through the haze. Your thighs are pressed so tightly together, slick dripping from your cunt, the aching throb of your clit rubbing against your panties. You’re desperate… to be touched, to be hurt, to be whole. You need it. Crave it more than anything else.

He delivers two more strong, healthy, swift blows. Eight. Nine. They enflame you completely, fire burning in the pit of your soul, encasing you in a coffin where no one can hear you, or see you. Safe and tucked away, floating into a dark cocoon of eternal night.

At the tenth, the room changes. The air grows colder, nearly frigid, shadows clinging to the walls, and you barely register being moved, held like a child, tucked into a chest. There’s talking, somewhere, in your mind or maybe behind you, two pitches at war, a dance of wills.

“Beautifully done, darling.” Somewhere far, far away, in the last sliver of your sane mind, you realize it’s a different voice, a voice echoed in gemstones, ruby and emerald and pearl, before that too, slips into space, and you drift deeper inside the luxurious praise. A warm bath. A sunlit meadow with thousands of Narcissus dotting the hill, soaking up every ray. A golden fawn, taking her first steps to freedom.

John’s face looms into your line of sight, maskless, no Cloak.

“We need a yes.” He murmurs, cupping your cheek. “Persephone.”

“Hmmm?”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.” The words don’t match. They don’t click, they catch, they bump against each other, trying to lock into place, failing over and over.

“Supposed to go… home with my friends but-“ Your tongue is heavy, weighted beneath a giant sequoia, and you shiver. The chest that your head bobbles on catches, an arm securing you in place. It’s warm, and firm, heavier than a tree. Who…

“Little goddess.” He prompts, and you sigh, already wistfully unaware.

“’kay, yeah. Yes.”

You’re already slipping away when the world goes dark.

Your eyes open to a strange place.

You don’t recognize any of it, from the massive four poster bed with lithe, gauzy curtains drawn closed on three sides, to a fireplace the size of a giant, roaring, sizzling flame burning endlessly in its hearth. You don’t recognize the room, the black marble floors, polished to a brilliant gleam, one that you can nearly see your reflection in, or the vanity, dark oak housing a hand carved mirror. You’ve never seen the ornate stained glass window before, stretching from floor to ceiling, the size of ten men. You don’t know the bed, sized for a king, emerald silk sheets and a matching duvet, with a million pillows that were just cradling your head. The robe you’re wearing matches, the green only a shade lighter, and you tuck it tight across your body, realizing you’re fully nude.

The fire pops. It pushes a gasp from you, caught off guard, and at the sound, another being in the room stirs from the plush rug just beneath the bed.

A three headed dog.

It, they, stare at you, tongues wagging, eyes wide. Jet black fur, darker than midnight, white teeth so sharp they could rip your throat free in an instant.

You’ve seen this dog before… in pictures. Schoolbooks. You know their name.

Cerberus.

Panic races through your veins, ratcheting your heart rate higher and higher, your body and mind separating, all synapses dizzy with fear.

Oh gods. Where… where are you? What happened? You were just… you were just having some fun, at Aselegia, with John… weren’t you? Where…

Are you dead?

You reach for your power, digging deep, trying to drag as much as you could to the surface-

Nothing.

You bleat, a scared lamb, in panic. It’s a cry. A scream. An awful sound. You need your rage now, but all you find is fear. You cannot reach your power. There is a blackened lock around it, a casing that holds it away from you, out of reach.

Cerberus whines. They hold their position, tail swishing back and forth, and you scramble towards the middle of the bed. Your ass protests, skin warm and tender against silk. Your knees tuck to your chest, and you force your eyes closed, trying to take long, measured breaths without success.

You’re dead, you’re dead, you’re-

The door clicks. John appears, two palms out, hesitant, and cautious. Your voice shakes, no matter how hard you try to reinforce it with iron will. “G-get away from me.”

“Ye’re alright, Persephone. We’d never hurt ye.” We?

“We need a yes.”

“Need ye to say yes, so we can take ye home, take care of ye.”

Something flickers behind him. A figure, a shape of shadow, shifting.

Dark. Dangerous. A wolf, circling a kill.

The male from the dance floor. He wears no mask now, but the feel of him, the threat of his power, is unmistakable… and familiar. You sputter on it, choking on him and John, the threat of their power combined looming, suffocating. “Oh gods.” You clutch the robe tighter. “Wh-where am I?”

“You know where you are, darling.” The other one says, and you moan.

“N-no. I… I can’t be. I can’t dead. I can’t be here… I-“

“You’re not dead, Persephone.” He cautions. “You’re very much alive.” And shaking, alive and trembling so vigorously you can hear your teeth chattering, chest heaving up and down, desperately trying to suck air inward. Cerberus whines again, and he rubs a thumb behind one of their ears. “Easy, Cerberus. She’s alright.”

“I ca-can’t be here. I have to… I have to go home.” The room seems wet, dollops of tears falling from your lashes, sticking to your skin and the sheets. Reality slams forward, rushing right up against your nonsensical mind.

It takes one gentle pulse of their power, to realize the truth.

Hades. They’re… Hades. They’re Hades and you’re… you’re in the Underworld.

Beg. Beg them for mercy. Whatever it is you’ve done, you must try.

“I’m s-sorry. I don’t know… I don’t know what I did but I swear, I’m sorry, I-“ John tries to reach, seeking your hand, but you curl up into a tighter ball.

“Shhh. Ye hae nae done anythin’ wrong, sweet Persephone. Ye’re alright. Ye’re safe.” Safe? Safe in the Underworld? With them?

Oh gods. You let Hades spank you.

“You… you tricked me.” You whisper, raw betrayal and pain weeping profoundly in your heart. You trusted him and…

You are a fool.

“We did what was necessary.” The wolf-like one says solemnly, gaze heavy.

“Necessary?” You squeak. “What’s… necessary about this?”

“We will explain everything, after we’ve eaten. Or maybe had some more rest? It’s the middle of the night, for you.” What?

“No… I can’t… I can’t stay here. I have to-“

“Go home? So, you can hide away in your temple, kept company only by your plants and the occasional friend you let inside?” You blink, stunned, mouth dropping open.

“How do you... have you been watching me?” The stained-glass window on the far side of the room shifts, drawing your attention, morphing slowly from a tawny blur to a… screech owl.

“Oh, my gods. Oh…” The room shudders. “You can’t keep me here, I have to go…” Wolves circle, flanking where you sit, precarious and hopeless, a hand in front of your body like it will save you. “Please.”

“It’s alright, darling.” The dark one moves, blurred in shadow, magic blanketing you in a warm, comforting hold, heating your bones, encouraging your eyes to slowly shut.

The last thing you see is the ceiling, your body cradled in the embrace of a stranger.

Morning comes slow.

At first, you don’t open your eyes, even though you’ve been long awake.

If you open them, your fear will be real. It will be valid.

So, you keep them closed. Keep them shut long enough you drift in and out of twilight, until someone clears their throat.

Fuck.

“Are you going to open your eyes?” His voice is ruby and velvet. You shudder.

“Hades.”

“Technically. One half of a whole, but my loved ones call me Simon.” Your brow flexes at that, and there’s a soft chuckle in response. “Will you wake? It’s well past morning now.”

“Are you going to render me unconscious again?” you hiss, cracking an eyelid. He’s sitting in a posh armchair, oiled black leather beneath his black suit, eyes steady on yours. His face is a map of scars, but instead of seeming rough, or out of place, they naturally suit him, complementing his broad jaw, severe expression, perfectly sculpted bone structure. His nose is crooked, like it had been smashed and rearranged once or twice, but still sits as if it was meant to be, and you wonder how anyone could do anything of the like to Hades.

He's handsome, in a way you expect to die from.

“Only if you cannot behave.”

“Perhaps I could show you how I behave.” You smile with a full set of teeth, words ending in a snarl, and he huffs another gentle laugh.

“I have seen the victims of your wrath, Persephone. I have no doubt you’d strike me down if you could.” You swallow the nausea in your stomach. Your magic.

“I want my magic back.” You blurt the demand, not even pausing to consider a more tactful way.

“We did not take it, only… bound it, for the time being. It’s still within you, we would never separate you from your power.” He sighs, a golden pearl rocking in his palm, glinting in the fireplace’s gleam. “Contrary to popular belief, we are not a monster.”

“Then let me go home, if you’re not as they say you are.” His eyes harden, face twisting sour, and then… sad.

“I’ll give you some privacy. There are clothes in the closet. Johnny and I expect you for breakfast, and then a tour… if you’re good. Cerberus will show you the way when you’re ready.”

If you’re good.

Cerberus leads you through a maze of decadent marble and arches.

You follow behind them hesitantly, cautious, and they mind you, slowing when you’ve lagged too far behind.

You can’t help it. You’re mystified.

You expected the Underworld to be dark, and dingy. And while maybe it is on the dark side, with glossy, polished marble, giant onyx columns that blot of the sky, and black stone everywhere… when you peek out the windows, you’re gob smacked.

Beneath wherever you are, which you’re beginning to suspect is Hades’ palace, is lush greenery. A verdant, fertile field lays to the south and the east, wrapping around to the edge of a forest, where you can just barely make out a large variety of deciduous trees. To the North, a river winds, separating the palace from a large meadow and… a town? You shake your head, as if to clear your addled mind and cloudy vision. Is that truly… a town?

“Asphodel Meadows.” Someone says from behind you, nearly jumping you from your skin.

“Fuck.” You gasp, hand clutching your chest. It’s a man, not John, or Simon, but a stranger, clad in all black.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“It’s… okay. I- what did you say?”

“The town. It’s Asphodel Meadows. A place for mortal’s souls.” He bows. “I’m Thanatos.”

“I’m… Persephone.” He smiles, just slightly.

“I know who you are, my lady.” My lady?

“What do you…” words nearly fail as you grapple. “What do you do here?”

“I am a child of Nyx. The god of Death.”

“I thought Hades…”

“They are the Kings of the Underworld. I am the personification, the embodiment of Death.” Oh.

“You reap.” You whisper. His jaw tightens, and then smooths.

“Your escort is impatient. I think he’s probably ready for his bacon.” He eyes Cerberus, who whines, tapdancing on slick marble.

“Bacon?”

“Yes. He’s very spoiled. Eats better than the Kings themselves.” He motions down the hall. “It’s just that way. Lovely to meet you, my lady.” He gives you another bow, and then turns down a corridor, one that had not been there before, leaving you and Cerberus alone in the empty hall.

“I- you too.”

The Kings, as Thanatos called them, are both seated when you push the incredibly heavy door open. At the sound, John rises, Simon behind him, and the three of you stare at one another for a minute, until Cerberus barks.

“Please, sit.” John motions to the only other place set, a third chair between them. You swallow.

“Uh…”

“We don’t bite.”

“Not unless ye want us to.” John smiles, sinfully handsome in the morning light. It streams into the surprisingly cozy dining room through a group of five windows, all facing east, capturing the light of… a sun?

“Is that a sun?”

“It’s a sun of sorts.” Simon offers. “We have a sky, weather. A sun, a moon. Clouds. Everything that exists in Olympus.”

“Are ye hungry?” You hesitantly lower yourself into the chair, surprised at the array of food displayed. “We ah, weren’t sure what ye liked so, got a bit of everything.” Meats, yogurts, sweets, cereal, fruit, anything you could want laid out in front of you, but it’s something so near to your heart that catches your eye. Portokalopita.

“They are Hebe’s.” Simon murmurs.

This is a trick. They kidnapped you. They’re holding you hostage. You have to convince them to let you go. The warning resounds, and your stomach thrashes.

“I want to go home.” You push the plate of orange cakes away, disappointment flickering across John’s face, exasperation on Simon’s. “Please. I… I appreciate your hospitality and you… you bringing me home for… aftercare,” you grit the word, shame rocketing up your spine. This is what happens when you trust. You let Hades spank you, for fucks sake. And then they abducted you. “but I need to go home. The plants, they need me. My friends-“

“Your friends are used to going days on end without contact from you.” Simon cuts you off, and the blood drains from your face. “Are they not?”

“N-no. They’ll know I’m missing, they will.” Lie. He knows. You know they both know, just by the way the regard you. Half pity. Half amusement. It makes your blood boil. “Fuck you.” You hiss, shooting up in the chair.

“Seph-“ John tries to soothe you, calm you, using your nickname like he knows you, and it only makes you more irate.

“Don’t call me that.” You whirl on him. “I trusted you! I don’t even know you and I let you-“

“That is the nature of Aselegia, is it not?” He counters, cutting you off. You gape like a fish. “The anonymity. Dinnae turn it on me now.” His tone melts from ice to warmth, sympathy bleeding from his irises. “I assure ye, we are more than trustworthy. We would never, ever hurt ye. We would never let anythin’ happen to ye. Ye’ll see.”

“Then let me go home.” He shakes his head sadly but says nothing, and rage snaps in your heart like the drawback of a rubber band, stinging and sharp. “What do you want from me?” John opens his mouth, and then abruptly closing it, deferring to Simon.

“You are our guest. We’d like to get to know you. I promise, just as before, you will not be harmed in our care. We will never hurt you."

"How do I know that?" You’re incredulous. “You expect me to take you at your word?”

“Let us strike a deal then.” He declares, and John nods supportively.

Don’t, your good sense screams. Don’t be an idiot.

“What kind of deal?”

“You will stay here for two days, forty-eight hours exactly. We will show you this realm and get to know one another in that time, and at the end, we will reveal the doorway that leads back to Olympus.” You raise an eyebrow.

“Two days? And then I can go home?”

“Two days.” John echoes. Sapphire eyes gleam, and you carefully, quickly, try to pick apart every word in the proposal.

“My magic.” You demand, and they both answer immediately with a resounding,

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Your power is wild, Persephone.” Simon tells you, not unkindly. “We do not know how the Underworld will react to it, and we must think of our residents, all the souls we care for here. We cannot let something upset the balance that is so delicate.” Your mouth goes a little dry. You were expecting more of an answer about control, domineering you, your magic, keeping you contained. Not… care for souls.

“Yer mother raised ye to be her weapon.” John says softly, kneeling before the chair where you sit. His hand rests on the cushion, and you wonder if he means to touch you. “We dinnae regard ye as such, but until we understand ye better, we need to protect-“

“I understand.” You cut him off. You don’t need some forced sympathy, pity, thrust upon you by Hades, of all gods. They exchange a long glance, one that gives you a small peek into their lives, layers on layers of words and sentiment, communicated with a single glance.

Simon reaches for John, pulling him to his feet and into his body, chest to back.

“Do you agree?” Two days. Two days and you can leave. You can do two days of anything. You certainly cannot fight them, or your way out. What choice do you have?

“Sure.”

“We need a yes, darling.” Darling. The pet name makes your toes curl. You take a big breath.

“Yes.”

The valley outside of Asphodel Meadows is one of the most stunning places you’ve ever been. It’s lush and lively, covered in Narcissus and Asphodelus, like a meadow one could only dream of. You're not sure why it feels so familiar, like the cusp of another life, or a nightmare, but it takes root inside you. You lay in the field of flowers, letting them cover your body, wishing so desperately to touch your magic, so you could truly feel them, the grass and the dirt and the stems here, all things that seem like they’re so full of life, so opposite your expectations of the Underworld.

“Shall we continue?” Cerberus perks up at the sound of their master’s voice, head popping over the flowers to spot both Kings standing on the path, a good distance away. They peek at you, heads tilted, and you sigh. It seems you’ve been assigned a minder, in the form of a three headed dog.

You join them on the road before long, walking silently, sullenly, John sneaking glances at you nearly every chance he gets, and you can pinpoint the heat of his gaze every time, the throbbing intensity of his focused power nearly bowling you over.

“So, there are two of you?” What are you supposed to talk to the Kings of the Underworld about, anyway?

“Aye. It’s a little-known secret. One realm, two gods to rule.” You frown, perplexed.

“But… you haven’t always been that way?”

“No.” Simon answers. “We were once Golden brothers in battle, long before your time, before becoming this. When we fell in love, our souls split. They merged with our magic, tied us together eternally. Now, we rule as one.”

“So, you’re married.” You deduce.

“In the most permanent way you can think of.” They stop short of a bridge, one that crests high over a roaring river, and Simon gestures broadly. “Persephone, this is the Acheron.”

The Underworld is a place of rivers, you learn. Waterways that hold power, that possess the ability to cleanse you, free you, burn you, punish you. There is a river of fire, a river of weeping, a river to forget.

The Acheron is the river of woe.

Fitting, you think, standing on the bridge. Below, bright turquoise water rushes by, crashing into rock and boulder, each sound more akin to a scream than the thunder of a tributary. Mouths, long and full of despair, wail beneath the current, wraith like creatures with bone white skin and eyes skimming along the top.

You get lost in them. Lost in the irreversible cycle of woe, desolation creeping up inside your own self as you peer down into the depths. Are you not like them? Despondent. Bleak. Isolated. Is that not what you’ve made with your life, what was chosen for you? Hidden away, sharpened like an axe never to be used. Are you not alone, like them? Trapped, like them?

You don’t even realize you’re leaning forward until pressure rests at your back. “Easy. Dinnae want ye fallin’ in.” John murmurs, stepping away the edge, bringing you with him. Your limbs feel shaky, and you wonder if it’s because you just almost went over… or because you didn’t eat earlier.

“Sorry. I uh-“ you don’t know how to explain it, that feeling. The agony that bubbles up in the back of your throat.

“We know.” Simon regards you with empathy, understanding, and you shake the attention loose, pushing ahead of them, down the bridge and into town, into Asphodel Meadows itself, eager to leave the river and its woe behind.

In town, the Kings are well received. It surprises you, to watch them in the street, welcomed by the souls who live there. They take you on a tour, introducing you to residents, explaining the structure, the magic and the infrastructure that makes it all work. Souls take their preferred form in Asphodel Meadows, allowed to choose for themselves, whatever they feel most comfortable in, and you’re shocked that such benevolence would be bestowed upon anyone in the Underworld.

Why are they showing you this? Why go to such great lengths? What is the purpose?

“Hi.” A small voice breaks you from your confusion, and you find a small girl at your feet, bouquet of Narcissus clutched in her tiny hands. You crouch.

“Hello.”

“I’m Phoebe.” She giggles, cheeks round and rosy.

“I’m Persephone.” You incline your head. “Phoebe is a beautiful name.” Your heart pangs. She’s so small, so… fragile. How did she die? Where is her family? Is she here alone?

“Thank you, my lady.” She tries to bow, and you rush to stop her, stilling her with a hand.

“Are those for me?”

“They are. Johnny said they’re your favorites.” Johnny? You glance over to where they stand, both turned your way, something unreadable in their reflections.

“Well, thank you. They’re lovely.” She wishes you well, skipping off in another direction, and you meander across the street, unable to hide your quizzical expression.

“Johnny? Not Hades?”

“Ach. The kids they’re… they’re usually a wee bit scared, first thing. It’s better for them, if we’re friends.” He shrugs, but Simon watches him in reverence, pure love and light beaming from his gaze, adoration in every slow blink.

Your heart skips.

Fuck.

“Are you not hungry?” Simon muses, walking beside you and John in the castle. Your shoes tap along the way, echoing, and Cerberus barks. John glares at them.

“I… I am afraid to eat here.” They both stop short.

“Why?”

“I have always heard… a myth. That if you somehow find yourself here and you eat, you’ll become trapped, stuck here forever.” Simon chuckles, dry and warm.

“No, darling. Please, we do not wish for you to starve.”

“The legend isnae true. Only by eating whole pomegranate seeds that ye pluck from the flesh of the fruit yerself, can ye become bound to the land. And we dinnae serve those.” He winks, stepping a little closer. “Ye can eat, little goddess. Please. Join us for dinner, we insist.”

“Okay.”

Simon is not at dinner.

John makes no mention of it, and only when you’re halfway done does he offer an explanation, something important that needed to be tended to.

“Ye look stunning.” He hums, and you have half the decency to smile. You chose a dress from the never-ending closet, black to match their suits, for fun. Its back is open, and the front offers a generous view of your breasts, but not quite enough.

You felt like sin. Johnny has been staring like you are. And maybe, you didn’t want sex, but you did want to punish them for their treachery. If only a little bit.

For making you a fool.

“So, no Simon?” He swallows a mouthful of red wine.

“He apologizes. Somethin’ came up.”

“That’s alright.” You shift, legs crossing. The transition is unintentional, but it draws Johnny’s eyes to your knees, and up. You lift your glass, the largest goblet of red wine you’ve seen, and allow a small river of red to run from the corner of your mouth to your neck. It traces the valley between your breasts, and Johnny growls.

“Persephone.”

“What?” You ask, innocently.

“Ye’re playing with fire.” He grits, the gleam in his eyes one of a predator.

“I’m not playing with anything,” you hiss, slamming the glass down. It shatters, it sloshes, it spills onto the table and into your lap. “You’re the ones playing with me. Kidnapping me, holding me hostage.” Your anger builds, overflowing inside your soul, clawing at the locked box of your magic. Cerberus whines, galloping across the floor and out the main door, but you hardly notice, too focused on spitting as much fire and venom at your captor as you can. “Touring me around the Underworld, making yourselves look like some benevolent, beloved rulers when really all you are… are gods of death and decay.” John stares at you, wild eyed. Your chair clatters to the ground as you stand, fury rocketing through every vein in your body, ichor pulsing beneath your skin. You’re so, so close to your power; you can taste it. Can feel the way it screams, how it howls to you, churning in the depths of your being, rattling the cage it’s trapped inside.

Trapped. You’re trapped. Like always.

Your vision blurs, and you take a step towards John. It all happens so fast, so lightning quick that it doesn’t even register until your hand is swinging through the air and across his face.

He does nothing. You feel the rumble of his power, pushing and pulling at the seams of your very being, waiting to tear your apart, but he holds himself at bay.

Only watches you with cold, wrathful eyes.

The air chills.

“That’s enough.” Simon stands between your bodies. Power, so potent, so strong, wraps tight, shoving your wrists together, Golden cuffs immobilizing you, holding you still. “You want to be a disobedient little brat, is that it?”

“YOU STOLE ME!” You scream it, raw and agonized. It tries to burst through your skin. Tries to explode your vessels. Your very heart. Your chest heaves, eyes wide, and John flanks you, coming closer and closer until you can feel his heat against your side.

He’s hard.

“What did ye think ye were doin, sweet Persephone? Did ye really think you could strike me?”

You don’t have an answer. Words die on your tongue. Guilt burns. Did you want to hurt him?

Did you?

The cuffs yank you forward. They singe your skin, dragging you to the table. “What’re you doing?” They drag you across the food until you're climbing on top, until your whole body is prone, feet dangling above the floor, bent at the waist.

“Is this what you wanted?” Simon mocks. Hands grip your hips, and your traitorous body clenches. “This what you need, little goddess? Need to be punished?” Your dress is shoved up around your waist, exposing your skin to the frigid air, and you force away a small moan. “You need your pain, darling?” Yes. Fingers pinch the back of your neck. “Answer me.”

“Yes.” You snap, darting daggers with your eyes over your shoulder. His answer is a chuckle.

“Turn your head.” He hisses, hand on the back of your skull. When you do, you come face to face with Johnny’s hips, the length of his cock freed from his suit pants and bobbing right in front of your mouth.

Oh, gods.

He strokes it slowly, the pink- nearly red tip oozing pre-cum, long and thick in his fist, his size enough to make your thighs press together, cunt throbbing with delight. Traitor.

“Open, darling.” He smears it against your lips. You tuck them in tight, trying to keep them closed, and he looks over, to the god who stands at the curve of your ass.

Simon takes a handful each of your cheeks, spreading you wide. He kicks your feet too, knocking your legs into an A-frame, fully exposing your weeping cunt.

“She’s dripping.” He announces, a finger sliding through your folds, body jolting with his touch. He circles your clit, barely, not enough, and you whine indignantly. It’s enough to loosen your lips, enough for Johnny to grasp your jaw, shove the tip of his thumb between your teeth, and then pry you open.

Once he gets the tip of his cock against your tongue, it’s over. Salt and earth dab along your tastebuds, and you drool on the table, trying to breathe through his rhythm, trying to focus as Simon tucks a finger into your hole, slowly pumping in and out, occasionally pulling free to swirl it around your untouched rim.

One finger inside you is enough to burn, heat rising through your belly, walls clenching tight, and John groans, pressing into the back of your throat, cutting off your airway.

“So good, all day.” Simon grits, stroking your clit in tiny circles. “Sweet Persephone, and now,” he’s building you closer, so close to the precipice, to the top of the mountain where you’ll hope he’ll throw you off.

But it’s not enough.

“I know darling, don’t worry. I’ll give you your pain.” He croons. John thrusts hard, drives into you vigorously, head thrown back. There’s a sheen of sweat on his neck, and you watch a slow rivulet dip beneath his collar. He’s so… they’re so…

A hand cracks across the tender skin of your ass, rippling out like a shockwave. You choke.

You clench. The tide rises.

“Fuck. There you go.” Light dances in front of your eyes, small pinpricks of stars, and you gurgle on the dick that shoves down your throat. Another strike, the same side, and you cry out, gasping for air. The tip of his finger gently pushes against your rim, and then it’s replaced with a mouth, a hot, intrepid tongue, swirling around as your hips buck and he plays with your clit.

You’re going to die. You’re going to explode. You need more.

You try to tell him, try to choke it out around John’s shaft, but it’s like he knows, like he’s reading your mind, and he pulls away to dig his teeth into the plump swell of your ass, biting down so hard you think you’re bleeding.

No. You are.

You scream.

Rivers of ichor paint your skin. The next spank comes directly over the puncture wounds, and instead of screaming in pain, you moan in pleasure, head held in Johnny’s hands, your face a tool for him to fuck, your pussy squeezing down around the single finger stroking in and out of your body. He swings again, and again, fire lighting behind your eyes, explosions going off one by one, your orgasm cresting, rising in the swell of an enormous wave, and just as you’re about to come, Simon plunges a finger deep into your ass, shoving you off the mountain.

To where they catch you below.

The rest is a blur. John finishes down your throat, salt and sweat and tears all mixing in your mouth, and he moans your name as he gives you a belly full of seed.

You’re limp, floating, drifting higher and farther than you ever have before, not in your body, not even in your own mind. Hardly cognizant when you’re picked up, tucked away in the shelter of a chest and carried down the hall. You close your eyes.

You come back a little bit when you’re placed in shallow hot water, a steaming, rocky pool, your face settled in Johnny’s neck. Cloth and deft fingers rub your shoulders, your waist, anywhere you might feel sore, even the bottoms of your feet.

All the while, they talk.

It starts simply, sweet words that fills you up until you can’t take anymore. “Did so well, darling. So good for us.” John murmurs in hushed tones as Simon shifts you, turning you on your belly to run the cloth between your legs and over your ass. It stings, and you hiss, but you’re soothed with an apology, gentle kisses down your spine, each one pressed with praise.

It’s not long before you’re tucked into bed, turned over on your side, some sort of magic and salve being applied to the bite in your skin. You’re gone now, barely aware, barely awake, but with it enough to catch the little bits here and there.

“-talk about it tomorrow.”

“If they’re from Demeter, I’ll-“ No. Not this. Anything but this. Distress catches in your chest, and fingers stroke your cheek.

“Shhh, sweet one. Rest now.” There’s a little touch of magic, a barely there pulse of power, and you let it take you into the soft comfort of sleep, bedded down like a fawn, cradled between two Kings.

*Hymn 2 to Demeter, line 347

#peaches writes #ghoap x reader #ghost x soap x reader #simon riley x reader #soap x reader #john mactavish x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #john soap mactavish #simon riley #ghost x soap #soap x reader x ghost #AIV #ghost x reader #hades and persephone #AIV(OFK)#modern retelling

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stargirlrchive · 1 year

Text

song chord ✩ jake sully

masterlist ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

summary: jake sully x female!reader but no use of y/n, arranged marriage, sunshine!jake x grumpy!reader, kind of lmao. angst, jealousy, mentions of death, feelings of insecurities. fluff. <3 i think that is all, pls lmk if i missed anything

word count: 5,112

tìyawn (n) - love

comments: first fic in a few months, first avatar fic ever <3 i really loved writing this, so i hope you all love it too, okay mwah mwah bye ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

You had not wanted your night to end like this, angrily picking at your song chord as your mother whispered to the elders of her desire to have you wed, and to the Olo’eyktan none the less. Every stone, every achievement, you had earned felt as though it was taken from you. Ripped from your fingers just as you were starting to enjoy the fruits of your labors.

Toruk Makto sat across from your mother, listening closely as the elders proposed the idea of uniting your family. Joining forces to strengthen the clan, providing security and faith to the people he led.

You had wished so much more for yourself, to have your accomplishments be only your own. Not tied to a man you would never be equal to. All your life you had fought to be perfect, to be an accomplished warrior and fight for your people. Your eyes welled with tears as your fingers ran across the newest bead on your song chord. An iridescent pearl that your father had picked for you, that you held so dearly and were waiting for the perfect culminating moment in your life to add to your chord. Your Iknimaya was given the grace of bearing the pearl.

Your mind swirled with the prospect of being wed, being mated to a man you knew very little about, a man you had only met in passing. As much as you tried to find a way to fix this you couldn't, it felt like your thoughts were running a millions miles a minute and getting no answer. It was very clear that you had no way to object, your family would be so disappointed and the fear that nestled into your chest far outweighed the fear of sacrificing your future, it was almost debilitating. Either way you ended up losing.

You roughly wiped at your eyes and tried to calm your breathing, quietly counting to ten as you willed yourself to object, to tell them your future was yours and no one else's. You had lost so much due to the war with the sky-people, you did not want to lose this too. The words were on the tip of your tongue but your eyes locked onto Jake’s and his fear was clear as day within his eyes. It comforted you, a bit. Knowing you were not the only one silently suffering, but he was the last person you wanted to find comfort in.

He cleared his throat and the room was silenced instantly, causing a lump to form at your throat. “Before I agree I would like us to speak, privately.”

You nodded as he stood, following after him outside of the tent. He walked outside of the camp, towards the dark forest that was only illuminated by the fluorescent lights of the plants and small insects native to the land. Normally you would question why he was leading you away from everyone, but it felt as though all the energy was taken from you.

Not too far into the forest there was a clearing, a small pond with glowing fish. He grunted quietly as he lowered himself to sit, dipping his feet into the pond as he sighed quietly. None of you said anything for a while, you had stayed standing by the trees and looking up into the sky. Silently praying to Eywa to give you the strength to fulfill your duty with an open mind, and even an open heart.

He turned to look at you, watching as your brows furrowed even more as a shooting star passed by, “Do you mind sitting with me?”

A small huff left your lips but you did as he asked, slowly approaching him and keeping a sizeable distance between the two of you, dipping your feet into the water just as he had. “I did not expect to be mated, the thought had never really crossed my mind.”

You kept quiet, trying to focus on his words as you fought the tears trying to fall from your eyes, he took your silence as a sign to keep speaking. “I know a lot of the Na’vi still blame me for what happened, I do too.” His throat tightened, gruff with guilt and unshed tears balling up, and for the second time tonight you found comfort that you were both suffering. “I am trying to be better, and I will prove to you everyday that I am no longer loyal to the sky-people. Believe me, the Clan’s best interest is my main priority and I would never again willingly do something to harm them.”

Silence.

“I know it is not ideal, having to marry a skxawng like me, but I would like to continue the engagement if you wish.”

You sighed quietly and tucked your knees in, resting your arms on them to lay your head gently, “I do not blame you.”

He nodded and averted his eyes to the pond, not believing your words, “I-I just did not picture my life to be this way. After my father died I tried so hard to accomplish everything he wanted for me, that is why it took me time to complete my Iknimaya, I wanted everything to be perfect.” His ears twitched as he listened to you.

“I just do not know if this is what he would have wanted for me.” Your last words were whispered quietly, almost as if you did not want him to hear.

“I fear everything I have ever accomplished will be stripped from me, and I will just be seen as Toruk Makto’s wife. Expected to be the next Tsahik and I can barely interpret the will of Eywa for myself, how am I expected to do so for the rest of the clan?”

He laughed loudly, as if what you said was the funniest thing in the world. As if your worries were comical and before you could stop yourself you hissed in his direction, making your way to stand up. “I’m sorry-wait I’m sorry-you made me laugh but I did not mean to offend you.”

You stopped yourself from leaving, “See what I mean? Skxawng.”

Your lips barely twitched at the end and you hoped he hadn’t caught it. He did.

“I am a warrior JakeSully, I will not sit back and watch the people fight. I will be front line.”

He smiled at your words, “I would also like to get to know you better, no wedding within the next two-three weeks, yes?”

He leaned back on his arms and looked up at the night sky, millions of tiny stars scattered all across you. “Ok, no wedding soon.”

He sent you a warm smile and it eased the gnawing feeling in your chest, “One final request, I wish to be seen as your equal, taken into consideration when it comes to decisions of the clan, not just your wife but your partner.”

His silence scared you, fearful of what would leave his mouth, “That is all I want.”

A small smile made its way onto your features, feeling far more content then how you expected this night to go.

You were both silent for a long time, just enjoying the beautiful forest of Pandora, “I must go, it is well past Eclipse and my mother will be worried.”

Jake nodded and stood up, leaning his arm forward to help you too. You both silently made your way through the short distance back to the camp, quickly making your way to your tent. You were about to go in, without sparing him another look but his hand reached for your forearm to stop you from walking, “We are in this together, from here on out it is you and me. I am not taking this lightly and-and I will be your friend through all of this.”

Your eyes welled with tears again, having to come to terms with your future in those few seconds as you looked up into his golden eyes. “Thank you, I will try my best too.”

You sent him a small smile before moving into your tent, hoping to sleep away the still overwhelming fear of having no control of your life.

You blinked the sleep away from the night before, trying to relax the nauseating feeling that nestled in your stomach as you recalled the events of last night. Why had you so willingly opened up to JakeSully, why?

You did not know him, and from the whispers that followed him around you were one of the few Na’vi women that did not want to. You had opened up some of your deepest concerns last night, and for the life of you, you didn’t know why. You soothingly rubbed the beads of your song chord, trying to ground yourself and push the tears down that seemed to flow like a never ending river.

Your ears twitched gently as you heard movement outside of your tent, “Who is there?”

Someone cleared their throat as you sat up, fixing your chest beads and loin cloth on your way to stand up. “It’s Jake, um-I wanted to spend some time with you. As friends do.”

You tsk’ed lowly, slowly making your way towards the opening of the tent, head peeking out only to be met with a gentle smile on the Toruk Makto’s face. You refrained from rolling your eyes at the tall man, going back into your tent but leaving it open so he could follow. “Give me a few minutes and I will be ready.”

He hummed quietly as he stepped in, eyes jumping from corner to corner of your tent. Curiously walking towards a make-shift shelf, filled from top to bottom with your trinkets. From your first arrow, to dried flowers and pretty stones you had collected since you were a child. You observed him, feeling your heart jump to your throat as he reached to pick something up. Feeling exposed to him in a way you couldn’t describe.

Your mind eased as he gently picked up the only picture you had on there, one that Grace had taken of your mother and father that she gifted you on a random day during her classes. “My condolences for your father, I never got to meet him.”

You said nothing as you continued to ready yourself, turning your back to him and making sure he was still occupied with the shelf before changing quickly, adjusting the straps on the cloth that fell on your hips as he turned towards you. “What will we be doing, JakeSully?”

His nose twitched softly at his full name.

“Is it your hunting or training day?”

You shook your head no, “Perfect, let’s go for a ride.”

Your eyes lit up softly, anytime you got to spend with your Ikran was so special to you, your sweet Pey’lal. Following behind him happily as he threaded through the forest where the claimed Ikran’s rested. Your tongue instinctively started clicking once you made it to the large tree, looking towards the sky for a large blur of purple and blue.

There was a large gust of wind and a powerful thud as Pey’lal landed gracefully in front of you, nuzzling her head against your cheek as you laughed happily. “My sweet girl, I have missed you.”

You cooed happily as she made happy clicking noises at the attention you were giving her, Jake clearing his throat made you snap out of your happy bubble. Pey’lal looked up as if just noticing him for the first time, moving her head to the side in question, flapping her wings as a warning sign. Your hand reached out to soothe her, letting her know to stand down. She relaxed instantly. “This is Pey’lal, my Ikran. Isn’t she beautiful?”

Your smile reached your eyes for the first time and Jake nodded, “This is Bob.” He patted his Ikran’s head who huffed in slight annoyance and it caused a laugh to ripple from your throat, “Bob?”

Jake’s face flared as his ears twitched, “I think it fits him, he is quite goofy.”

“If you say so, JakeSully.”

There was a beat of silence before you connected your queue to Pey’lal’s, jumping smoothly onto her back, “Well, let’s get to flying.”

In the next instant you were off, looking back momentarily only to see Jake jumping onto his Ikran to catch up.

It had been several weeks since Jake had taken you out to fly, or out on a date as he called it. But ever since then it was as if he was glued to your hip, accompanying you even when it was not necessary. Like when you went to pick fruit or went hunting, Pey’lal was even growing accustomed to him being around. Just yesterday she nuzzled her head against his chest as he called out for Bob, something she had only ever done with you.

You had tried to be annoyed with him, wanting to keep him as far away from you as possible but he had slowly, very slowly, started to crack the walls you had built up and began staking claim.

Like even now, as he sat across from you and smiled at your annoyance towards him, your tail swishing in frustration. “You are Olo'eyktan and cannot even pronounce basic words.”

You tsk’ed quietly as he leaned back on his arms, not focusing on what you were saying. He laughed deeply, one that you could tell started in his chest, “I cannot focus today.”

“You can never focus.”

“You are distracting me.”

Your brows furrowed together, confusion evident on your face. Another laugh left his throat, “I do not like being laughed at, JakeSully.”

“I am not laughing at you.” It continued, the sound warming your chest as you feigned being offended, purposely dropping your ears, “I just think you are so-so-interesting.”

You huffed and moved away from him, “You really know how to woo me.”

His face dropped and you bit back the smile that threatened to crack across your face, tucking your tail away as he scooted closer to you, “I meant that in a good way-I did not want to offend you.”

You turned your face to him, the laugh escaped you as soon as your eyes locked onto his, face full of concern, “I was only kidding you Skxawng. I think you are interesting too.”

He pushed your shoulder with his own, smiling so hard his cheeks felt sore.

A comfortable silence settled between the two of you, and in the next instant it hit you just how close he was, the side of his thigh pressed against yours and you flushed deeply. Ears twitching as you tried to stop your body from going rigid against his.

Jake's finger twitched softly as he contemplated reaching for your hand, he wouldn’t put it past you to flick him with your tail if he tried to, but even still he wanted to know how your hands would feel against his.

Your face was turned away from him, clearly trying not to face him and he swore you knew what he was up to, your fingers twitched softly as it rested on your leg. Before he could think about it too much he slipped his hand under your own, tangling his fingers with yours and closing, rubbing gently along your knuckles.

Your hand had tensed as he held it, still avoiding his gaze and he almost retracted but slowly your fingers relaxed into his, his tail swished softly in excitement as you folded your fingers to hold his hand.

“Your hands are sweaty, Toruk Makto.”

He refrained from laughing, “Yeah well-you make me nervous. One wrong move and I know it will earn me a tail flick to the head.”

You laughed at his words and turned to him, cheeks still blazing as he got a good look at you. Your cheeks were a soft purple and a smile that reached all the way to your eyes.

“Do not tempt me.”

Your tail gently flicked against his arm and he felt a warm sensation start in his belly and make its way up to his chest, causing goosebumps to rise all across his arms.

After a beat of silence he began speaking again, “So, how do you say it? Kalultal?”

“No-no! Kelutral!”

The weeks had started to bleed into each other the more time you spent with Jake. Your eyes instinctively looked through the sea of Na’vi as you searched for him, a proud smile on your face as you lugged around the Hexapede you had hunted not too long ago.

You had noticed him a couple of feet away, his back towards you and there was an instant smile that made its way to your face, trying to get to him faster. Your eyes were taking in his back, a small heat rising to your cheeks as you let your stare run across his shoulders and down to his arms.

You opened your mouth to call out for him but you clamped up almost instantly, ears twitching in question as his head was thrown back and a loud laugh left his lips. Your eyes finally shifted to who was in front of him and felt a sting begin to settle in your stomach. It was Neytiri.

They were talking animatedly between each other, laughing and you were not sure why it left such a bitter taste in your mouth. Cheeks now flushed but for an entirely different reason, anger bubbled in your chest. You tried to wrack your brain for what it could be, you had always gotten along with Neytiri so why had you started to feel a sense of insecurity in yourself as you noticed how easy it was for them to get along? How easy it had been for them since the beginning.

The realization scared you even more so when you came to the conclusion that it was jealousy, you had started to feel some sort of claim to the Toruk Makto and it hurt. You felt so stupid, how could you think he wanted you when Neytiri had been a part of his life from the moment he was introduced to the clan? She had shown him the in’s and out’s, he had fallen in love with your people, with your home, through her.

You felt a lump rise to your throat as you handed off the Hexapede to be skinned for the feast later in the evening, rushing past the crowd of people behind you. You wanted to be far away from him, from her, from everyone. Your ears had turned inward and all you could hear was the beating of your heart. It came in loud thuds, deep and sorrowful.

You had made it towards your tent, not noticing that Jake had clocked you dropping the animal off. He had called you several times which you had not heard. He had noticed how your shoulders were tensed, a look so unfamiliar to him on your face and he knew something was wrong. His fingers tangled around your forearm before you slipped into your tent, you jolted back against his chest showing him just how distracted you were.

Jake called your name softly and his brows furrowed together as you refused to look at him. “Is everything alright?”

You hissed in his direction and yanked your forearm from his grip, Jake stepped back in astonishment as he took in the anger swirling in your eyes. “Leave me alone, JakeSully.”

“Woah-what? Did I-what’s wrong?”

You ignored him and walked into your tent, pacing the perimeters as you tried to keep the emotions from erupting into something uglier. You felt like an open wound and hated that it was caused by the man who only a few months ago you wanted nothing to do with. Your tent was opened as Jake stepped in, confusion evident in his face.

Your angry haze landed on him, his hands up in surrender trying to not overwhelm you as he neared you, “I do not want you near me, Toruk Makto. Just go!”

“I am just trying to figure out what’s wrong, yeah? Let me help.”

“You are the last person I would want help from, get out!”

Your hands had reached up to push at his chest and even Jake knew you were going easy on him, but the pushes were persistent. The frustration more evident each time your palms landed on his chest.

His hands reached out to grab at your wrist, the beads of your song chord digging gently into your skin. Your wrist felt like they were on fire at his touch and felt the anger surge through your body all over again. Hands wriggling angrily against his as he stepped closer, concern clear as day on his features but you could not bring yourself to care. All your deepest insecurities rearing their ugly head at you, a sob threatening to escape from your throat as an uncomfortable feeling settled into your stomach. A feeling that you would not be enough, not for your family, not for Jake, not for the clan.

Your anger peaked, a scream was ready to erupt from your throat as Jake was not letting your wrist go, he was still trying to calm you down. You ripped your wrist from his grip in a whip of anger and felt all the air leave you at once. Your song chord had tangled along the leather braided clasps on Jake's wrist and ripped from yours, the beads falling like a waterfall all around the two of you. “No-no-no!”

Your eyes and hands frantically searched around for the pearl your father had given you, not locating it anywhere and a small whimper left your mouth as the tears flowed from your eyes and down to your neck.

Jake was on his hands and knees instantly as you wept, helping you gather the stones that had been placed on your chord, “Please just leave, Jake! Go with Neytiri and leave me alone.”

Your voice was raw with emotion and it made his heart clench, his ears twitched in confusion but he said nothing as he continued to gather all the beads he saw, an uncomfortable sting making its way to his wrist.

He could tell your holding back from sobbing, you had folded into yourself after all the stones were gathered, your back shaking from your tears. “I will help you build it back, I will weave the chord with you. I am so sorry.”

His hand had reached out to your shoulders pulling you up against him and into his chest, there was a strain on his wrist at the awkward way it bent causing a low hiss to fall from his lips. His hand settled on your head, rubbing soothingly as he felt you calm in his arms, a pinch each time his hand dragged forward but he didn’t care. “Will you let me help you?”

You whimpered quietly as you melted into his embrace, “There is no point.”

“What do you mean, tìyawn?”

You felt your heart flutter at the affectionate name, but your heart felt heavy as you realized you had lost the pearl your father had gifted you, “I lost the pearl for my Iknimaya. It was a pearl my father had gifted me, it meant so much to me and-and I waited for something that felt worthy of carrying the stone and now I have lost it. I no longer want a song chord.”

You broke out into another fit of tears, only this time wrapping your arms around Jake’s neck to find solace in him, and he comforted as best he could, wrapping his arms around you as his fingers traced your back to calm you down once again.

He felt the pinch against his wrist again, an irritation settling softly in his chest at the persistent sting. He pulled his arms closer to you so one rested on your hip while the other tried to unclamp the leather bracelets that sat on his wrist. When the bracelet was off he felt instant relief, his ears twitching at the sound of a pebble landing on the floor. He swore a silent prayer to Eywa fell from his lips as his eyes locked onto the pearl. It was iridescent and had small scratches since you wore your song chord almost everywhere. His fingers reached for the stone, picking it up gently as if he feared it would break under the weight of his fingers. “Is this it?”

Your head lifted from his chest, looking into his palm and a watery laugh left your throat, still thick with emotion as you reached out for it. You looked up into Jake’s eyes and it seemed like hundreds of tears kept flowing from your eyes, Jake's lips were turned downwards as he rubbed at your cheeks, trying to erase the evidence of your sadness. He hated it, he hated seeing you hurting and in that instant swore that he would spend the rest of his life trying to keep you happy.

“I do not like knowing you are sad.”

Your emotions consumed you once again as you stared up at him, eyes flickering to his lips for a brief second. Sniffling softly you leaned your face closer to him, pressing your forehead against his and you let your eyes flutter closed. You could not bear to look at him, he consumed you in every way and the clarity hit you like a ton of bricks. You were in love.

You let your lips fall against his in a quick motion, it was soft even though it only lasted a few seconds. When you pulled back his eyes were closed, cheeks a deep purple, ears twinging pink as he reeled from having your lips on his. “I am no longer sad, Jake. Just sorry, and embarrassed for how I behaved.”

He was all over you in the next instant, lips pressing into yours almost bruisingly as if he tried to forever engrain the feeling of your lips on his. Hands gripped at your hips tightly, pulling you flush against him and a small whine left your mouth. He used the gap between your lips to his advantage as he gently slipped his tongue, almost as if asking for permission. Your teeth softly bit down on the tip of his tongue, soothing it by sliding your own across his. He felt the groan come from the center of his chest, he felt all of you as he wrapped pulled you in closer.

You were the first to pull away, Jake’s lips chasing after your own as you sucked in a long breath, trying to fill your lungs with as much air as possible. You turned from him slightly and placed the pearl with your other stones, turning back to him as your eyes scanned all across his face. “I only want you, my tìyawn. No one else, do you understand me?”

You nodded and let your forehead fall against his again, whispering the words that told him just how you felt, “Oel ngati kameie.”

A laugh rippled from his throat and he placed a kiss to your cheek, “Oel”, a kiss to your nose, “Ngati”, a kiss to your lips, “Kameie”.

You finally pulled away from him, looking at the beads that Jake had gathered for you. “So you will help me?”

He nodded happily, watching your every move as you stood up, picking up a small box that was on your shelf. He couldn't stop the smile that fell on his lips as your tail switched softly, contemplating what material you wanted to hold your beads. You settled on a weaved tan thread, sitting back down next to Jake and you hummed quietly, “You do not have one right, Ma’Jake?”

Jake swore his heart was going to fall out of his chest, “No I do not-no one ever told me to make it so I did not think to do it.”

“You must make one now, we sing the song chord to remember. Each bead is a story in our life.”

Your fingers brushed Jake’s as you handed over the extra piece of string for him to use, placing the box in between the two of you, full of beads, some simpler than others but just as beautiful. The two of you settled into a comfort silence, Jake pausing on occasion to think on certain events that were important enough to add to his chord, digging his fingers into the box.

You had finished your chord quickly, knowing it by memory and Jake noticed you had not added any new beads, until the last one, that one was new.

It was a soft shade of blue, it stood out beautifully against the majority of white and brown of it. “That is new.”

His fingers ran across your song chord, it was so much more intricate than his, showing just how proud you should be of yourself, now a constant reminder how he will always be proud of you. “It is for you, Toruk Makto.”

You flushed and shied away from him as his ears twitched, pulling his own chord out to share it with you, explaining what each one meant. When he reached the last stone, it was a deep red, one that shined if light reflected on, “This one-It’s for you. My tìyawn.”

You reached for his hand and wrapped the chord twice around his wrist, “I am ready, to be mated.”

He let his fingers trace your palm, going over each line and scar, even tracing over the small callouses the tips of your finger had accumulated from training with your arrow. He was smiling so hard, cheeks hurting as he leaned over to pick up your own chord and wrap it around your wrist, it looped three times. “I want a huge ceremony, with a huge feast and lots of music and dancing.”

Your hand flew to your mouth as you tried to stop the laughter that bubbled at your throat, “I do not need such a big fuss over me, Ma’Jake.”

He brought you even closer to him, pressing a kiss to your cheek as he announced, “But I do, I want all of the Omaticaya clan to know I am mated to you. Forever you and me.”

Another burst of warmth fell over you, pressing a kiss to his lips before you moved to sit against him, your back pressed firmly to his chest as his arms wrapped around your frame, “Now tell me, what do the other beads represent?”

4K notes · View notes

biteofcherry · 4 months

Text

Entwined

Leshy!Steve Rogers x female reader; Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: You enter the woods hoping to gain the ancient being's mercy and help. However, you hadn't expected how truly powerful he is, or what price he will ask of you.

*Leshy is a deity of the forests in Slavic mythology. He rules over the forest and hunting.

warnings: sort of monsterfucking (though Leshy isn't exactly a monster, more of an eldritch entity); consensual, with a slight dash of dub-con; tiny bit of manipulation; smut;

Author's Note: This is a story written for Aspen's (@buckets-and-trees) Enchanted Birthday Festival. Early happy birthday, love! ❤️ I've been toying with the idea of Leshy!Steve for a bit and Aspen's challenge was the perfect opportunity to work on it. Especially since she loves forests, plants and all things wild nature 💚 Also a special shout out to @vonalyn who listened to me ramble about the hotness of Leshy!Steve when the idea first came to mind!

“Are you willing to sacrifice?”

His voice echoed with the power of a booming wind, rattling your bones and swishing up your skirts.

The trees surrounding you seemed to grow out their branches, weaving into thick, green walls closing up. Sunlight, just moments ago filtering through the tree crowns, had disappeared; but the dots of luminescent fireflies flickered on, filling the space with a deceptively warm glow.

You looked around, seeking for a path, or entrance through which you might escape, if you chose to. There was none. Within seconds you found yourself trapped in the depths of the ancient forest, with a being whose mercy you came to beg for.

When about an hour ago you stepped into the woods, you were bracing yourself for the sense of being watched, perhaps hunted. You haven’t considered how closely in contact with the powers of nature you’d come.

Your steps never faltered as the soft carpet of juicy grass beneath your feet seemed to grow more resilient the deeper into the woods you went; green straws springing back from being crushed under your shoe. The further you went, however, the dewy emerald grew sparse, shrinking into rich soil scattered with shards of bark, little leaves and pillows of moss.

Rays of sunlight filtered through the branches, casting glowy direction into the sacred altar hidden in the belly of the wilderness. It felt so peaceful, so relaxing, that you’d gladly sink into the shades of green and speckles of gold.

If not for the pounding of your worried heart, which knew that you were searching for more than reprieve.

Had you known what awaited, you’d listen to your heart’s anxious patter and run away.

But you were determined. Though your grandma would probably call it simple stubbornness.

You didn’t enter the woods to forage, nor to roam it to fill your soul with happiness. No, your feet carried you forward to face the greatest of dangers and beg for mercy.

Not only for yourself, but for the village and people who lived in fear, but still refused to abide by the ancient laws. Proud and focused on ways to increase wealth, they forgot there’s more in the world than just gold and war.

Powers mightier than any army. Beings greater and more dangerous than any king.

When wolves ripped to shreds one of the lumberjacks, everyone thought it to be a tragic accident. When two other people disappeared in the woods, never returning, others came up with ideas of them running away. Then a mother was seen screaming as wolves dragged her body into the forest. The child that followed, crying after its mum, disappeared. A day later a small fawn started prancing around the garden by the empty now household.

Still, people refused to bow to the entity that could be behind all of this, or at least held the power to end this madness. Or so you hoped.

Having packed a big wicker basket of offerings - jars of golden honey, cheese wrapped in paper, strings of colorful beads and pearls, folded silk, dried exotic fruit you got from the market - you carried it deep into the woods, to place them on the long forgotten altar where your ancestors paid their respects to the guardian of the forest and nature.

Leshy.

You expected to find the ancient, stone altar, with a deformed statue overgrown with moss. The plan was to lay your offerings there, spend some time bowing down and praying for mercy, then returning to the clueless village.

For a few beats it went like that. The birds still chirped, leaves rustled softly in the wind, your offerings laid motionless on the slab of stone.

Then, suddenly, ivy vines weaved up, covering the stone and your produce in a thick cocoon. The earth rumbled and melted, swallowing the altar whole.

Startled, you took a shaky step back and lost your balance, falling onto your butt. A split of a second when your gaze looked up at the darkening sky and when you returned it forward, he was already standing in front of you.

Whenever you thought of Leshy, no particular image came to mind. You always thought the creature to be an entity beyond human imagination.

He was that, but also… not.

He reminded a human man, but only at first glance.

Much taller, with shoulders broader than the blacksmith’s (whom you always thought to be the biggest man alive). His complexion was fair, but the veins in his arms were jewel green. His hair and beard seemed cast from various shades of gold, intertwined with russet bronze and chestnut reddish. Delicate, tiny vines crawled up his cheeks and along his forehead; like intricate tattoos.

From the thick mane of his silky looking hair sprouted majestic antlers. Thick and sturdy, their dark color with filaments of gold shining through. His eyes, when you met them, were a striking shade of blue-green. Rare and iridescent, like ponds bathed in the light of dawn.

“It’s been a while since a human has come to me.”

The entity’s voice was deep and low, both dangerous and soft, like a purr of a bear or a jungle cat.

“Are you Leshy?” You swallowed nervously.

“I’ve been called that, yes.” When he grinned, amused, the filigree vines on his body glowed luminescent.

“And you are?” He asked, courtly.

When you whispered your name, he leaned forward, bending slightly and outstretching his hand for you to take. As you slipped your shaky fingers into his palm, you felt the pulsing warmth seep through you. It reminded you of the sun-heated earth beneath bare feet.

As he helped you stand up, your gaze drifted up his body. You noticed that while most of his skin looked like any human’s flesh, a stripe along his left calf and thigh seemed textured like bark. A combination of moss and vines formed a fitting coverage around his narrow hips; yet you still caught the sight of a green vein slithering down his chiseled abdomen.

More gold-glowing, floral-like tattoos appeared ingrained into the skin along his ribs. Skin on top of his right shoulder looked to be made of bark, just like on his leg.

As much as he looked unworldly, you also found him majestic.

Beautiful, as nature itself.

“Those who know me, call me Steve.” He said, holding your hand in his and not letting you step away. “It's a shortened and funnily deformed version of Svyatobor.”

Lost in his eerie blue eyes, it took you a longer moment to realize what his name meant.

Breath hitched in your chest, your pupils widened as you stared up at him. All this time you believed Leshy is a creature brought to life and given a purpose by a god. That’s what all the legends suggested. It didn’t occur to you, it's a deity itself.

A god of the forest.

After a moment of complete stupor, shock gave way to a flash of fear. You bowed your head and started to fall onto your knees, to pay proper respect. However, his hand still holding yours pulled you up.

“None of that is necessary.” He assured you.

Though when you tipped your head up to look at him, Leshy’s gaze slid down your body in a slow, assessing study.

“At least not in that sense,” he murmured, licking his lips.

His eyes flicked back to yours. The stark blue pulsing with more green specks than before; as if his body came to life the same way nature sprung back as the snow melted away.

You felt a rush of heat through your veins at the suggestive implication of his words.

“What have you come here for, little fern?”

“To beg for mercy for my village.” Once again, you lowered your gaze. “People have been disappearing and being hurt. Swallowed by the forest or its creatures. I plead for no more blood to be spilled.”

Steve’s face betrayed no sign of irritation. For a split of a second you thought you saw a flash of sunlit amusement in his irises, but no mockery followed. He studied you for a long moment, not saying a word.

When he moved, it was slow and nonthreatening. You still startled, though perhaps it was at the loss of contact as his hand gently released your fingers.

He walked over to where the ground swallowed the altar with your offerings. It was only then that you realized a thick carpet of clovers had filled the space where the table had been. Delicate leaves tilted toward Steve’s legs, brushing against him with the softest of rustles, as if they were purring for him.

“You brought me honey, which you poured out of the goodness of your heart. But don’t you know that our wild bees’ honey is sweeter?” Steve asked, walking barefoot through the small field of clovers back toward you.

He stepped even closer this time and you felt the unique warmth radiating from him. A little stifling, like the humidity of the forest soaked in rain that was evaporating in the high summer sun.

It was making you dizzy in a very pleasant way.

“You gave me expensive fabrics, but nothing feels as soft and luxurious as petals of early spring’s flowers.” He circled you, like an animal may circle its prey. “None of your colorful beads shine as bright as drops of dew in the moonlight.”

“I-” What were you supposed to say? You didn’t have much and what you gave away was a big sacrifice in terms of your day to day survival.

You also didn’t think Leshy would be pleased, if you brought seasoned meat. He was, after all, a protector of wild animals. That sort of disrespect may have killed you on the spot.

Suddenly, you felt his hand brush along your waist. A light, fleeting touch, but enough to send a jolt down your spine.

“Moreover, you try to barter a single basket for dozens of lives.” Steve stopped in front of you.

“I’m sorry.” You lowered your head in shame, feeling the burning tears gather beneath your eyelids.

He was right and you didn’t think of that when you were packing your basket. It made you feel helpless, that you had nothing else to offer.

“Don’t be.” Steve tilted your chin up with the pads of his fingertips. His gaze was soft, glinting sincerity.

“You still did more than any other human has for decades. I’m just pointing out that a life can be compared in cost to another life, nothing else. No riches equal a heartbeat.”

You understood the value, agreed with it completely. But it made the situation look unsolvable. The fate of your village was doomed to go through horrors, since there was no other way to barter for it.

Then you registered the warmth of Steve’s fingers still holding your chin. His thumb angled to rub along your lower lip. You were in the hands of a powerful deity. Steve may have appeared nonthreatening, but he was still an ancient entity demanding a sacrifice.

No riches equal a heartbeat. You had a heartbeat. A rapidly fluttering one, at the moment; bouncing against the bars of your ribcage in fear of being ripped from it.

“You mean-” You swallowed a bile rising in your throat. “My life for theirs?”

You wanted to help your village, to help people in general. That need to care and nurture have always been so deeply ingrained in you. But you wanted to live! You wanted to experience feelings and wonders, joys and losses. You weren’t ready to meet the end so soon, so unexpectedly. The two needs - to help and to survive - were clashing in violence.

Steve’s hand moved from your chin to cup your cheek. Since he was the only comfort available at the moment, you leaned into his touch. A soothing shush spilled from his lips as he caught your panicked gaze and locked it with his.

“I’m not thirsty for blood, little fern.” He assured you. “I long for company.”

Somehow, looking into his eyes and sinking into the warmth his closeness provided, you felt the fear subsiding. Slowly, still leaving instinctive distrust, but it eased away.

“You want a friend?” You blinked, a little confused.

Of course you understood what he meant the moment he said it, but a voice of reason wouldn’t accept the fact this beautiful, powerful being wanted to bed you. Out of all the things a deity may demand, fucking an unimpressive mortal like you shouldn’t be on the list.

Steve laughed at your question, genuinely amused.

Instantly, choirs of birds joined his mirth in a tinkling melody that carried through the forest.

“No.” Steve shook his head; smile-caused crinkles appeared in the corners of his eyes and the filigree vines along his skin curled.

“I’ve got friends. You would meet them, if you stayed.” It surprised you, teasing your curiosity about what other beings roamed these forests.

Your thoughts didn’t stay focused on the matter for long. Not when Steve’s hand slid down the column of your neck, his other arm weaving around your waist and pulling you close to his body.

Very close. Even through the fabrics of your skirts and corset you felt the hard planes of his muscles against the softness of your body. Your hands landed on his chest, at first in an attempt to brace yourself to perhaps fight him off, but any force to push away dissipated. Instead, your fingertips were tingling.

Steve’s breath teased your skin as he leaned down, trailing his lips along your jaw.

“I want intimacy. Passion. And devotion.” He murmured, gripping the back of your neck as his other hand dipped lower to squeeze the flesh of your bottom.

Abruptly, your whole body tensed and you gasped when something coiled around your ankles. Thin and tickling, possibly an ivy vine. It curled along your legs, reaching upwards. Teasing your skin with a brush of leaves and forcing your legs slightly apart.

Steve’s lips grazed the shell of your ear.

“I wish to splay you on the moss and have it soak up your sweet juices as I play with your pretty cunt.”

You jerked in his embrace, but your core ignited. Heat pooled low in your abdomen, spreading down in a quick wave and filling your folds.

“I want to stretch you on my cock and have you call me your god not out of fear, but the pleasure I give you.” The vines that weaved around your legs didn’t reach far up your thighs, but if they had, your wetness would coat the delicate leaves.

“I want to fill you, until you bloom flowers and berries.”

Breathing became hard as the images filled your head; though you doubted it was a trick of his, more your own imagination eagerly supplying possibilities Steve words enticed.

When Steve unexpectedly released you and took a step back, you shivered as if you were dropped into a cold cave. Deprived of light and warmth.

He appeared more inhuman as he stretched to his full height and loomed over you.

“Are you willing to sacrifice?”

His voice echoed with the power of a booming wind, rattling your bones and swishing up your skirts.

Shaken from the daze Steve’s proximity and dirty words have caused, you faced the deal he was proposing with a clearer mind.

You’d be bound to the forest as long as Steve wanted to keep you, having to abandon your human life and plans. But you would be alive. And so would the villagers, some of whom were your friends.

You chanced one more look at the wall of branches and vines, briefly wondering if he’d let you go had you refused. Probably. But it was uncertain what awaited your village, or any other, if you backed out.

Taking a deep breath, you turned back to Steve. You gripped the fabric of your skirt to cover the nervous shaking of your fingers.

“Yes,” the word rolled out on your tongue like a faint whisper, but he heard it.

His eyes shimmered with tempting joy, like the reflection of sunlight on the rippling sheet of a lake. In a blink of an eye he was right in front of you, his hands on your hips.

“I’ll be good to you, my little fern.” Tip of his nose nudged along yours, warm breath softening your lips into compliance.

When he kissed you, it felt as if berries burst on your tongue, filling your mouth with sweet flavor.

Your hands traveled up his arms, clutching his shoulders. The one covered in bark provided a new, unique sensation. It grazed your fingertips, but also felt grounding. He didn’t have to pull you closer, your body turned pliant on its own volition.

Steve swallowed your gasp, gripping your hips tighter, as thick vines of ivy rapidly wound around you. They covered you whole, like they had that stone altar before. It felt scary and suffocating, but as soon as the cocoon of greenery swallowed your forms fully it burst apart; leaves scattered around in a fountain.

You broke the kiss, tipping your head away and looking around. You were no longer in the same spot. You were in no recognizable place, to be exact.

If you could find a name for it, the heart of the forest would be it.

Light green grass spread around in a thick carpet, with patterns of bluebells and lilies of the valley. Graceful, tall birches circled the place, their silvery leaves catching chunks of sun rays. By a spot where wild rose bushes weaved an intricate arch stood a big bed. Easily high at hip height, woven tightly of green moss and periwinkles.

Steve didn’t give you much time to admire. With a firm push of his hand he tilted your head back towards him. Kept cupping your cheek as he kissed you again, more urgently this time. Demanding.

He released you to tug on your clothes, doing a swift job with layers of your skirts, but grumbling a bit when trying to untie your corset.

“Won’t need that anymore here, little fern,” he purred as your breasts spilled out.

Then he was picking you up, big hands gripping the back of your thighs and hoisting you easily. He sat on the bed, slowly easing you down until you were standing between his spread legs.

It was only then that you realized the coverage around his hips was gone, leaving him exposed in all his glory.

You couldn’t help peeking down. Your pussy clenched around nothing as you stared at the impressive size of him. Your mouth filled with the aftertaste of berries and your own saliva as his cock twitched upwards.

Steve’s hands roamed over your body, exploring your curves and lines with utmost fascination. He didn’t hesitate leaning forward to capture a stiff nipple into his mouth, sucking eagerly. His antlers gave you a scare as they brushed so close to your skin, but not once did his movement cause you pain.

Feeling a little bolder, you slipped one of your hands between the roots of his antlers and into his hair. They felt soft and silky. Your other hand gripped the top of his shoulder; the one where bark printed into your palm in a sensation you were finding more and more pleasant.

As Steve pulled back slightly, you slipped your fingers from his hair and across his face, mapping out contours and scratching through his beard. He gripped one of your legs under your knee and pulled it up, placing your foot on the bed and spreading you obscenely. His eyes darkened, something wolfish glinting in them as his gaze settled on your puffed, wet folds.

“Show me how you touch yourself,” he demanded in a raspy voice.

The hand on your calf kept caressing and squeezing your flesh, while his other fisted his cock as your fingers dipped between your thighs.

None of your lovers ever expressed desire to see you pleasure yourself, but Steve’s gaze was so heated you didn’t feel shy. Quite the opposite, somehow it felt so easy and natural; even more arousing as Steve licked his lips in unmasked hunger.

“Let me taste you. I bet you’re sweeter and richer than any honey.”

You moaned, pushing two fingers inside and pumping them in and out a few times. When you brought your glistening digits to his lips, Steve licked them in a broad stroke of his tongue then took them into his mouth. His greedy sucking had your clit pulsing wildly.

“Delicious,” he hummed in delight, “and so ready for me, aren’t you?”

Swiftly, he grabbed your hips and pulled you over his lap. Your gasp at the sudden movement and the feeling of his cock against your inner thigh combined with Steve’s loud groan of pleasure, when you gripped his antlers to steady yourself.

“That’s it. Keep touching them.” He urged you on as he slid you down his shaft. “It’s as if you were gripping my cock.”

“Nghh!” You keened, tightening your desperate hold on the antlers as your walls stretched around Steve’s girth.

“Too big!” You whined, yet your hips followed the command of Steve’s hands as he guided you down.

“Shh, my little fern. Take it. I know you can.” He was mercilessly forcing you down, moaning as your tight, hot walls enveloped him. “All your sweet holes will learn to take all of me.”

By the time he was buried to the root, you were shaking in pleasure. Your cheek was pressed to Steve’s, your breath coming out in jagged, hot puffs. Where your breasts were squished into the hard planes of Steve’s chest, it felt as if the filigree vines pulsing beneath his skin moved to tease your nipples. Steve’s hands were splayed on your hips, holding you in place as he savored the feel of your pussy around him.

After a moment, he began rocking up into you and a few heartbeats later started bouncing you up and down his length. Soon your whimpers stretched into moans. Despite feeling boneless in his powerful hold, you also felt a surge of need to take from him as much as he was taking from your pliant body.

You held Steve’s gaze as you straightened your back and started riding him; your fingers squeezing his antlers.

When your climax hit, it was intense and unworldly.

The first burst of it felt like falling into a cool mountain streak, only for the next tremors to fill you with heat and glow. Your head spinned and your moans and cries intertwined with small gasps of laughter. It was everything at once! Running with the wolves, picking fresh raspberries, twirling around in summer rain.

And when Steve followed soon after, cumming with a loud roar, each spurt of his seed seemed to immerse you in hot springs.

It was a rush of sensations; overwhelming, but addictive.

When you met Steve’s gaze - both of you breathing heavily and still rocking into the continuous rhythm of aftershocks - you had no idea your irises bore first specks of inhuman green. All you knew was that you wanted more.

And so you demanded it.

Steve’s grin at your responsiveness was near predatory. He pinned you beneath him on the soft mossy pillows, placed your ankles over his shoulders and plunged into you in a hard thrust that had your scream echoing through the woods.

Soon you’d be bound to him and the forest with every cell of your changing body.

#aspensenchantedbday #buckets-and-trees #Steve Rogers x reader #Steve Rogers x you #Steve Rogers x female reader #Steve Rogers imagine #Steve Rogers fic #Leshy!Steve Rogers #leshy!Steve Rogers x reader #entwined

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twilightcitysky · 7 months

Text

Courtship

“Crowley, come in! I was just redecorating.”

“Really? You never redecorate. Last change you made was in 1860, when you had the plumbing installed.”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “After everything that happened, I started thinking things over,” he said tenderly. “We almost lost the bookshop, but here it is, good as new. We almost lost the world, and… and now that we didn’t, I want to make some changes. I think it’s time.”

Crowley frowned. “Here, have you got something in your eye? You keep blinking.”

Aziraphale stopped trying to flutter his eyelashes. “I’ve painted the back room,” he said eventually, in a more normal tone of voice. “Would you like to see?”

He headed towards the door without waiting for an answer and pushed it open. “What do you think?”

“Oh, um. Very nice. I might’ve gone with a warm gray, or maybe mother-of-pearl… but yellow’s good too.”

“I happen to like this particular shade of yellow,” Azirphale said, a trifle testily. “Very much.”

Crowley held up his hands. “Hey, it’s your bookshop. Are you ready for lunch?”

“What’s this?”

“They’re flowers. Roses, dahlias, and a few Peruvian lilies.”

"What do they do?"

Aziraphale, holding out the intricately beribboned, carefully wrapped and above all expensive display from the most exclusive florist in London, began to feel a bit awkward. "They… smell nice, I suppose? And they can brighten up a room."

Crowley peered over his glasses. "Sure, for a little while. But they're cut, see?" He touched the bottom of the bouquet, as if Aziraphale perhaps hadn't noticed. "They'll die in a week."

“I suppose. I thought you might–”

“Is this more redecorating? I can help with that, no problem. Listen, why don’t I get rid of these for you… and if you’re wanting something for the bookshop, we’ll get a nice rubber plant to put under the window.”

Aziraphale sighed.

“Oi, angel! Think you dropped something!” Crowley jogged to catch up with him and put the matte black box, which he’d left on the seat of the Bentley, back into his hands.

“Ah. Actually, you see… that was for you.” Aziraphale felt his cheeks heat. “In case you got peckish,” he added lamely.

“This fancy stuff? Men break into bedrooms at midnight to leave this kind of chocolate next to pillows. Saw it in an advert.”

Aziraphale brightened. “Would you like me to break into your bedroom?” he asked, a tad breathlessly.

Crowley laughed. “What for? Listen, why don’t you have these. You’ll appreciate ‘em more than I will.”

“Are you ready to go?” Crowley glanced at his watch.

“Just one more thing. I. Er. I-thought-you-could-wear-this,” Aziraphale said in a rush. “If you like.”

Crowley took the velvet box from his trembling hand.

He opened it. “It’s…”

“Yes?”

“It’s very sparkly.” Crowley held the ring up to the light.

“It’s a diamond,” Aziraphale said desperately. “A diamond ring.”

“Oh. And you’re givin’ it to me because…”

“I–” Aziraphale stopped. He searched Crowley’s face, looking for a flicker of understanding. “My dear, I would like–”

“Oh wait, let me guess. It’s for your magic act, right? Are you practicing palming again, or is this the sort of ring that squirts ink when you twist the jewel?” Crowley pulled curiously at a glittering stone the size of his thumbnail. “Happy to help if you need an assistant. Just no more bullet tricks, okay?”

Aziraphale stared at him. “Yes,” he replied dully. “My magic act. Yes. Exactly. I’m trying to make something appear.”

“Got it in one!” Crowley gave him a pleased grin. “I know you so well, angel.”

“I daresay you do.”

Aziraphale followed him out to the car. There’s nothing else for it, he thought. I’ll have to throw a cotillion ball.

#good omens #ineffable husbands #good omens fanfiction #good omens ficlet #Aziraphale #Crowley #Aziraphale is TRYING #crowley is as dense as a lump of teak that is canon #humor #silly fluff

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boldstarks · 2 months

Text

Giedi Prime (House Fenrir Dune AU)

word count: 1498 Words pairing: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Bene Gesserit!Reader warnings: none (yet) summary: you arrive on Giedi Prime for the Na-Baron's birthday celebration, but you have another task ahead of you.

Before you arrived on Giedi Prime, you didn't believe a place could be completely devoid of color, but as you stand on one of your father's heighliners looking over the planet, you have come to believe what they say. You peered at the black and white planet below from the bridge as the ship waited for its permission to land on the surface. House Fenrir was one of the many invited to the celebration for the Na-Baron's twentieth birthday and one-hundredth gladiator fight.

Even from outside the atmosphere, you can see the planet is heavily polluted from the fervent industrialization led by House Harkonnen over the centuries.

A nervousness settled in your stomach when you entered the planet's orbit, and your father's reservations about the match weren't easing the anxiety creeping through your bloodstream. Today was the day that you would begin to seduce the Baron's heir.

"We could always go back home," the archduke said. He has joined you at the window.

"It would not serve our house to make an enemy out of the Harkonnens," you reply in a monotone voice.

They were known for maintaining a cruel and tyrannical grip over their worlds. Violence and war were ingrained in their culture, and you had no doubt they would inflict that bloodshed on your people. If their treatment of the people of Arrakis was any indicator of how they treated those who displeased them, you knew they could do the same to Fenrir.

"Wise words," Lady Aurelia, your father's concubine, said.

Lady Aurelia was the closest thing you had to a mother after your own had died of a mysterious illness during your adolescence. You knew she did not see you the same way, though. Your father openly favored you and your older sister, Maron, over her two sons. To her, you were simply an obstacle in the way of her eldest son inheriting your father's title.

"They could reverse engineer our harvesters or simply kill us and take over production, and the emperor wouldn't bat an eye," you said, turning away from the grim image of the planet that you would soon call home if all went according to the Reverend Mother's plan.

"I hate the thought of leaving you in this place," Vulcan says.

Lady Aurelia sighs. "Y/N can take care of herself; I've seen to it."

"Lady Aurelia is right, father. I am more than capable of completing the task that the sisterhood has given me," you tell him.

Your reassurance only causes the worry lines around his mouth and forehead to deepen.

"Your Grace," a servant said.

The three figures at the window turn, and the servant curtsies quickly in respect.

"We have been given permission to land, Your Grace. We await your command," the servant says and curtsies again.

You watch her nervously scamper off. It seems that Vulcan wasn't the only one on edge today.

The landing was relatively uneventful, and the surface of Giedi Prime was just as bleak as you imagined. There were no natural plants in sight, and the air had a bitter taste to it that coated your tongue, throat, and sinuses. It made you miss Fenrir bitterly, with its vast oceans and thick forests that enveloped the less developed parts of the planet.

In the light of Giedi Prime's black sun, your ice blue dress looks silver. It's form-fitting to your body with a halter neck and leaves your arms bare. The look was completed with teardrop-shaped pearl earrings set in silver hardware.

A female servant is already waiting for you when the ship lands. She is pale and completely devoid of hair. She wears a dark-colored dress of a peculiar cut, and she keeps her eyes on the floor.

She curtsies deeply when you step off the ship with your father and Lady Aurelia into Harkonnen Palace's ship dock.

"I have been ordered by the Baron to show you to your quarters before the spectacle, Your Grace," the servant says in a small, timid voice.

Your father opens his mouth to reply, but the girl turns on her heel quickly and hurries toward another crowd of visitors being led by another woman in an identical dress. She waits to let the guests from a house you didn't recognize pass before continuing her beeline to the door.

You see Vulcan and Aurelia exchange a glance before all three of you follow after her.

The inside of the Harkonnen Palace is just as bleak as the outside. It is made up of identical black and white hallways; one could easily get lost in them. The servant girl expertly navigates these identical hallways without raising her eyes. She's obviously been here for quite a while. You wonder what horrible things she witnessed, or perhaps endured, in her employment here.

The woman is completely silent until she arrives at a nondescript slate gray door with a black panel installed on the wall next to it. "This is your room, Lady Y/N, and your parents are right beside you."

She motions toward an identical door to the left.

Lady Aurelia goes to her and your father's door and presses her hand to the panel. The panel glows, and the door slides open.

"What did it just do?" your father asks, puzzled.

"The doors to your quarters are programmed, so you need your handprint to get into them, Your Grace," the girl responds. "The Baron has found guests feel more secure when they are the only ones who have access to their living space."

Your father nods and presses his hand to the panel. Lady Aurelia walks into their room without another word.

"Just knock if you need anything, darling," Vulcan said, following her inside.

Their door slides shut behind them, leaving you alone with the servant.

"How did I find my way around?" you ask.

The girl makes eye contact with you for the first time.

"I strongly advise you not to walk around without someone to escort you, My Lady," the servant girl said firmly. "This is not a place where one wants to get lost."

This wasn't a request; it was a warning. The girl's eyes darted back toward the ground. You place your hand on your door's panel. It warms slightly when it scans your handprint. The door slides open, and you step inside. The servant girl won't meet your eye again before the door slides shut.

If you were anyone else, you would feel as though you had stepped into the belly of the beast. But you're not just anyone; you're Bene Gesserit. You're exactly where you're meant to be.

---------

You sit on an elevated platform that sits slightly lower than the one occupied by the Baron Harkonnen, the Reverend Mother, and your father, the Archduke, along with an unknown count and his wife. The crowds in the stands below are packed with Giedi Prime citizens. The black sun has once again washed the color out of everything. You were provided a pair of small field glasses to view all the fights through.

You're sitting with six other Bene Gesserit sisters that you have never met before. Despite knowing little about them, having some of your sisters here is a comfort.

In some twisted way, you looked forward to having your way with Feyd-Rautha. The Reverend Mother Helen described him as violent, calculating, and isolated. The Baron and his brother, whom they called the Beast, were neither fit to raise an emotionally intelligent, stable child. That only made your job simpler. It doesn't matter how physically strong Feyd-Rautha is; he's sexually and emotionally vulnerable. And you could mold him into whatever you see fit.

The opening fights are lackluster. It's obvious the opponents have been drugged to ensure the safety of the Harkonnen gladiators. You noted this with distaste and nearly rolled your eyes. The Harkonnens claimed to be the most dominant, well-trained fighters in the galaxy, but they couldn't be bothered to truly fight someone without resorting to petty vices and trickery. Nevertheless, the crowd roars with satisfaction whenever blood is spilled on the sand of the gladiator pit.

Now comes the main event: Feyd-Rautha's one-hundredth kill in the gladiator pit. Was this the measure of a Harkonnen man? Slaughtering drugged prisoners was supposed to be a show of power and strength while wearing a shield.

A horn blows, and the crowd begins to shriek and whoop once again. In the arena, a large set of doors slide open, and the Na-Baron emerges from the darkness beyond the doorway, a knife in each hand. He raises them toward the sun and circles the pit. The light of the black sun glints off the blades. He's hairless, like the other inhabitants of his planet. He's dressed in light black armor and practically preens for the crowd before kneeling. He bows his head in respect to his uncle and dedicates this win to the man.

The Baron is satisfied by this display, and the barbarism begins.

taglist: @ariesmai

#dune #dune part two #dune x reader #house harkonnen #house atreides #feyd rautha harkonnen #feyd rautha x reader #dune 2021 #baron harkonnen #glossu rabban #bene gesserit!reader #Bene Gesserit #lady y/n of house fenrir

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weird-an · 4 months

Text

The door bell rings. It's the new gardener, Steve's mom informed him a week ago and fucked off to New York. Like she'd be around to watch the roses bloom this year.

This has to be a joke, Steve thinks numbly, when he opens the door.

"Hey, Harrington." Billy Hargrove grins at him, a toothpick between his lips. He's wearing a black overall - and nothing underneath.

Steve stares at the tanned skin and wonders if saving the town from monsters and a whole ass apocalypse isn't enough and he's being punished instead.

"Hey!" Billy snaps his fingers. "I'm talkin' to you, pretty boy."

"Oh." Steve blinks. He knows his attention span is fucked, but Jesus. To be honest, Billy is in good shape. Steve can almost see him lifting weights and wiping the sweat off his face -

"For the third time. Where are your mother's fucking roses, Steve?"

Steve absently points behind himself. "In the garden."

"No shit." Billy laughs. "Show me, then."

Steve does show him. Billy makes a face.

He mutters something that vaguely sounds like "what a dump", but Steve is too busy to stare at his ass when he's kneeling in front of the first flower bed.

Billy actually works. His golden hair up in a bun, chewing on the toothpick. His chest is shining from sweat and Steve watches his biceps curl. His left nipple is peeking out of the overall. Fuck.

Billy also yells. At the plants. Calls his mother's favourite hibiscus a stupid motherfucker and flips off the oak tree.

Steve is watching him, torn between annoyance and the tightness of his jeans. Billy's hands are dirty from the earth and he's panting when he digs through a flower bed no one has cared for in an eternity.

"Does your bush need trimming, too?" Billy asks, raising a brow and waving the clipper at him. There's a leaf stuck in his tousled bun.

Steve's face glows and it's not because of the heat.

"Uh..Do you want... some water?" Steve asks mechanically. That's something he should have asked two hours ago. Instead he was busy... staring.

"Yeah, thanks, pretty boy." Billy grins, teeth shining bright. He's got dimples and his face is sprinkled with freckles. Shit, shit, shit.

Steve watches Billy down a glass of water, Adam's apple bobbing. He's so fucked. He hides in the kitchen until Billy comes in to wash his hands.

"Done for the day. Can be 'round tomorrow. This shit show of a garden will take some time to get finished."

Steve imagines his mother hearing her garden called a shit show and literally clutching her pearls.

"Alright." He doesn't try to sound too eager.

When Billy is gone, he inspects the garden. He can't believe that Billy fucking Hargrove is his gardener. That he's actually doing his job.

The roses look okay. So does the rest of the garden. From what Steve can tell. The bush next to the pool... is shaped like a dick. Great.

Steve gets himself a beer. Desperate times call for desperate measures. He's half hard in his jeans. He hates himself, because he's about to jerk off to Billy Hargrove.

There's a note on the table. It's a phone number.

"You're so fucking obvious," Steve reads. "Luckily you're hot."

Well. It's a win, Steve guesses.

#harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #harringrove ficlet #steve x billy #gardener billy #not only crowley deserves to yell at plants #anger management at its best #i love the distracted by billy's hotness steve trope tbh

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albontology · 3 months

Text

it goes without explanation with zhou's new helmet is dope as hell. i will provide explanation anyways.

(above, zhou's helmet design as posted to the KV design twitter)

the central design on zhou's helmet is almost certainly inspired by the traditional craft of mother-of-pearl inlay in lacquerware, a practice which originated in China over 6 thousand years ago, and which has been developed and practiced in discrete forms historically in Korea and Japan alike. (continued under the cut!)

(on the left, a korean (goryeo dynasty) lacquerware stationery box; on the right, a chinese (song dynasty) lacquerware lidded bowl for cosmetics or incense. both photos via the met museum website)

traditionally, lacquerware is created through the refinement of a toxic plant sap into a naturally deep and glossy adhesive coat that is built up and polished often on top of wooden furniture and decorative items, such as chests and jewelry boxes. in the above examples, you can see two types of lacquerware practice.

on the left is mother-of-pearl inlay, which is created through the careful grinding down of tortoise or abalone shell into thin iridescent sheets which are then carefully cut into shape and imbedded into the coats of dark lacquer, being repeatedly covered and then polished down in the lacquer until the shiny shell surface is level with its surroundings. it's both visually stunning and incredibly labor-intensive: for a case like this, there would have been separate artisans making the wooden base box, making the metalware (hinges and clasps) for the box, applying the base layers of lacquer, and then completing the inlay itself.

on the right is (what i understand to be) a predominantly chinese lacquer practice, which is carving into the layers of lacquer to form images in relief. while this practice is not replicated on zhou's helmet, the image selected does display the pattern of the peony flower, which i believe to be the flower depicted in the inlay! the striations of the central petals seem to match zhou's. of course, this is speculative and only based off an amateur's eye, especially considering the motif of scrolling foliage is fairly ubiquitous and somewhat generic in east asian decorative art.

(on the left, zhou's 2024 helmet (detail). on the right, a detail image of a korean chest decorated with mother-of-pearl. zhou's helmet via twitter, right image via the met museum website)

the 'metallic' or 'holographic' effect a lot of people have recognized is a natural property of polished mother-of-pearl: look at the iridescence of the design! while it has been exaggerated to some extent on zhou's helmet (for good effect, i must say), you can clearly see the inspiration when compared side-by-side with a more predominantly mother-of-pearl composition: the variegation between blues, greens, and warmer peachy-reds is mesmerizing.

i really want to drive home how brilliant of a design this is and give the due appreciation to KV Design, who made this helmet for zhou. clearly a lot of thought and creativity went into it, and I can't wait to see it in action. >:D

#zhou guanyu #zg24 #f1

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astrolovecosmos · 3 months

Text

The Planets & Random or Obscure Associations

~Sun~

Creativity, vitality, head of state, the father, games, yellow and orange clothing, articles of value, jewelry, gold, brass, power, diamonds, citrine, topaz, jasper, amber, rhodochrosite, mistletoe, almonds, citrus, succulents, sunflowers, fevers, heart, back, spine, grapes, walnuts, rice, chamomile, frankincense, juniper, saffron, marigold, rosemary, rue, palaces, towers, luxury.

~Moon~

Eternal, cycles, silver, aluminum, pearls, moonstone, opal, selenite, chest, glands, lymphatic system, nervous system, emotions, mother, ancestors, nurture, rebirth, tides, baths, ocean, brew, boat, sap, willow trees, succulents, pale color plants, white flowers, cucumber, cabbage, lettuce, melons, shellfish, pumpkins, lakes, fountains, ports, fishponds, pools, springs, sewers, dairies, toys, reflection, blankets, objects of comfort.

~Mercury~

Communication, journal, pen/pencil, any writing tools, wings, phosphorous, mercury, agate, tiger's eye, brain, nervous system, eyes, respiration, thyroid, speech, hearing, intellect, vehicles, money, bills, paper, books, pictures, parties or social gatherings, scientific instruments, butterflies, messages, mail, hazel, mulberry, myrtle, seeds, aniseed, dill, fennel, lavender, liquorice, marjoram, parsley, valerian, hazelnuts, beans, mushrooms, pomegranates, carrots, celery, libraries, schools, markets, fairs, public spaces, tennis or badminton court, studies, banks, bowling greens, offices, blue, white, or light colored flowers.

~Venus~

Love, relating, lust, high-quality fabrics, copper, bronze, sodium, malachite, tourmaline, emerald, rose quartz, kunzite, sapphire, pastels, throat, kidneys, lumber region, art, music, aesthetics, social life, fashion, jewelry, wine, pleasure, alder tree, fruit trees, paint, ash tree, birch, pomegranates, early flowering, daisy, mint, marshmallow, meadowsweet, mugwort, plantain, tansy, roses, thyme, vervain, yarrow, potatoes, strawberries, wheat, sugar, nectarines, ballrooms, bedrooms, dining room, gardens, fountains, wardrobes, theaters, looking and feeling good.

~Mars~

Lust, conquest, desire, flaming sword, red things, fights, iron, brass, bloodstone, carnelian, cinnabar, pyrite, magnetite, ruby, garnet, hematite, muscles, reproductive organs, blood, kidneys, immunity, heat, action, arms, pepper, sharp instruments, cutlery, attacks, scissors, weapons, physical intimacy, bites, stings, scalds, burns, accidents, hawthorn, pine, thorns, cactus, aloes, anemone, arnica, belladonna, garlic, ginger, hops, mustard seed, nettles, wormwood, chives, onions, leeks, radish, rhubarb, tobacco, labs, furnaces, distilleries, bakehouses, ovens, smiths, butchers, fields, anger, passion, self-focus.

~Jupiter~

Expansion, optimism, religion, religious sites, tin, seduction, turquoise, chrysocolla, topaz, citrine, jasper, liver, pancreas, pituitary gland, sciatic nerve, excess, abundance, prophecy, philosophy, knowledge, universities, foreign travel, luggage, honey, oil, silk, fruit, distinct clothing, merchandise, horses, domestic birds, gambling, indulgence, entertainment, oak, dandelion, sage, endive, chervil, asparagus, figs, churches, temples, palaces, altars, courts, mansions, woods, orchards, winery, cornucopia, connecting with the soul.

~Saturn~

Limits, boundaries, father time, lord of death, shadows, lead, iron, steel, calcium, asbestos, sulphur, diamond, onyx, calcite, skeleton, spleen, skin, teeth, nails, joints, structure, crystallization, old age, blockage, anything dark, wool, heavy materials, agriculture, wheelbarrows, spades, farm houses and buildings, cold, laws, aspen, blackthorn, buckthorn, cypress, elm, toxic plants, hemlock, henbane, belladonna, hellebore, barley, beetroot, safflower, parsnips, spinach, deserts, woods, valleys, caves, church yards, ruins, coalpits, sinks, wells, mud, institutions.

~Uranus~

Eccentrics, mavericks, invention, genius, revolution, change, trends, disruptive science or tech, uranium, magnesium, lapis lazuli, sapphire, aquamarine, azurite, chalcedony, electricity, neon lights, plaid, nervous and circulatory system, pineal gland, chaos, violence, upheaval, astrology, steam engines, coal, machinery, coins, baths, fishponds, dangerous places, computers, magnets, quantum physics, research, welfare, humanity, hypnotherapy, railways, banks, gas, psychiatric hospitals, offices, hospitals, dispensaries, fortified places, chemicals, mingled/mingling, spirit and matter.

~Neptune~

Illusions, veils, diffuse, deception, water, oceans, mysticism, enlightenment, artistic pursuit and understanding, zinc, potassium, amethyst, fluorite, jade, sugilite, coral, aquamarine, pineal gland, lymphatic and nervous system, spine, mental processes, addiction, psychoses, disease, photography, music, substances, gas, religion, poetry, mimicry, chameleon, anesthetic, telepathy, empathy, dancing, psychic gifts, places near water, hospitals, places of healing, jeweler, painters, brewers, musicians, visionary.

~Pluto~

Power, influence, darkness, new life, what's hidden underneath, seeds, volcanoes, deep earth or ocean, bury, explosions, eruptions, abduction, plutonium, smoky quartz, obsidian, jet, pearl, deep reds, reproductive organs, the unconscious, nuclear, transformation, death, birth, rebirth, underworld, riches, earthquakes, big business, murder, detection, detective, invisibility, sneak, enforced change, hidden places, underground, drains, sewers, radioactive places, the occult, black magic, sacrifice, renew.

#zodiac #astrology #planets #sun #moon #mars #venus #mercury #jupiter #saturn #uranus #neptune #pluto

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miguelhugger2099 · 4 months

Text

Origins

Summary: How you and Miguel came to be the Goddess of Life and God of Death/ First meeting Part 2 from Snowfall. I caved. Next Miguel x Fem!Reader, Fluff, proofread but eh, Word Count: 1,497

Trillions of years ago, when Mother Earth had come to, she decided to birth two beings of life and death.

You were born from a pearl that had washed up on shore after a tsunami, where the sun had shone directly on you upon your birth. You woke up on the beach, the waters splashing on your feet to wake you. You looked around to see no one there except the drum of life beating under your hands. You felt Mother Earth speaking to you, whispering in your ears. Conceived from the water and delivered by the sun, you began your duty as the Goddess of Life, creating new and exciting things to occupy the area.

Miguel had been born right after you, always a loyal one. Birthed from a single stray petal of a marigold flower that had died during a volcanic eruption. He rose from the ashes and obsidian around him and some of it was sticking to his skin. He groaned as he felt the cataclysmic energy burning in his palms while Mother Earth spoke to him. Deeming him the God of Death who would oversee the afterlife and send the energy back to her to be reused again.

Rather than considering the two of you as her children, she classed you as separate entities, gods on the same level as her, tied to your duties with the powers you held. While she gave energy, you would form that energy to create life and then it would eventually be passed to Miguel who would preserve that energy in death and send it back to Mother Earth. You and Miguel still found it more comfortable to praise Mother Earth as a higher being since she had given both of you life. Thus, you two lived your life as servants of her, tending to her and eventually working with humans.

For the longest time, you and Miguel had never crossed paths. For eons, you both had been harnessing and practicing your newfound power, like baby steps for humans. While you worked on creating small insects and fruits, Miguel had been turning some of your plants into poisonous ones and accidentally creating diseases amongst animals. It's not his fault everything he touches turns for the worst!

The moment you had met was the moment neither of you would ever forget.

Humans had just started to be born, a small project Mother Earth had been conjuring up with you. A family was beginning to start with two sets of grandparents, the mother and father and their newborn baby girl. You had been overseeing this family, making sure everything was in check and that the seasons were warm enough for the babe to arrive.

Finally, the baby had been born after hours of labor, the sounds of cheers across the room while the mother was handed her baby. The mother cooed at her child and you watched next to her with soft eyes, having been keeping watch over this family for generations now. You held your hands over the baby's small body and prepared yourself to send your blessings of fertility and prosperity.

Suddenly, you felt a shift in your chest like something interrupting your ritual. You looked down at the baby with worry, wondering what could've happened. The mother and father had noticed a difference in the baby's behavior. She stood still and her little body never even began breathing after just a few seconds of being born. You took a step back, nearly crumbling at the sight. What was going to happen to her now?

Before you succumbed to madness, you saw a large hand hold the baby's head from behind you. You gasped and turned your head to see the God of Death for the first time. His eyes were neutral and unwavering even as he gently helped pull her soul out her body and cradled her in his arms. You watched with a bated breath and confusion in your eyes as the baby fell asleep in his embrace. You looked back up at his face to see he was still looking down at the child.

“Stillborn. She was never going to make it,” He explained softly. His voice was mellow and calm despite how deep it was. He turned to look at you and felt your breath being taken away. His eyes were somber and not all there in the present but they held a softness to it for a grim reaper. His eyes were red. What a beautiful color. “I'm sorry.”

He apologized for ruining this even though it wasn't his fault. He was just simply the collector. The family had begun to sob, clutching their baby and weeping for the universe to bring her back. They became angry at death, questioning why she had to die.

He had heard their insults and knitted his eyebrows together with a purse of his lips. He took a small breath before walking out of the home to send the child to the afterlife. You took another look at the family, deciding you had done what you could and left to follow the God of Death.

“Wait!” You called out, stopping just a few steps behind him. His back faced you but he paused when he heard your voice. His black silk robe fluttered in the breeze as he waited for you to insult and berate him.

“Thank you.” You sighed. He turned to look at you over his shoulder with disbelief. You walked up to him and raised your hand to place it on his arm when he faced you completely. He flinched back before you could and became defensive.

“For what?” His tone was on guard, not trusting you quite yet. You approached him again regardless, placing one hand on his bicep and the other to caress the baby's cheek. You looked down at her sleeping form, peacefully resting in his arms.

“For caring about her.”

He could've very well just ripped her soul painfully out her body, dragging whatever it was to the afterlife with little regard, but he held her as if she was still alive. He continued to hold her and lead her soul somewhere with someone at her side rather than doing it alone.

His mouth had slightly parted in surprise. He had never thought that the Goddess of Life would ever appreciate his efforts. It's why he's always avoided you. He thought you would think of him soiling your creations, ruining all things good by touching them. So he just watched you create from afar, admiring your work and your smile. Doing the dirty work while you weren't looking to protect your lack of knowledge about the afterlife.

You looked up to face him with that same smile and if he had a heart, it would skip a beat. For the first time, he got to see the way your eyelashes batted up at him and that there were a few sparkles in the rim of your eye color. You were more beautiful up close than he thought. He took the time to drink in your features, darting from the dip of your nose to the shape of your eyebrows and the curve of your lips.

He felt warmer and that alone was strange. His eyes glanced down at your hand on his arm where he figured out it was you making him warmer. It was comfortable and he…liked it. He saw the sun set behind you, giving you a soft glow on the curves of your cheeks and hair, the breeze gently flowing through. He took a step back, almost fearful of the power your beauty was gaining over him. He knew he'd soon crave your warmth again but his job came first.

“You're… you're welcome,” He muttered bashfully. “I have to…take her now.” Gesturing to the baby and you nodded, looking at him with amusement.

“Okay.” You giggled and he turned and looked away to hide his cheeks despite not being able to blush.

“Take care.” He looked at you behind his shoulder. Your heart swelled at the shy look on his face and you waved goodbye, feeling good about this interaction.

“I hope to see you again, my lord.”

“…Likewise, my lady.”

That night, you could not get his charming eyes out of your mind. Your hands dug into the damp soil, humming your power into the ground to come up with a new creation.

You carefully began sculpting your project, stretching out the stem and creating a bountiful amount of petals to create a new flower.

You had the image of the petals being the same color as his eyes–a gorgeous ruby red, with the stems being covered in tiny thorns much like his guarded personality. When you were done, the piece had been turned into a proper flower brimming with life and ready to be planted into Mother Earth. You decided to call it a rose–a flower humans would eventually associate with love and romance.

A/N: im not AS proud of this as the first one but i still wanted to write this little au anyway just to post something teehee

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x y/n #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o'hara x you #miguel spiderman #miguel spiderverse #miguel x reader #miguel ohara #spiderman 2099

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amethystfairy1 · 22 days

Text

Why does Tango wear a crop top? 🤔

Let's find out...

10 Years Ago

Under-City Labs

“Little spark!”

“What!? What!?” Tango about toppled from the step-ladder he was sitting on, in order to reach up and tinker with the guts of a massive sorting machine he’d designed for identifying resources from deliveries and then transporting them to the lower levels.

He spun where he sat to swing his boots over the edge of the step-ladder and peered down.

Doc was standing there with a supremely disappointed expression on his face. Tango immediately filed back through all of his doing within the past month trying to figure out what he’d messed up this time.

The creeper mutant tapped one loafer a few times.

Tango matched ruby red eyes with him, trying to keep any nervousness off his face.

“Y-Yeah? What can I do for ya, Director?”

“Do not call me that.”

“Doc. What can do for ya, Doc?”

Doc’s natural eye narrowed.

“What are you wearing?”

Tango glanced down at his outfit. Currently he was wearing a redstone streaked old tee shirt he’d long since torn the sleeves off of. It was oversized, to be honest he might’ve stolen it off of Jimmy in high school, he didn’t really remember. His claws were on full display, caked with grime considering he put them use helping him work with the finer wiring.

Instead of using. Y’know. Pliers or something.

“W-Work clothes? Why?”

“Those are not work clothes. Work clothes are gloves and long sleeves, Tango.” Doc replied with the tone of a mother hen, and the little blaze-born whined in the back of his throat.

“But it’s sooooo hot in here! I’m already on fire!”

“So you are. That does not mean you cannot get burnt or cut working with these machines.”

“I’m careful…” Tango began but Doc raised his eyebrow at him with a firmly set jaw and folded his arms, augmentation over green skin.

“…ish.”

“Gloves and long sleeves.”

“But Doc! I also use these for working with wiring, it’s easier than pliers!”

Tango made grabby hands down from the step ladder at Doc, clicking the sharpened tips of his claws together.

Doc’s augmented eye adjusted, red glow flickering. He tilted his head and heaved a ragged sigh, raking back longish dark brown hair with his metal hand and planting his other hand on his hip.

“I can see that, and for small projects that is fine, but not when you’re working in mechanical here.”

“But it’s so hot.”

“Then take breaks!”

“I don’t wanna take breaks!”

“Tango!” Doc’s tone dropped one octave from his already deep voice, and Tango flinched. His flares momentarily went out completely before sputtering to life again. He’d been practically raised by this man, and now that he’d started at the labs earlier this year he’d been trying to learn the balancing act of their workplace dynamic.

Which, as it turned out, wasn’t all that different from their dynamic anywhere else. Doc was allergic to authority and despised formality, for the labs was more like a big conglomeration of the under-city’s best and brightest just kind of…figuring things out. There was a loose hierarchical structure, but that was more just so the assignment of workflow would be more comprehensible and less completely and utter chaos.

So Tango huffed and spun back toward the machine he was tinkering with, shoving his hands up into the wiring, tongue poking out and worrying between his sharp teeth as he shouted back in reply.

“Fine, fine, fine, I hear ya! Gloves and long sleeves from tomorrow on out, you got it!”

The Next Day.

“Tango!”

Tango fumbled the comparator he was holding and dropped it to the ground with a clatter he jumped so hard when that booming voice shouted over his workshop area within the mechanical branch of the labs.

“Why have you gotta scare me like that!?” The blaze-born demanded as he turned to see Doc picking his way around the chaos of Tango’s workshop area. It wasn’t exactly organized, but it was organized enough for him, and sure, the last time Pearl had visited him during work hours she’d about had a conniption, but whatever. This was how he worked best.

“What is that!?” Doc gestured at Tango pointedly.

“What? You said gloves and long sleeves, so I’m wearing gloves and long sleeves!” Tango was barely able to hold back the mischievous grin that tried to clamber upon his face.

Doc looked him up and down twice.

“You’re kidding me.”

“Gloves and long sleeves. See?” Tango set the comparator he’d been carrying aside and then threw his arms out and made jazz hands. His flares crackles and his blaze-rods danced and twirled to mirror his amusement at Doc’s rather stunned expression.

Tango had traded the old cut-off tee for a tight, bright red cropped long sleeve that cut just beneath his pecs, leaving the entirety of his toned stomach exposed down to his belt, which held several tools as well as a carabiner clip for his gloves. His brown work gloves were new, Doc had gotten them for him as apart of his toolkit for starting work in the mechanical sector of the labs full-time after having helped out more and more since his mid-teens. They still felt a bit stiff, but Tango supposed they’d break in the more he wore them.

Doc planted his head into his hands and groaned.

“Little spark, you’re going to drive me insane, aren’t you?”

“Pleased to be working with you too!”

Tango saluted, then spun on his heel to return to his work, his tail coiling and twisting cheerfully behind him, and Doc rolled his eyes, but didn’t fight him anymore on it.

...

And there you have it! That's why Tango wears a crop top! Because he's a little shit who subscribes to the idea of malicious compliance!

This was a bit short for my taste to post on A03 with the entire series proper, but I felt like just writing it anyway, and I figured would be fun to have them over here! I'll be tagging little stuff like this as 'ttsbc ficlets' and if you have any other small seeming innocuous questions about TTSBC or Traveling Thieves that you think would be fun to see answered in this format, please do send me an ask! I think it'll be fun and as some of y'all who have followed me for awhile may know, I struggle with writing short, so this seems like it'll be good practice!

Hope you liked it! 💖

#fanfic #hermitcraft #through the sky blue cracks #traffic smp #docm77 #tangotek #ttsbc ficlets #worldbuilding #writing #ficlet

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