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tarjapearce · 5 months

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Heathens (Pt. 1)

Priest! Miguel O'Hara x Nun!Reader

art by @maxro_art on IG (Her Deliverance AU is ❤️❤️🤌🏻)

WARNINGS: MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. If you're sensitive regarding religion, please don't read this. Masturbation in holy places, explicit language, wet dreams, Female anatomy, oral ( F receiving) Gentle Dom Miguel, Corruption kink, overused tropes cause yeah, a tinge of yandere undertones if you squint, mutual lust, Not Proofread ~

Summary: Father O'Hara had a little lamb ~

A/N: Another for the Miguelverse ~ Reblogs and comments are much appreciated c:

Main Masterlist

From all the places you could've find solace from war, The house of God was the least of lieus in your list. Not that you had a choice.

Family long gone after unsuspected explosions decimated your town, followed by constant tragedies such as losing friends along the way either by enemy and merciless hands or sickness. In the end, it was only you. You had outlived them all despite your short age. And now, they lived crammed up in your memories.

Happy, smiling and very much alive. Sometimes you'd see familiar faces on stranger's bodies. Grief had slowly nested within your soul and when all hope seemed lost, the chapel had saved you from what surely would end up in your premature death.

The blackest of black matched the crispest white you had ever seen, they were all donned in their beatific robes, prayer beads dangling at every gentle step they did. And there it was, epiphany unfolding itself before your experienced in horror eyes. It was your call.

All the answers to your laments and aching heart were sent as them. Nuns of the Mistbourne Parish. A church located in the outskirts of a now rundown by conflict Nueva York. The church that now played a major role in taking in as much people within their sacred walls, before they could be dispatched to a more adequate place.

Without hesitation, you had joined. And now, six years later you still remained with them. Early twenties had settled right for you as a nun. Ever devoted, compassionate, and diligent.

As time went on, the main city was reconstructed, burying it's dark tragedy under freshly built towers, hiding the pain under the rugged carpet full of concrete and wire homes, like nothing ever happened. Like if war had never stepped upon it and gave it a much needed renewal at people's lives expenses.

But no matter how many changes time brought, life in Mistbourne's Parish remained the same. Untouched by the technological advances from the outer world. There was always something to do, as simple as it was. And so far, you've been satisfied with it.

The only alterations worth of mention was your holy family expanding.

A new couple additions to the staff. More sisters, an eighty percent of them were beyond fifty. You were the youngest, their child. After all some ended up raising you within the house.

And him. The new priest.

The tallest and bulkiest man you've ever seen. As much as staring was considered rude and borderline a sin, it was unavoidable to do so, when his rusty brown eyes fell upon you. Their color unique, like he was. Never in your life had you seen someone like him, or another man besides the butcher and the guard. He had definitely been a regular man before coming here.

The soft weary expression lines in his sharp countenance revealed his own fair of lived experiences.

He towered over you, crisp white dot on his black rimmed neck line, parading his status with modest pride, and golden praying beads dangling on his narrow hips, you held yours while asking forgiveness for keep staring.

"Father."

Father O'Hara. In his mid thirties, broken family also torn by war, wearing his vows in the shape of a ring on his right hand.

"Sister"

His voice deep yet gentle, like a lullaby. His steps took him away to his own residence. The rectory outside the church.

It made sense as to how some workers were renovating it in the past few weeks. The parish last priest had been sent off in sacred duties, only to realize later that he had killed a man. Cops and detectives surely made a show out of it.

Dark times, according to Sister Lianne, one of your mother figures. But now, Father O'Hara had taken his place, erasing all traces of the previous man with concise and pithy actions.

He took his role seriously. Said masses on sundays, visited the sick, baptized people; but his most popular feat was to hear the confessions. The most intimate secrets revealed to him by either your fellow sisters or people from the town that came to expiate their sins in hope to be forgiven.

You'd sometimes run into each other, bumping casually in the narrow wooden floored halls, you'd often apologize, only to reciprocate a polite smile on both ends. He'd sometimes help you out by carrying things a bit too heavy, or you'd help him out lighting up the altar for his speech.

Yet, his hands in one occasion took an accidental taste of your body dimensions underneath your beatific robes, while preventing you from falling down the stairs. He'd scold you for being careless and carrying things that obscured your sight.

After many sorries on your behalf, you returned to the cells and went straight to your own dorm, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

His hands felt burning upon remembering the dents of your form, the curve of your waist and certainly the warmth that irradiated from you, so so close from his.

Unexpectedly it had brought memories from his past. His old life where he'd have his lovely and temporary companion for the night impaled deliciously with himself before war and hell broke loose. Before he was forced by the subversives that raided his town to create a new fake identity in the spot as they heard him speak spanish or fight a war he hadn't started, much less would end. And so, his life as Father O'Hara begun.

Odd enough, the sudden and thoughtless choice had granted him peace after witnessing so many terrors his fellow human could be capable of. His need of help has always been stronger than anything and when he finished licencing some sacrifices were required.

Poverty vows weren't an issue since his previous life had been modest yet good enough to go by. Little difference between his current lifestyle.

The obedience vow took him a little longer to fully yield. But he accomplished it to a T, just to avoid more trouble. He faked it until he made it.

His chastity vow had been a quite the challenge to perfect, but no matter how much the temptations paraded before him in the many parishes he was assigned to, he didn't give in. His libido had been sapped out of his body, like a campfire after completing it's useful cycle.

Not because of his brand new sanctity invested by holier-than-thou elders, but rather a broken mind full of grievance and other negatives that always haunted him. The gunshots and bombings too fresh in his mind.

It had been years since he touched someone in a way that wasn't holy. Since he had provoked things in someone else that clearly would make him go under the laicization from the clergy without second guessings.

Until he held you the other day.

Both of your eyes too enraptured in eachother that had sent an igniting spark to his spine. Reviving all those inactive nerves he thought his existencial toll severed long ago. His eyes had gave a brief rake over your face.

Wide and round eyes staring back, both in awe and surprise straight into his soul. Nose flaring softly just like your mouth, whose bottom lip trembled at the little erratic breaths your lungs exhaled upon being in physical contact with a man for the first time in ever, while cheeks bloomed with a not so discreet flush. And your body heat.

Jesus all mighty.

It was dangerously tempting. For a brief moment his past self had taken over, but quickly vanished upon hearing steps. Earning you to fix your crucifix and cowl nervously and him to fist his hands to refrain himself to take another taste and fix his collar and cassock.

To his conclusion, the robes you wore did not match what was underneath. He noted much, but having you wear that loose habit only fuelled his now active and sinful imagination. An opposite from your habits' purpose.

Priest life was hard, and the Celibacy vows were his biggest damnation. Mind often plagued with 'I shouldn't have done this.' 'This is ridiculous' 'Fucking idiot' 'Why did I even lie about this?' But even so, priesthood was better than ending up dead or mutilated by mines somewhere in the battlefield, in the middle of a war he didn't started, much less would end.

Government later was forcibly recruiting all those men, be them widowed or married. It didn't matter. War wasn't for him. Neither Priesthood.

But he'd bear it. He'd bear it until he was put in another parish church full of older and witty ladies he'd definitely wouldn't lust after.

----

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

The sweet voice behind the confessional punctured walls, perked up his ears. He had memorized a lot of things, your voice included.

"I... I haven't confessed in weeks. But it grows me concerned that... my mind is somewhere else."

Silence. You were met with silence as expected, it also encouraged you to keep talking.

"A man has flooded my thoughts and no matter how much I try to occupy myself, he's there. Leading me to temptation and sin."

A man?

His brow quirked as he slanted over the little wooden division between you, to hear better and take a peek on your face. The only men he could think of was the guard, the butcher and himself. The only men inhabiting the same area as you.

"How does this man tempts you?"

"He... He visits. In my dreams I mean and..."

A low 'forgive me, God' echoed in your stall. His throat dried and his hands rested on each side of his knees, gripping at the fabric of his pants.

"He does things I know I shouldn't partake in... But, it feels too real."

"You sound scared. Does it frightens you?"

"Very much so. But it is a strange sort of fear, Father."

"What kind of fear then?"

It took you a long pause to muster

"A fear of him stopping his visits in my mind."

He gulped.

Your hands took the crucifix and held it tighter, "For him to stop doing such sinful things to me, even in my dreams."

"Have you sinned in the carnal affairs?"

"N-No. I would never. I've never engaged in them, Father."

His groin twitched, as a hand raked over his scalp. A shaky breath that was forced to come out in silence. Only when he thought you couldn't be more innocent, there you were proving him wrong.

"Ever?"

"I promise to you with my life, I've never."

"I must know" He wetted his lips with his tongue, "What kind of things does this man does to you?"

"W-What?"

Your spine straightened up instantly, eyes wild, staring another hole into the already punctured division. Cinnamon color in his skin, the only brief glimpse you managed to see. But even so, his gentle yet cornering voice brought you down from your initial jump.

"I need to know, so I can dictate a penance."

The flush on your cheeks returned, burning bright upon remembering the all too lucid dream you've been having about your secret man. That, even though visited frequently, you still didn't know his face, just his body as it smothered yours wholy in a constant merciless and scorching rut.

All what you remembered was him feasting between your legs like a starved man. His hands maneuvering your soft mounds to then give a gentle squeeze.

"His hands are the ones that bring the sin, Father."

"Explain yourself"

His voice was sultry, buttery rich and smooth on the other side of the stall. A subtle order. To your dismay, that same demon had a similar voice tone. Alluring, speaking to you in a foreign language it had you mewling and asking for forgiveness every time you remembered, cause you had begged the faceless man for more.

"He touches and... t-tastes places I shouldn't allow no man to delve in." With a thick gulp you continued, "His tongue is... marvelous."

His eyes widened for a second as his hand hovered over his crotch

"Marvelous?"

"I feel the biggest sinner by admitting this. Please, do forgive me."

"Accountability is part of the process."

He tried to sound as professional as he could, but little did you know his mind was torturing his already crumbling resolve with such vivid details. Celibacy wasn't a problem, until now. Hearing such sinful words coming from such a unsuspecting thing like yourself, a virgin that is, made his old self to re-emerge.

Disguising himself as a sheep, while he fought through his holy learning years to tame his wolfish appetite.

There were plenty of ewes in the flock , but so far the only one that made his mouth water was you. A perfect little lamb. And now, this. We're you set to making him break his vows?

No. You weren't. He was reaching his limits to break celibacy and you were just having wet dreams about someone that definitely made him wonder about your past life. A past lover? No. Not even that. A possession? A demon? No. Definitely not.

He had heard things whenever on lunch duty. Mindless talk that revealed more to him from others and you than they intended to. You, a nun. Picked up from a ravaged village nearby and raised within the nuns, meaning, you had zero idea of what pleasure meant.

He believed, but wasn't a complete blinded idiot to faith. Your body was asking for physical and forbidden relief. Just like his.

But again, the golden band around his right hand not only forbid but also was the perpetual reminder of what was a stake.

"I know, Father. But... this man has such power over me that has pushed me to sin. He... he has pushed me to take such vulgar matters in my own hands."

Maker's mercy

His cock twitched harder and he was unable hold back and gave a firm squeeze while biting his lip to quiet himself at the long forgotten and heady pleasure that was drowning his body in an alarming rate.

As if done of being fed lies and a quick and sloppy handjob for ages. It was disgusting how easy was to sin, how well his body ached and reacted to such stimulus. How effortlessly his old habits had caught up to him.

He was the one that needed a penance now, cause he couldn't shake the image of you spread with your legs wide open, naked, sliding your fingers in between your weeping folds. You'd certainly have your mouth shut or lips bitten to avoid having anyone hear you.

He had closed his eyes while his jaw clenched, occasionally sweeping his tongue over his lips to keep them moist.

"Say it. Say your sin."

He commanded in a voice that had your cheeks flustered and your pearly nub a throb. His hand half squeezed half stroked over his clothed groin. Swollen and needy cock begging to be set free and properly taken care of.

"I..." A dry gulp and your hands went to your crotch, begging your nature to behave. Cheeks impossibly red.

"I've enjoyed touching myself after dreaming a man... f-fucks me, Father."

The word 'fuck' coming out your delicious looking yet pure lips, had his teeth gnawing at the insides of his cheek, self control harder to keep under the leash. It barked, howled even demanded for more explicit details.

Instead, he sighed quietly and cleared his throat. The sudden noise had you gripping the skirt of your habit in shame.

Miguel didn't say much besides the prayer of absolution and a couple of more prayers as your penance. The same right hand that was squeezing his cock was now being kissed by you, to confirm your forgiveness. Plump, warm and soft lips caressed his ring finger.

And once you were gone, his hand took control on its own, slid under his soutane to stroke himself. If you felt like a sinner, he was the devil himself.

The vice like grip in his own cock made him shudder, sensation foreign yet so welcoming after years without it. A little whine escaped past his gaping mouth, exhaling pecaminous breaths as he stroked like teenage boy that just discovered masturbation for the time ever. Sloppy, desperate and wet motions echoed in the now sullied stall.

He fisted his hand tighter, thick fingers coaxing a much needed release, hips rutting into his choking hand. Quiet whimpers and an array of curses flew out his mouth.

His flushed tip swayed and shook under his own rough ministrations while his jaw clenched, he clawed at the chair when hot and thick spurts of his cum dribbled down his hand and wrist before time; pooling in the hollow of his palm while earning a gutural growl that dissolved into a shaky whimper, as he curled against the wooden and punctured wall for a brief lapse of seconds to regain his composure.

"Fuck..." He had to lay against his chair to keep the light-headedness at bay, drowning in his own made pleasure, panting like he had run a marathon for hours.

He shouldn't have lied back ago. And definitely shouldn't have become a priest. He was soiling their already tainted reputation. His old self was back to stay.

He cleaned up his hand under his robes to then leave to change. He was given a glimpse as you were picking up some harvest in the orchard while he was making his way back home.

---

Window's glasses echoed with the soft rain. The parish has been quiet during weekdays, but busy for you. As winter approaches the harvest must be picked, the grains sorted and the meats stored.

You saw Father O'Hara less and less, and when you did, they were mere glimpses. He was as busy in meetings with other priests, or preparing for the mass that was now given twice a week.

If you weren't in the garden or the laundry, you were in the choir.

Lingering yet brief gazes chased each other. He had heard some nuns speaking about him, some had wonderful things to say, saying that he had been one of the most efficient priests the church has had.

Others mentioned between hushed and bashful whispers about his physical condition and how they caught him go for runs at crack of dawn a couple of times.

And you, just wanted to go to confession again and ask for forgiveness. Not to spill the advantures you had in your dreams with a man that oddly resembled like Father O'Hara, but to unleash your heart's desires to wonder what was beyond the parish.

It was your life, all you've ever known so far. But one of those trips to the city during a beneful visit to another location, had left you amazed. How could a world so different like yours could be considered bad and straying?

But again, vows. Your vows bound you, and once broken, there was no turning back. But right now all that mattered was to get to the dorms. The rest was out in another visit to the city, you were to stay to finish your tasks in the kitchen.

Weather changed so abruptly that one moment you were taking the last basket of vegetables inside, to then run for the dorms to seek refuge. But they were far and the only thing in sight was Father's O'Hara rectory.

It was either getting a terrible fever from the cold and unforgiving rain or ask him to lend you an umbrella to mitigate the glacial numbness spreading through your body. Another reason you barely went out during these days, rains in the countryside were merciless.

Miguel was tending his own garden when the rain begun drenching. Even more when the thunders broke the peaceful white noise. He removed his soutane and shirt off leaving his inner vestments free, but the desperate knock on his door made his undressing ritual to stop.

While quirking an eyebrow, he approached the door and opened it. Eyes widened in surprise upon seeing you, soaked through your bones. lips blue and shivering from the cold.

"P-Please-"

"Jesus. Come in."

He ushered you in, then rushed to get a towel. A frown in his face deepened upon hearing your teeth clatter, clothes stuck to you like a second skin.

"C-Can I... borrow your... u-umbrella?"

Without much though he smoothened the towel against your face, drying it.

"An umbrella? Really?!"

A vehement shake of your head, while trying to get him off you.

"You're freezing cold, the dorms are too far for you to leave. Don't be stubborn."

"I... I don't h-have clothes."

You mumbled through rattling teeth while your eyes darted hazily over his naked torso. He sighed.

"Unbelievable. You're freezing to death and you're worried about clothes. Get them off, I'll put them to dry."

He grumbled while taking more logs into the fire to what would be his living room. If it wasn't for the glacial and biting freeze that refused to leave your body and the foggy thinking in your brain, your cheeks would be beyond red. Crimson even from such simple act.

A weak nod you gave. Your hands stopped bracing your shivering body to focus on removing the cowl and headdress. Releasing through shaky motions your soaked hair that wasted no time to stick on your face and neck.

The next was your crucifix, and praying beads, the tempo you removed them could make a slug to easily win the race, this alarmed him greatly. He had seen what hypothermia did, way before turning himself into this holy persona.

Without much thought, he peeled off your habit that weighed you down.

"Qué mierda más pesada" (Such a heavy shit)

He held you by one arm as he removed the outer layer off. Your eyes drooped and he gave you a little shake.

"Hey, hey, look at me."

Eyes concerned raking over and it dawned on you. Those eyes, the same beautiful and unique eyes were the same that visited in your dreams.

A difficult gulp rolled down your throat as Miguel kept undressing you while grunting. Wet clothes were a pain in his beatific ass. Shivering dicreased, but your lips remained blue, a new shade of purple drawing over them.

"I-It's so cold" You mumbled through laborious breaths.

"Course it's cold. You're soaked! What were you even doing?"

The way he scolded you felt like someone you've known for years was giving you a lecture. So casual, homey, normal. It was Miguel O'Hara speaking, not Father Miguel. The ever gentle and patient man you've been helping.

"Jesús bendito, con cuánta cosa te vistes." (Holy Jesus, so many layers.)

He murmured while pushing you to his chest as he removed the dress that covered your underwear. It felt like a heatless body had been thrown over him, but the warmth irradiating from him felt heavenly. Your form instinctively nuzzled your head on his chest. He had to stop to gulp at the sensations

Even though his mind slapped itself, His couldn't help but wander over your shivering and weak body.

"W-Wait"

A small dark patch hovered above the joint of your legs. Taut peaks followed by lovely areoles ever standing and shivering under the flimsy white fabric of a short nightgown that proved even harder to remove since it clung to you like a second skin, refusing to abandon your body.

He peeled you off of everything despite your protests, but was sufficiently prude to not look over your naked form. A minute too slow and it would be late. Like the young boy in his arms, that had died out of cold once the subversive groups arrived in the forsaken town, they had forced him and the rest to go through a frozen river. He made it, but the boy didn't.

His mind wasn't in the tip of his cock.

That will come later.

But his brain had only one single purpose right now. To keep you alive but for that he needed keep you warm.

Despite the recklessness of his actions, he pulled a freshly folded duvet around while pulling you ontop of his chest and sat together near the fire. Hands moving to dry your hair as much as he could. Your skin was full of goosebumps, frosty to touch, that relished into any source of heat available. His torso, the duvet and the raging bonfire made your head spin.

It felt like his hands, rubbing some life back into your arms while he shielded your body, embracing your form with his torso and limbs. Like a paramedic on duty. Your cheek smooshed against his solid chest, it made him shudder with your own coldness but eventually the body heat treatment would be effective.

"Sorry" it was all you managed before your teeth shuddered again, and his fingers caressed your neck, placing a new wave of delicious heat on your skin.

"You'll be fine."

Your body was slowly but surely returning to it's temperature. Miguel remained there, basking you within his body, fingers gingerly caressing as much cold skin as he could under the duvet. Even his breath provided a little heat. Your erratic breaths collided against his skin, earning a discreet shudder from him.

You had drifted off to limbo, trying to sleep a bit, but unable to completely do so. Not when a man, the Parish Father nonetheless, was holding and nursing you back to an acceptable temperature with his own.

"Father O'Hara..."

Miguel's ears perked up upon you mentioning his name.

"It's Miguel."

He mumbled while drawing lazy circles on your lower back. The fire and the duvet had kept you toasty to curl even more towards him. Teeth no longer clattering.

"Thank you, Father."

"Stop."

His eyes rolled in annoyance, as his hands stopped caressing your skin to then rub his face.

"Stop calling me that."

"But that's your-"

"I don't like it."

He grumbled while looking down at you.

"Call me Miguel."

"I can't do that. Feels too disrespectful."

"I'm not Father O'Hara here, understood?"

You nodded

"Are you cold?"

"I am. Not as before but yes. Has it stopped raining?"

His own smell was making your mind a puddle, some of that fragrant incense remained etched on him.

"No. Just got worse."

You sighed while resting your head on his chest. Heartbeats a mellow lullaby.

"I'm sorry for all of this."

"You were cold and soaked." He pointed dully and bored.

The duvet was brought closer to your chest while staring at the flames. Fingers tracing a lazy and mindless pattern in his abdomen.

"I was picking up the last batch of harvest when rain poured on me."

Your toes curled in as a soft breeze flickered the fire and he tilted his head to watch you closer.

"Now I'll have to explain why there isn't enough corn."

"We'll go by. It's ok."

"Are my clothes ready yet?"

A snort that would be translated into an 'Are you kidding me?', your brow furrowed.

"You'd be lucky if they get dry during the night."

Another defeated sigh. But a sudden thought however made your cheeks burn faintly.

"D-Did you see me naked?"

"No."

Oh.

There was a silent pause before you spoke again. Curiosity tempting.

"Have you seen other women naked?"

He huffed playfully while pushing your hair away from your lovely and sweet face.

"Yes. I was a regular man before all of this."

His fingers curled up in his hand, morphing into a lazy fist

"Do you miss it?"

"Would be a liar to say if I don't."

"You... You've had sex before?"

He chuckled while with an open palm, took a taste of your skin, deliberately roaming your lower back. You shuddered.

"I did. Plenty of times."

Your audible gasp made his eyes droop hazily in a smirking grimace.

"I was told it felt marvelous."

You looked up at him and he pulled your chin upwards, he really had to keep his restrain under a leash to not take you here and there, instead, he cupped your face and hovered his lips over yours

"Do you want me to teach you, Sister?"

He was the demon. The very same one that visited in your dreams and left you a soaked mess. A little too late you'd noticed that he wasn't wearing his vow ring. It was placed somewhere else you truly couldn't care less at the moment.

You only nodded.

"Use your words, dear"

"Please", you gulped, "Teach me."

It was in that moment that he sealed your lips with his. Your first kiss ever. Chaste and sweet at the beginning that slowly turned into this obscene display of his mouth assaulting yours with his tongue in between gentle licks and bites of his lips.

A shaky whine then a whimper escaped your throat upon feeling his hands skimming down your spine. He only let you go when you tapped out for air.

"How often am I on your mind, pequeña?"

Finally the demon in your dreams had turned into a reality. Eyes were closed, unable to look at yourself melting under his touch. Nipples perked against his chest.

Plump and hot lips caressed yours but they stopped. Hands pulled you upwards, Miguel turned you around so your back was now colliding with his chest.

"You're still cold."

Cheeks grew impossibly red while he slowly peeled off the duvet out of your body, leaving you bare before him. You gulped as he moved your hair to a side and slowly kissed up and down your neck.

His hands were unable to resist any more and cupped your mounds, like in your dream. Calloused palms, rough against soft breast.

"Qué maravilla. Is this how your dream goes?

Legs smothered together, a little strip of hair etched to your pubic mount. He hummed in appreciation to then part your legs above his. Cunt pulsing at the coolness of air brushing past it.

Both of your legs dangled ontop of his as you remained nested above. Your heart beat at the playful moves his middle and index finger pulled on your nipple as his free hand darted over the joint of your inner thighs. You could feel him trembling underneath, the restrain made his breath hitch.

Your own turned erratic once more as he slid three fingers in between your folds. A shy Ah escaped your lips while he used two of them to part the outer labia

"Look at that, little one. Is that what you touch when thinking of me?"

Drunk eyes darted between your legs and his skillful hand, the engorged and pearly clit peeked out as one of his fingers flickered slowly. Focusing the right amount of pressure in it that had your moans shaky. He paused to adjust his fingers as they caressed and rubbed as much flesh as they could.

Mouth etched to your ear. Deep and needy breaths fanned behind you

"So so pretty. Look at that"

He made a show of his fingers coating themselves in your slick. One of his digits hovered over your entrance, slowly it disappeared inside. A muffled groan echoed in the void space

A wet and shlicking sound came from his ministrations, head unable to move, too enraptured into watching him sliding in and out. Skin bloomed with a new wave of goosebumps as his tongue licked your neck and earlobe, rewarding you for taking one finger deliciously, that he licked up clean before going back to rub at your clit.

"Want to add another?"

A breathless and hissing yes.

You didn't know who was with you right now since Father O'Hara couldn't. Your brain still refused to believe they were the same man. One preached and talked mass every Sunday, the other had your head spinning while his fingers explored your insides with such gentleness it only increased your whimpers and need for something more and bigger within you.

"Does that feel good, Hm?"

A dumb nod while more escaped your mouth repeatedly

"More?"

"Please!"

How could he deny to such petition? Even most when you were gripping him so deliciously and pulsating with every stroke he delivered in, grazing at your sweetest spot.

"Like this?"

He increased the tempo and your breath hitched, hips moving to meet his fingers aiding them to reach deeper and deeper.

Breaths turned into short and shallow pants, blood rushed to your cheeks. One of his digits pushed past between your lips meeting your moist muscle that wasted no time into kissing it. All you could hear was yourself and your weeping pussy that demanded for more.

But they weren't enough. Brain was sent into an override when the climax washed over you. All the pent up need and lust drowned you. Strong pulsations dictated the contractions that trapped and milked Miguel's fingers. Mind split in two in a shattering and core shaking spasm.

Mouth gaped, eyes heady and drunk with blind hot pleasure, body convulsed while an array of mumbles and clumsy curses flew out of your mouth to finally end with a delicious quivering cry.

"It's okay, shh, it's okay, pequeña." He cooed you through it while kissing your neck. Heart pounding in your ears.

It took you a moment to breath properly. How could you have missed this? How could you remain so ignorant to this? Alienated from something you were often told it was dirty and condemning.

He had only touched in the right places and you were melting. But why stopping there? You knew he also wanted you, his hard on pressing over your lower back, begging to set free.

"M-More"

He shook his head with a proud smile

"Can't do that, preciosa"

A capricious whine came through your throat, "Why not?"

"Cause, as much as I'd love to take you until you recite the bible backwards to me, you know what could happen."

"You don't want me, then? Why stopping now?"

"Far from that. And we must be discreet. Wouldn't want you to be whipped by Sister Lianne."

He took your hand and kissed your wrist. While his other limb pulled you closer to him.

"I am the only one that shall leave marks on you, my dear. Is that clear?"

"Yes, but-" He took your chin in a gentle but firm grip.

"Is that clear?"

You nodded with a pout.

"Lay on the bed."

"What? "

"Lay on the bed, so I can taste you."

Miguel could fulfil that fantasy. With Bambi-like steps you pushed yourself up and walked over his bed. Plush surface welcomed your body under a creak.

"Spread them."

Toes curled up for a second before spreading them open. Clit already tingling with a foreign yet needy sensation.

He kneeled before you, like he did every day he worshipped the Lord. But this time it wasn't God, but you. Nose nuzzled over your inner thighs while taking a whiff of your scent. Tantalizing and so alluring for his own senses.

Slow and deliberate kisses were placed above your flesh, the strip of hair that decored your pussy, to finally sink in between soaked folds.

The mewl you gave only made him feast upon you. Hands grope the sheets by instinct as he spreaded you further.

His tongue lapped and curled at your hole, slurping it without refrain and inhibitions. Devouring it like it would be his last meal.

Your dream had felt too vivid, yes, but this was completely different. This was in a whole new different level. His corruption had tainted your soul and it was gladly welcomed into your arms.

Legs twitched and shook while your head was thrown back, chest heaved with shallow breaths, unable to breath properly as his tongue was set into fucking your drooling hole.

The way his tongue fucked, dribbled and guzzled your cunt had you mewling and moaning the filthiest things you didn't think possible you could get out.

Good was an understatement, heavenly was a measly word to compare what you felt like. It was maddening and he gave you no rest.

Have you ascended? No. He just wrapped your supple thighs around his head, preventing you from squirming too much, holding your hips in place as his sloshing and assailant mouth gave you no rest.

You hadn't recovered completely from the other orgasm when a new one had approached. Lurking around your senses.

His name was moaned, over and over and when your hands were done of clinging onto the sheets, you held onto his hair. Silky and smooth chocolate locks slid under your fingers.

Eyes peeked over you, and he had to pause for a moment to squeeze his cock. Aching and weeping for him to let him free and make you his. But that would come later.

That would come much later when he had more leisure time and when he'd get protection. As much as he wanted to wreck your snug cunt, he didn't want you to be whipped and shamed like another nun was when the higher ups found out she was pregnant by an outsider.

"Miguel"

His name on your lips rich and tasty, like him.

Your voice snapped him out of his trance to immediately go for your clit. Plump lips pursed and captured the engorged nub. While his hands pushed your legs up and folded them, giving a complete access to your pulsating pussy.

He slurped and souped while his tongue teased. Wet laps sent jolts through your spine each time he tasted you.

Too much. Too good and too soon, yet he didn't stop. He shook his head like a mad dog subduing it's prey and that move alone had you gushing over his mouth. He quickly gobbled it all down.

You whined, cried and blabbled, even tried to pull his head away but he delivered you a last stroke with his tongue to then lick his lips clean.

"Please"

You mumbled through blown breaths as he watched you with a lust blown glare.

What had he done out of you?

"Greed is a sin, my dear."

What had he created?

"But if you're good enough, the wait will be worth it."

His little lamb was so willing for him, aching to be tainted, corrupted even more. And his task was to banish such whims.

He'd given you a taste of what laid ahead. A promise of a much unholy reward if you followed this path with him. But your resolve had been made the first time you came.

He'd be your first and last. There wasn't any need for another to teach you what he was compliant to demonstrate.

You'd be his to fuck. His to tame and corrupt.

You'd be his.

---

Taglist:

@plumplumpurin

#miguel o'hara #t writes✨#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o'hara x you #atsv miguel #miguel o hara #miguel ohara smut #priest miguel #Miguelverse #spiderman 2099 masterlist #spiderman 2099 smut #priest au #afab reader #Miguel O'Hara x AFAB Reader

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bellaxgiornata · 10 months

Text

Falling For the Devil [Part eighty-six: "The Moving Day"]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader

Summary: The day you move in with Matt has finally arrived!

Or Some strange, nervous feeling eats at you all day and then keeps you up that night.

[Series of one-shots about Reader meeting, falling for, and dating Matt Murdock.]

Warnings: 18+ for this series; contains humor, fluff, romance, angst, smut (like...a lot of it later in the series), language, some violence

Word Count: 4.8k

a/n: Somehow light angst crept into this installment when I was writing it and it took me a few days to figure out why Reader was acting so strange on me and Matt, BUT I figured it out and left it in for some Sweet Matty at the end. Y'all know I love the shit out of him. So technically this is a light bit of angst with comfort at the end? Either way, I hope you enjoy Reader FINALY MOVING IN WITH MATT! Y'all that have been reading this series since back in February have been waiting months in real time just for this day to finally come!! Now it's finally here! And as always, feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @ninacotte @mattkinsella @stilldreaming666 @murdocksclient @madscamp02 @1988-fiend @lina-mar @pinkratts @schneeflocky @acharliecoxedfan @yarrystyleeza @theetherealbloom @danzer8705 @lionalsowrites @harperdoodle

The movers had already finished bringing all of your things up into Matt’s apartment–or rather, both of yours’ apartment as you’d often had to keep reminding yourself today–about twenty minutes ago. You knew Matt, Foggy, and Karen would be showing up from their half day at the office any minute, which was why you'd begun unpacking in the bedroom first. You didn’t particularly need your friends helping you put away your underwear and some of the other, more personal items which you had packed in your bedroom boxes. Though you certainly had a feeling Marci would only be all too happy to snoop when she showed up later after work.

Fortunately it hadn’t taken you long to put away your more private items before you’d moved on to hanging up more of your clothing in the left hand side of the closet where Matt had long ago made space for your things. On the far right neatly hung all of his suits with their braille tags on each of the hangers. Seeing more of your things hanging next to his still had you feeling inexplicably giddy, but ever since you’d left your apartment for the last time this morning and come to Matt’s, something else that you couldn’t quite place had slowly begun to take root in your mind.

This whole situation felt surreal to you. You’d spent a long time wanting to be with Matt during your friendship after you had first met him. Through all of that time you never thought you would be good enough for him, never remotely the kind of woman who could possibly catch Matthew Murdock's attention. Not after you had seen all of the women he usually had been hit on by and those you’d seen him flirt with in return. And especially not with how charismatic, intelligent, and successful he was. You were just the awkward journalist that he’d always said made any situation highly amusing and uncomfortable in a matter of seconds. Yet here you were, hanging your skirts next to his dress slacks in the same closet. Your toothbrush sat next to his on the bathroom counter. And soon your coffee mugs and dishware would be mixed in along with his on the shelves in the kitchen.

Because you were finally moving in with him.

The full reality of the situation hadn’t completely hit you yet. Though you had a feeling it would later tonight, after all your friends had left and it was just you and Matt here afterwards, when all of your things were fully blended with his. Despite the excitement you felt at moving in with Matt, and with what that might mean for your relationship moving forward, there had been a nagging feeling in the back of your mind slowly growing louder as the day wore on. You knew you were going to be freaking out once the giddiness wore off and the reality settled in, but you’d tried to keep that pushed to the side as you unpacked. You didn’t have time to try to unpack that right now, too.

As you finished hanging one of your skirts on a hanger, you overheard the sound of the apartment door unlocking before it swung open. It was mere seconds before you heard Matt’s voice through the apartment.

“Sweetheart?” he called out.

Chewing your lip, your heart nervously sped up in your chest at the sound of his voice. You hung up the skirt you’d had in your hand in the closet before you turned and made your way out of the bedroom. As you maneuvered around the boxes, you could hear the loud scoff Foggy made all the way across the apartment.

“Matt!” he complained. “You were supposed to shout ‘honey, I’m home’ when you came in!”

“Foggy, I told you I wasn't doing that,” Matt replied.

A small grin settled on your face as you listened to the three of them taking their shoes off in the entryway hall. You did your best to navigate through the messy living room where there were boxes piled everywhere as you listened to them.

“Don’t ruin this for me, Matt!” Foggy snapped. “This is a big day for me!”

“For you?” Karen said with a laugh. “You’re not the one moving in!”

“No, but do you know how long I hoped for this day for Matt?” Foggy countered. “ Especially after learning about what he does in his free time outside of work? I never thought he’d find someone and settle down. I was afraid he’d be alone forever!”

“Thanks, Fog,” Matt said flatly.

Skirting around another stack of boxes, you heard Matt calling out your name. You laughed lightly as you overheard Karen and Foggy continuing the conversation Matt clearly wasn’t remotely interested in.

“I’m here, Matty,” you called back. “Just trying to make my way through the mess that has become your place.”

“Our place,” he immediately corrected.

“Right, yeah,” you agreed quickly. “That might take me a bit to get used to.”

You came to a stop beside the leather couch when Matt came into view at the end of the entryway hall. Grinning wide at the sight of him standing there smiling in your direction, you felt your cheeks heat.

For some reason you felt unnecessarily nervous. You hadn’t seen Matt since yesterday morning, and because you’d spent most of this past week packing, you’d been unable to spend much time with him. You hadn’t seen him nearly as much this week as you often did, so now the sight of him was suddenly shaking loose all sorts of dormant butterflies in your stomach. Once again you were awkwardly gnawing on your bottom lip, unsure how to properly greet him in the moment–and then that was only making you further nervous.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Matt said, sliding his glasses off of his face.

Matt’s eyes lowered to your chest, a small smile playing across his lips. No doubt he was noticing the way your heart was nervously beating at the moment. You knew he always loved the way it reacted to him, but you also knew he was unaware of exactly why you were nervous this time. Granted, you weren’t entirely sure what was with your nerves, either, today.

“Hey, Matty,” you greeted back softly.

You continued to worry your bottom lip between your teeth, your hands fidgeting in front of yourself as you took in the sight of him. His suit coat was draped over one of his arms, leaving him in just his light blue dress shirt, the sleeves of which were rolled up already. He looked good–like he always did–just standing there smiling at you with so much warmth and love on his face.

“For fuck’s sake– kiss her already!” Foggy shouted.

“Foggy,” Karen sharply reprimanded him.

Your cheeks only flamed further as Matt’s smile widened. Wordlessly he crossed the room, easily stepping around a box as he made his way towards you. Breath catching in your throat, you watched as he tossed his suit coat onto the back of his couch in a fluid motion before he was standing before you. Without pause his hands reached up and cradled your face in both of his palms, tilting your mouth up towards his before he dove in for a sweet, lingering kiss. When he pulled back away, smiling down at you with that absolutely breathtaking smile of his, you were left stunned and speechless.

“It was lonely here without you this week,” he whispered.

You swore your heart skipped a beat in your chest. “Well I’m–I’m here now, Matty,” you murmured.

“Great!” Foggy exclaimed, clapping his hands loudly together and causing Matt and you to jump apart. “Now let’s get started unpacking so we can get to the pizza and beer part of the day!”

______

Changing out of the jeans and tee-shirt you’d been wearing all day, you gradually got ready for bed in the bedroom. Down the hall, you could hear Matt brushing his teeth in the bathroom. You both were worn out from the excitement of the day, and you were just ready for sleep already. Between overseeing the movers, unpacking all of your things into Matt’s space, and socializing with your friends, you felt exhausted. And for some unexplainable reason there was still something that just felt off with you. There was still some nervous energy you could feel lingering inside of you that you couldn’t quite place. It had only grown stronger ever since your friends had left and Matt and you had straightened up the apartment a bit before bed.

It made no sense why you felt this way, either. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t stayed the night at Matt’s apartment countless times over the past few months now. You’d spent many nights brushing your teeth and changing your clothes getting ready for bed here, plugging your phone into the very same charger on the nightstand by your side of the bed at least a hundred times now. You knew Matt wanted you here–hell, he’d told you that at least ten times today already.

So why were you feeling that nervous, queasy feeling in your stomach? Why was the prospect of staying here tonight–and every night from here on out–giving you butterflies of a different kind all of the sudden? Why was there that nagging little voice in the back of your head still growing louder and louder despite your inability to decipher its meaning? It didn’t make sense.

“You alright?”

Startling at Matt’s voice, you spun on the spot and found him standing in the doorway of the bedroom. His brows were drawn together on his forehead as he eyed you curiously.

“Yeah,” you said with a nod, turning and grabbing the pair of cotton sleep shorts you had laid out on the side of the bed. “I’m just tired. It was a long day.”

“You want me to get the light for you?” he asked.

“Sure, thanks,” you replied.

As you pulled your shorts up your legs, you noticed how Matt hesitated in the doorway, just silently focused on you. It wasn’t until you grabbed your shirt from the bed next that Matt finally turned off the light before you heard him gradually making his way through the bedroom and over towards his side of the bed.

You knew he’d already undressed before brushing his teeth, currently wearing nothing but his usual black boxers as he pulled the sheets back on his side of the bed. Normally that would elicit a reaction from your body, because knowing he was almost naked and you were about to be in bed with him, even when you were too tired for sex, made you feel something . Because he looked like one of those Greek gods chiseled from marble under his clothes and your body always unconsciously reacted to him. But tonight all you felt was that ball of nerves sitting in the pit of your stomach. It didn’t help that you figured he was probably picking up on something being off with you, too.

Drawing the sheets back, you climbed into the bed beside Matt. Nervously you rolled onto your side to face him, soon feeling his warm hands landing on your hips over the fabric of your clothes. Grabbing you tenderly, Matt pulled you in towards his body and until you were resting with your head on his chest. He gradually settled underneath you, one arm wrapped under your waist while the other draped over the top of it. Timidly your own hand reached out as you lightly slid it across his toned, warm chest.

“Mmm, finally,” Matt contentedly hummed out. “I spent all week missing falling asleep with you, but now I’ll always have you here with me.”

For some reason his words only caused the nerves to twist in your stomach just a bit more. You hummed out an affirmative noise in response, unable to trust your voice as you smiled softly in the dark. Internally you were trying to understand what the hell was going on with you. You’d been so excited this morning at the prospect of finally moving in with him. Excited that this move meant Matt and you were so much closer to bigger things in your relationship–like a possible engagement.

So what the hell was with this strange, nervous feeling?

You startled when you felt Matt’s fingers gently brushing some of your hair from your face, having been too deep in your thoughts to have noticed he’d moved. You knew he’d caught that little surprised jump instantly when his fingers paused along your temple.

"Are you sure you're alright, sweetheart?" Matt asked carefully. "You've seemed unusually nervous today. Your body still seems a bit tense."

“I uhm,” you began, your index finger lightly tracing a pattern along Matt’s bare chest, “I’m just a little nervous. You know me.”

You laughed briefly, trying to make light of the situation so he would drop it. You knew how excited Matt was for you to finally be here and how long he’d been waiting for this moment. And it certainly wasn’t like you hadn’t felt the same, but you didn’t want to ruin your first night here with these weird nerves you couldn’t begin to explain. Knowing Matt, he’d feel bad and think he’d done something wrong, or that your anxious feeling was somehow because you didn’t want this or him–which was not the case. You’d never been more sure of anyone before. You knew you loved Matt.

“Okay,” he said slowly, his fingers sliding down from where they’d lingered along your temple to lovingly stroke your cheek. “But if you want to talk, you know I’m always here. You can tell me anything, sweetheart.”

You forced the smile onto your face again as you gazed up at him from your place along his chest, the rough pads of his fingers still tracing your cheekbone gently. He was so good to you and that only made you feel worse about hiding something from him, no matter how stupid it seemed.

“I’m just tired,” you told him. “It was a long day dealing with everything with the move. I’m sure I’ll be my normal, slightly less nervous self in the morning.”

“I’ll love you however you are in the morning,” he murmured, leaning forward to kiss your forehead. “Because I love you .”

A more genuine smile slipped onto your lips, your eyes closing. “I love you, too, Matty,” you whispered back.

Silence settled in the bedroom as you felt Matt’s body relax beneath you. No doubt he was exhausted from having worked late last night, helping you unpack your things today, and then trying to relearn where some things now were in the space that had been just his for so long. You knew he’d had a long day, too.

With your eyes closed, you tried to let yourself relax and drift off to sleep. You did your best to focus on the usual faint sounds of the city a few floors below the apartment in conjunction with the steady breaths you could just barely hear coming from Matt. Despite how toned and firm Matt’s body was, you’d always found lying with your head on his chest far more comfortable than using a pillow. You weren’t sure if it was really because Matt was that comfortable or if you just loved that level of closeness and intimacy with him, though for some reason tonight you were finding yourself unable to just fall asleep.

Without a clock, you weren’t sure how long you’d laid there awake, curled up alongside Matt trying and failing to sleep. Though it had to have been awhile because you’d long since noticed Matt had fallen asleep, the steady and rhythmic rise and fall of his chest easily cluing you in. Yet still you just couldn’t shake that nervous feeling swirling uncomfortably inside of you. The longer you tried to force sleep to come, the more awake you steadily felt yourself becoming.

Eyes flying back open, you laid there for a moment in the dark as they tried to adjust to the near blackness in the bedroom. Gradually your head rose and fell along with each of Matt’s even breaths, but you only found yourself growing more restless next to his peaceful form. Lifting your head slowly from him, you very carefully tried to disentangle yourself from the hold he had on you without waking him. Which truthfully was a near impossible feat to accomplish– except for when he’d recently fallen into a deep sleep. Like right now.

Moving slowly, you slid towards the edge of the bed, carefully pulling the sheets from yourself before you climbed off of the mattress. A chill ran through you at the loss of Matt’s body heat, the cold air of the apartment in comparison drawing goosebumps along your bare arms. You pulled the sheets back up on the bed and turned, quietly making your way towards the bedroom door. Cautiously you slid it open, not fully closing it all the way behind yourself afterwards before you turned and focused on the space before you.

Now that you were out of bed, you weren’t entirely sure what to do. As you stood there trying to figure it out, your arms wrapping around your chest, you watched the light from the billboard just outside the large windows wash the space in a glow of blues and greens. After a moment you figured you could get yourself a glass of water and that might help you relax.

Making your way through the living room towards the kitchen, you came to a stop just in front of the shelf filled with cups. Both your glass cups and Matt’s were perfectly lined up side by side. On the shelf beside it, your plates and bowls were stacked neatly on top of the few that Matt already had. For a minute you just found yourself staring at them, realizing how full Matt’s normally sparse shelves looked. Glancing back over your shoulder, you spotted your television stand now situated across from Matt’s leather couch, your television sitting on top of it. The two armchairs that had always been opposite the coffee table were both now to the left of the couch, still giving Matt plenty of room to navigate from the entry hall to the living room, and from the living room to the stairs that led to the roof access. It looked different though, despite the familiar light from the billboard swathing the furniture in a myriad of colors.

As you stood there staring at the furniture, that nauseating, nervous feeling finally fully uncoiled inside of yourself. You suddenly understood what had been gnawing at you all day.

It felt almost familiar here. It wasn’t quite Matt’s place that you’d grown accustomed to over the year the two of you had been together, but at the same time it still was the apartment you’d spent so much time at. But it just felt different. It certainly wasn’t your apartment and it wasn’t exactly his, either. It was something else entirely. And that was what had been nagging at you all day–the unfamiliarity of this space.

For some reason the longer you stared at the television and everything that looked different and changed, the more you felt the increasing sting of tears in your eyes. Why you were suddenly getting emotional was beyond you, though. Reaching up, you wiped a hand at your eyes, trying to force the tears back. Somehow that only had them watering more.

And that was precisely when you heard the bedroom door slide open all the way and you jumped in the kitchen at the sound. Your focus shifted from the television to Matt standing at the edge of the bedroom, clad in only his dark boxers. There was a small frown on his face as he focused on you, his head slightly tilted to the side.

“Sweetheart?” he called out. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

You nodded immediately, trying to smile despite the tears still welling up. “Yeah, Matty, I’m fine,” you answered.

His shoulders dropped at your words and you wondered if that had registered as a lie to his ears. Matt immediately began shuffling his way towards you through the living room, his bare feet gently padding along the floor as he moved. You saw his brows faintly pull together and noticed the frown was still on his face as he made his way towards you. His focus never left you as he maneuvered around the rearranged space, though.

“Are you crying?” he asked softly, entering the kitchen.

“No, I–”

You stopped at the same time Matt came to stand just in front of you. A look of concern was etched on his face as he reached a hand up, his fingers gently grabbing onto your chin and tilting your face up towards him. His eyes worriedly scanned around your face, searching for answers as he quietly said your name.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

“I–I just–” you broke off, shaking your head as he still held your chin. “It just feels…different here. Not the same,” you finally admitted.

“Is that what’s been bothering you all day today?” he asked.

Pressing your lips together, you nodded. Matt’s expression softened as he continued to gaze back at you, his thumb brushing along your chin.

“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” he asked.

“Because I didn’t want to upset you. And I didn’t know what I was feeling,” you confessed. “Not until I couldn’t sleep and I came out here and saw your furniture all rearranged and a television in your living room. And–” you waved a hand at the shelves beside you, “– actual dishware on your kitchen shelves. And there’s a fruit bowl with actual fruit on your counter. I mean there’s–there’s actually food in the fridge here, not just beer and eggs,” you continued on, the words tumbling out of you. “All of my clothes are in your closet or your dresser now. There’s tampons in your bathroom, Matt!” you exclaimed, the little amused chuckle he made barely registering in your ears as the words continued to nervously spill out of you. “I have dirty clothes in your laundry bin and my skincare products in your medicine cabinet and a vibrator in the nighstand–”

“What’s that now?” Matt asked, quick to cut you off as his brows rose, a cheeky little smile pulling at his lips. “What’s in the nightstand?”

You shot Matt a pointed look, one hand lightly swatting at his bare chest. The cheeky smile grew into a grin as he released your chin, both of his hands landing on your hips as he took a step closer towards you, closing the bit of space there had been.

“It feels different to me, too,” Matt admitted. “Things aren’t where I’m used to them being. And your scent is vastly stronger now with all of your things here. Not to mention there’s now a light buzz from the television–”

“I’m sorry,” you immediately blurted.

He continued to grin, shaking his head. “Don’t apologize, I can tune it out. I don’t expect you to never relax and watch your shows again, sweetheart. Or to not keep tampons in the bathroom or food in the fridge. But do you know why it feels different?” he asked you.

“Because all of my shit is here cluttering up your space now?” you joked.

He silently shook his head, suddenly walking you backwards and guiding you with the hands he had on your hips. Your brows drew together as he led you a handful of steps back until you eventually bumped into the counter behind you. Before you knew what was happening, Matt’s hands had lifted you up and set you on the countertop behind you, that smile on his face never wavering as the billboard washed him in red. His hands slid your bare knees apart as he slotted himself between your legs, your faces almost eye level now as he focused along your mouth.

“Because it isn’t my place and it isn’t your place,” he whispered. “It’s our place. And it might feel a little different,” he continued, his hands making their way to behind your back as he clasped them together, his eyes still focused on you. “And maybe it’s a little overwhelming right now, too.”

He leaned forward, lowering his face to press a kiss to your shoulder. Your eyelids dropped closed, a small smile playing along your lips at the sweet gesture. Arms raising up, you encircled them around Matt’s neck and held him to you.

“But this place is what we make it now,” he finished softly. “You and me. Because it’s ours . Like I’ve been saying all this time.”

Eyelids fluttering open, you saw Matt’s face was mere inches from yours now. A tender expression was etched along his features as he stared back at you, slowly lowering his forehead to yours. Leaning in towards him, you connected your mouth to his for a kiss that was full of emotion. His mouth moved so gentle and slow against yours, the feel of him reassuring and calming. You could feel all of your nerves slowly dissipating and leaving your body the longer he kissed you. Relaxing even further into him, your arms tightened around his neck as he deepened the kiss.

The two of you stayed like that in the kitchen for a few minutes, entirely lost in the moment, before Matt gradually broke away. His nose lightly bumped against yours, a smile tugging his lips upwards. Biting your own lip, you couldn’t fight back the smile that was slowly spreading across your mouth in return.

“You know, I told you I bought mint ice cream in the event you needed some comfort tonight,” he reminded you.

You rolled your eyes. “Matt, it’s late,” you pointed out. Removing your forehead from his, you glanced at the time on the oven behind him. “It’s almost three in the morning.”

“So?” he asked.

He unwound his arms from around your waist, in turn causing you to remove your arms from around his neck. He took a couple of steps to the right, opening the silverware drawer and pulling out two spoons. As he closed the drawer he glanced up at you, a small smirk pulling at his lips as he raised a dark brow at you. He held out one of the spoons.

“You want some?” he asked. “Or are you going to make me eat toothpaste flavored ice cream at almost three in the morning all by myself?”

Warmth flooded your chest as you stared back at Matt standing there, a spoon in each hand. The simple fact that he’d gotten you your favorite dessert–the one you’d told him about way back on your first date–to hopefully help you feel comfortable here only filled you with so much love and gratitude for him. Reaching out, you accepted the spoon from his outstretched hand, your heart hammering loudly in your ears. The smirk grew on Matt’s face before he turned, about to make his way to the freezer to grab the ice cream. Without a single thought, you leaned forward and reached out, latching onto his arm before he had taken two steps. Matt stopped in his tracks, glancing curiously over his shoulder at you with furrowed brows.

Quickly you tugged him to your place on the countertop, Matt willingly allowing you to pull him back towards you. Without hesitation your hand reached up and grabbed his stubbled cheek, drawing him close before your lips abruptly crashed back onto his. Clearly taken by surprise, it took Matt a brief second before his mouth responded to yours. The moment his lips began to react, you could feel him easily matching the intensity and enthusiasm that you were displaying. You did your best to pour everything you felt for him into that kiss, hoping he understood exactly what you were trying to say in that moment.

When you finally pulled away from him, breathless and with swollen lips, you smiled back at Matt’s grinning face. Just to make sure he fully understood the message, you held his face firmly in your hand, your eyes locked on his when you spoke.

“I love you, Matthew Michael Murdock,” you told him. “And I want you to know you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”

His smile widened into something bright, lighting up his entire face along with the red light from the billboard across the street. You could see the glisten of unshed tears in his eyes as he gazed back at you with so much affection written plain across his face. There was only the briefest of moments after your declaration before Matt abruptly closed the distance between you both again, capturing your lips with his in a passionate kiss that had you forgetting about absolutely everything except you and Matt in that very moment.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock #matt murdock fic #daredevil

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wyn-n-tonic · 4 months

Text

Not to get too sappy on main but for all the curveballs that life threw at me in the last year, 2023 was a really good one for me in so many aspects.

On New Year's Day last year, I probably should've been in the hospital. The only reason my doctor did not 302 me was because I didn't have anybody to watch my dog so he just called me every day and if I didn't pick up the phone, he was going to send the police to my home.

I am so grateful to everybody on here who helped me during that time last year to keep my medications while I was unemployed. I hate asking for help, I was raised being told that it was rude to do so, so I have a bit of guilt about it and I will never be able to fully say how appreciative I am. So many people on Tumblr helped me stay in a headspace where I was able to make decisions for myself and obviously, as an adult who lives a thousand miles away from family, that was very important to me.

It allowed me to stay in my home, take care of myself, and work on the next chapter of my life without feeling like a deer in a bear trap.

In the six months that I was unemployed last year, I wrote 300,000 words and so many of you have laid your eyes on so many of them, I am in awe every time I think about it. And every time I talk about it. And every time somebody else talks about it to me.

So, 2023 great things:

After six months of unemployment and thinking about my next move and trying to move away from the mental health field, I was recruited by an organization that works closely with mental health but ultimately is not mental health. I really didn't think that I would like it but now the only thing I can imagine doing that isn't this is if I were a full time writer.

I went to the Eras Tour with @amneris21 in my home state. It was incredible to meet her, I'm so grateful that she included me in her ticketing group, it was the kindest thing. I regret that we didn't take more pictures but singing Fearless in the pouring rain was an honor and I wouldn't have wanted to do it that with anybody else.

Literally a week before our concert, she texted me and said that somebody in the ticketing group dropped out and asked if I had anybody I wanted to invite along. I called my sister (found family) eighty times before she picked up and I screamed so loud that I'm pretty sure I didn't need the phone to be heard all the way in Chicago and I am so amazed and thankful that I had the opportunity to bring her along and that I was in a place where I could make that her birthday present as well.

At my Eras Tour date, I told nobody what I wanted my surprise song to be because I did not want to jinx it. After months of thinking I wouldn't be able to go, I was able to go and one of our surprise songs was my favorite song and then she announced Speak Now (Taylor's Version) and then I cried so hard I gave myself a nosebleed.

boygenius altered my brain chemistry.

I got to travel to Arizona to see @marvelousmermaid for her birthday and I would do it again and I regret that I couldn't stay longer.

I got to see my dad!

I wrote a book.

Great things upcoming in 2024:

My book comes out this year!

(If I can ever feel good enough about a draft.)

(And a name.)

(You'll be able to buy it wherever books are sold.)

(Name and cover coming soon.)

(You can follow @wynharper for sporadic updates because I forget it exists.)

#personal #blah blah blah #shut up wyn

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insertpoetryhere · 6 months

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Dadbastian Week: Setting Sun

"Poetry you're a week late" I know, I had midterms this week and i was cooked alive. But I'm better now and I have this thing to make up for the fact that I skipped an entire day. My official (a week overdue) sendoff to Dadbastain Week 2023!

A huge thank you to @dadbastianweek2023 for organizing such a cool event and for all the participants who might be some of the most talented creators I've ever seen! Also thank you to everyone who helped my indecisive ass pick a name for the dog.

My Baby, My Baby

Escape had been impossible.

Sebastian did not often make a habit of avoiding his young master, but he had to do what had to be done to maintain some semblance of peace. Then again, one of his (former) favorite things had always been his stubborn determination.

And all it took was cornering him in the foyer and ordering him to sit down to render him completely helpless. Now it was just him, Ciel, and the 14 page hand-written essay entitled “why we should get a dog”.

The essay was, as the title implied, an itemized list of every reason he could think for why the manor needed a dog.

Number one: A dog would offer an added layer of protection.

Number four: Dogs were very good for hunting.

Number fifteen: Ciel could not leave his dirty dishes in his study anymore since chocolate would make the dog sick.

Number twenty-eight: A dog would gladly eat anything that fell on the floor.

Number fifty-one: Ciel would allegedly never ever ever ask Sebastian for his assistance on a major purchase ever again.

Sebastian had scoffed at that one, realizing how serious Ciel must be to acknowledge his own lack of control over his pocket money so openly. Usually Sebastian’s status as the keeper of Ciel’s check book was something that the two of them did not discuss. After all, his young master was not a fan of acknowledging his own age and there was a little bit more dignity in pretending that Sebastian was put in charge of the Phantomhive finances by choice.

Regardless of pride, Ciel was still a child. And as a child, he needed Sebastian to sign off any and all money.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate your… dedication.” Sebastian had to cut Ciel off once they reached the part that the young earl had written entirely in broken German as a way to prove that his dedication to his studies would remain unchanged. “But could you not just order me to sign off on this?”

The idea of having a dog in the house made him want to gag, but Ciel’s German was simply where he had to draw the line.

Ciel looked up from his paper, eyeing Sebastian as if he had said something unequivocally stupid. “Of course not, you would just buy the dog and then get rid of it immediately afterwards. Or you would make sure the dog is of poor health so that it wouldn’t last long anyways.” His gaze was steely and serious, a stark juxtaposition to the very childish conversation at hand. “I need you completely and fully on board.”

Sebastian sighed, cursing his consistency and communication skills for making his movements so predictable. “Then may we continue this discussion as I do the housework? I fear I can’t stay seated through- how many more are there?”

“Ninety-four.” Ciel didn’t even look back down at his paper. Which was somewhat terrifying.

“... Walk and talk.” He stood up from the chair(he did not understand why humans felt the need to sit for so long).

Ciel perked up (“Like a dog” is how Sebastian’s brain finished that sentence, which made him frown) and followed behind him as he carried on with his day.

Number sixty-six: Ciel would never complain again.

Laughable.

Number seventy-five: Ciel would never bother Sebastian again.

Again, hilarious.

Number eighty-three: A portion written and performed entirely in broken latin to further show his commitment, which was somehow worse than the German portion had been.

That one was… long.

Number ninety: Please.

Ok, now this was getting to Sebastian.

Number ninety-

“Okay, stop!” Sebastian couldn’t take it. He couldn’t handle the… pleading and the voice and the any of it. Especially not now as he juggled pots and pans in the kitchen, trying to make sense of the mess Mey Rin had left behind in the wake of “preparing lunch” while Ciel ate said lunch in the kitchen with him, speaking even louder so that he might be heard over the sound of metal clinking together.

Ciel looked up, hopeful. As if he had been planning to induce a headache the entire time. “So you are in agreement?”

Sebastian bit his lip. This was psychological warfare and he was losing, goddamnit. His eyes settled on the box of eggs, still left out on the counter despite the fact that lunch had not needed eggs for its preparation at all. He smiled coyly before picking one up and handing it to the young master.

Ciel took it, confused. “What’s this for?”

“That,” Sebastian said pointedly. “Is to show me you understand the responsibility of looking after something too stupid to look after itself.”

It was meant to be a jab at him, but Ciel didn’t react. Instead, he held the egg gentler, staring at it as if it was made of gold. “How long do I have?”

“Until sundown.” Sebastian turned his attention back to the chores, relishing in how much quieter the kitchen had gotten.

“And if I give this egg back to you unharmed, you will approve the purchase of a dog without complaint?” He raised an eyebrow, like he was trying to unpack the ways in which this could blow up in his face.

“Mhm.” Sebastian was only half listening as he put the rest of the eggs away and began scrubbing the dishes.

Ciel stared at the egg suspiciously now. “And this isn’t a trick? I have your word that you-”

“Would you like me to change my mind?” Sebastian interrupted, the seriousness in his voice enough to make the boy shake his head and run off to provide a life for his practice pet. Sebastian sighed, eyeing a clock on the wall. He had bought himself at least six hours, plenty of time for Ciel to either break the egg or lose interest in the activity entirely.

While the idea of either cleaning the remnants of a broken egg or tracking down a rotten one weeks later did not appeal to him in the slightest, anything was better than having to deal with a dog.

In short, he had won.

---

He had expected Ciel to get bored after an hour or so. Either that or break the egg and give up on the whole ordeal. So naturally when the bell in the basement tripped, alerting Sebastian that he was needed in the study, he had thought peace was on the horizon.

What he did not expect was to see the young master seated at his desk, the egg sitting on a plush velveteen pillow.

The egg had its own space on the desk, not too close to the edge and not too far from Ciel in case of an emergency. Ciel himself stared Sebastian down, his list of what appeared to be dog names completely abandoned the moment the door opened.

“Do you need something, my lord?” Sebastian asked after an abnormally long bout of silence.

“No.” He said shortly, still staring at Sebastian intently.

The demon blinked. “... You rang?”

“I did not ring.” Ciel said, still staring. “You must be hearing things.”

“... I see.” Sebastian wondered if behavior like this would warrant regular appointments with a shrink. His boy was staring at him and had an egg on a pillow. Even he found this disturbing and pondered on exactly what kind of monster he had created.

Ciel cleared his throat as the silence persisted. “The egg is well.”

Sebastian’s eyes narrowed as he understood what this was; An official declaration of war. “I see that.”

Ciel continued to stare. “It has a pillow.”

“I am aware.” Sebastian’s cold glare turned to the egg as he pondered ways to turn the tides in his favor. Clearly he had underestimated Ciel’s resolve. Maybe during tea, he could-

“I order you not to touch the egg in any capacity.” He had to be able to read minds. He had to somehow be in Sebastian’s head.

That little bastard.

Sebastian pursed his lips together in a tight, displeased line. “As you wish, my lord.”

Ciel nodded, his gaze a perfect mirror image of the cruel glare Sebastian had become so well known for. “You are dismissed.”

---

It had been Sebastian’s idea for Bard to offer to take Ciel hunting. Partially incentivized by an advance on the cook’s Christmas bonus.

“I’ll take ’im out without the bribe,” Bard laughed, a cigarette tucked between his teeth. “Jus’ not sure why you don’t want to come along.”

Because that was part of the appeal. A hunting trip with Bard (the significantly more fun chaperone) where Ciel was allowed to use the good guns that they kept in the cellar (which he was normally not allowed access to). A level of reckless, irresponsible fun that no teenage boy could refuse.

Evident by the way that he nearly jumped out of his seat, banding his knee against his desk (it did not knock the egg from its perch, sadly) before regaining his composure.

“I suppose, if it will pass the time.” He said passively, trying to rub his injured knee without anyone noticing.

It wasn’t until he looked back down at his desk that the boy seemed to realize why the offer had been made in the first place; The egg could not be left unattended.

He looked up at Sebastian in malice, who only smiled sweetly back. His master was not stupid. Surely he would see this hunting trip as a once in a lifetime offer and wisely abandon this silly egg game for more entertaining pursuits. Triumph at last.

All three men in the room stood in a triangle, each staring at the egg as it sat innocently on its pillow; Ciel in contemplation, Sebastian in cruel victory, and Bard in… confusion. Which made sense, seeing as no one had let him in on the egg deal.

A light bulb may as well have popped up above Ciel’s head as he grabbed the egg off of its pillow. “I shall return shortly.”

The boy bolted out of the room, leaving Sebastian standing there with a displeased glare.

“... Was that an egg?” Bard asked, but received no response from Sebastian as the demon butler glared at the door, waiting for his master’s return. “Why does he have an egg?”

Ciel returned only a few minutes later, a small bag used for carrying dice tied onto one of his belt loops with a secureness that only could have been achieved by Finny. So the boys were in cahoots… lovely.

“Ready when you are.” He announced with a triumphant grin.

Sebastian grumbled. Foiled once more.

---

“Dogs cannot sit at the table` At this point in the day, Sebastian was getting petty. But the hunting trip had not even broken the damned thing, and the only other option he could think of was having Mey Rin shoot the god forsaken thing off of its pillow (something she was disturbingly excited to try). So yes, he was taking some of those frustrations out on Ciel and the egg.

Ciel looked up from his dinner, which he had not yet gotten the chance to take a bite out of. “That wasn’t part of the deal!” He argued.

Sebastian shrugged. “It would prove your dedication.”

He was either going to put the egg on the ground and accidentally step on it, forget it, or finally give up. He had to. Sebastian had no other ideas for how to get rid of this thing (unless he took Mey Rin up on her offer, that is). His migraine worsened as he imagined the sound of barking joining in with the other annoyances of his day to day life.

He needed Ciel to either fuck up or give up.

Ciel glared, taking the egg (still on that stupid pillow) in his hand. Sebastian swore he heard angels singing as Ciel did so, assuming that his plan had worked. But then Ciel picked up his plate as well, and Sebastian watched in annoyance as he took both items over to the wall and sat down.

His stubbornness knew no bounds.

“I will not fetch anything from the table for you if you are going to behave this way.” Sebastian said, standing firmly by the table as Ciel settled himself comfortably on the floor.

Ciel placed the egg on the ground and his plate in his lap, taking a bite. “I don’t require anything anyways.”

Sebastian eyed the full glass of water still sitting on the table. “Hm.”

Ciel took a big, defiant bite of gravy-less chicken.

---

It was official.

This had possibly been the biggest mistake of his career.

The sun had just dipped down the horizon when he heard the distinct sounds of footsteps running down the stairs. Fitting for Ciel to catch him in the kitchen once again, like the boy was returning to the scene of the crime where he had brutally murdered Sebastian’s pride only hours before.

And in he came, like a bat out of hell, holding his intact egg up in triumph. He had won the war.

His face was bright as the sun, something that Sebastian found no pleasure in as he grappled with his fate.

“... I feel that this test needs another day.” He tried in vain.

Ciel shook his head. “You gave your word. No going back now.”

Sebastian groaned, hiding his face behind his hand as he sunk down into one of the kitchen chairs. He sighed, gesturing across the little table to the chair right across from him. He listened as Ciel shuffled over, taking a seat and setting the egg down on the table with a soft plunk. The kitchen table of negotiation.

“... I have conditions.” Sebastian said plainly, taking his face out of hiding now that he was sure he didn’t look on the verge of tears.

Ciel nodded eagerly and receptively, a much more enthusiastic audience than he usually is.

“The dog will not share the same name as me.” He said sternly, despite it being a ridiculous request.

“The name is already picked out, so there will be no trouble there.” Ciel said, leaning forward excitedly.

Sebastian sighed, still in disbelief that he was agreeing to this at all. “You said you wanted a hunting dog, so you will get a hunting dog. We will go to a proper breeder and collect one that is already housebroken. No puppies, am I understood?”

Ciel did not look disappointed in the slightest. He nodded just as eagerly as before. “Anything else?”

God this receptiveness was disturbing.

“It will not go on any furniture that you would accept guests.” Sebastian said sternly. “I will not have people leaving the manor covered in dog hair.”

“Understood.” Ciel agreed, watching him intently. Sebastian narrowed his eyes, trying to figure out what else Ciel wanted.

“... Those are my only demands.”

But he still stared at him, almost like he was losing confidence. It took Sebastian a while to realize that he was waiting for the explicit confirmation, something to set this plan in stone. He sighed. “We will leave in the morning.”

That smile was back, just as bright as the sun.

---

They left first thing in the morning, with Ciel already up and laying out clothing on his own by the time Sebastian opened the door. So he was capable of such behavior. What a miracle.

Sebastian had taken some comfort when they arrived at the breeder’s, who trotted out his most well behaved dogs that he had deemed “fit for an earl” (Sebastian was happy to have an ally in this situation. God knows Bard hadn’t been any help).

But of course, the one that caught Ciel’s eye was a wild-tempered greyhound who nearly topped him over trying to lick his face.The boy had laughed, only half-way trying to push the dog off of him while the other scratched behind the beast’s ear encouragingly.

The breeder, who had initially apologized profusely for the dog’s behavior, laughed at the sight and said “I suppose the Earl is just a boy.”

A traitorous leech if Sebastian had ever met one-

So of course the wretched creature came home with them.

On top of being nearly uncontrollable, the cursed little thing was ugly as could be. Long in every sense of the word and fairly pathetic looking. The only silver lining that could be found in this was that the beast had the decency to ignore Sebastian entirely, lavishing all his ghastly affection on Ciel instead.

This affection did seem to delight Ciel though, who Sebastian had never seen smile as much as he did that day.

So maybe the dog wasn’t so bad.

“He cannot be on the bed!” Sebastian protested, attempting to wave the creature off of the comforter and pulling his hand away when the damned thing snapped its jaws at his sleeve as if Sebastian’s arm was the rope toy that Ciel had wasted his whole afternoon throwing across the garden.

Ciel’s head popped through the top of his nightdress and his attention went right back to the dog (as if it hadn’t been there all day). “I don’t take guests in my bedroom, so he can be on the bed.”

Sebastian rolled his eyes, watching in disgust as the thing dragged its ham bone from dinner on the bed right next to it. Ciel climbed in, petting the dog behind his left ear and delighting in the way it threw its head back affectionately, trying to reach the boy’s face in order to lick it. “Good boy, Detective!”

“Call him by his proper name,” Sebastian scolded, lifting the boy up by the armpits and tossing him onto the sheets so he could pull the comforter up to his chin. The dog bounded up after him, letting out a bark that made Sebastian flinch back in disgust with his hands up. “He will never respond to it if you keep calling him ‘Detective’.”

The dog also didn’t deserve such a title. The lights were not all on upstairs.

“Alright then,” Ciel scratched the top of the damned creature’s head as he settled down on top of the comforter, as close to the boy as he could manage. “Good boy, Sherlock.”

Sherlock Holmes was the dog’s full, legal name. Which made Sebastian roll his eyes. “Don’t praise him for such behavior, he wished to take my hand as a souvenir.”

“He would never harm a fly,” Ciel cooed unbecomingly, snuggling closer to the animal. “Would you, boy?”

The dog groaned, both his and his little master’s energy seeming to have left their bodies like a lightning flash leaves a stormcloud. Sebastian moved about the room, picking up the clothing that had gotten scattered around the floor by Sherlock himself, who seemed to think everything but eating and sleeping was a game. In a sense, he supposed that meant he fit his master perfectly.

He could feel Ciel doze off, falling into a deep sleep at an alarming speed. His soft snores filled the room, making Sebastain smile fondly.

“You pulled the wool over my eyes once again, Young Lord.” He whispered, depositing the clothes into a small hamper for washing while the rest of the house slept. “Equal parts clever and cruel.”

Even he couldn’t shake the pride, watching the boy smile in his sleep after his victory. In a way, cruelty was their way of being kind. Not the excessive kind, but the kind that forced their days into a chess game of sorts. And when Ciel was able to pull the rug from underneath Sebastian, it made him feel… significant.

Which was a ridiculous thought to have. He was already plenty significant.

But seeing himself reflected back, growing sharper and harsher, and somehow better than him by the day… It was almost a purpose on its own.

That pride melted away to annoyance when the boy turned in his sleep, his eyepatch still on. Honestly, it was like Sebastian had to do everything.

He set the laundry down, walking over to the bed and reaching his hand towards Ciel’s sleeping form.

That was when a set of sharp teeth snapped down on his hand, forcing him to jump back. He propped his hand away, blood undoubtedly dripping onto the carpet as Sherlock let go of him with a vicious snarl. Sebastian immediately removed his glove, attempting to use it to reduce the mess as he swore under his breath.

He looked back up at the dog, who stood over his boy protectively as he growled lowly at Sebastian. His teeth were bared, still showing evidence of the attack he had given as a warning.

Sebastian went to scold the damned beast when his eyes fell on the contract seal, painted red and exposed now that the glove was removed. It made his voice drop into his stomach with a heavy kind of thud. He supposed in a way, he had been very wrong about Sherlock. He was just smart enough to protect his little master.

And he knew a threat when he saw one.

“Good boy, Detective.” Sebastian said sadly as the dog laid across Ciel’s torso, not once taking his eyes off of Sebastian. “Good boy.”

#dadbastianweek2023 #dadbastainsettingsun #dadbastianweek

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silvokrent · 1 year

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Ennui - 3

ennui /ɒnˈwiː/ n. a gripping listlessness or melancholy caused by boredom; depression.

Anger did a lot to deaden a person to their surroundings. At least, that was Flint’s impression when he finally noticed where his pacing had taken him.

It said more about his current emotional state than he’d care to admit, that he’d wandered this way on reflex. His first impulse was to keep walking, let the fatigue gradually creep in until he no longer had the energy to feel.

Does this conversation have a point?

What are you doing here?

“The hell if I know,” Flint sighed, as he pushed open the door, and let himself in.

But he needed answers.

Personally, Flint had always liked the café, if for no other reason than how obnoxiously its rustic vibe clashed with the rest of Sunyshore’s aesthetic. The barrels and weathered floorboards wouldn’t have looked out of place somewhere pastoral—Solaceon came to mind—but the effect was jarring. He suspected the dissonance had been somewhat intentional.

The Houndoom lounging below the window barely reacted to Flint’s presence, beyond a cursory glance in his direction. Not all that surprising, given the gray streaks on his muzzle.

“It’s been a while, Dante.” The Houndoom dropped his chin back onto his paws, a cracked eye tracking Flint’s movements without any particular sense of urgency. “I don’t suppose your owner’s around?”

Dante yawned, and flicked his barbed tail in the direction of the kitchen.

Right on cue. The mahogany door swung on its hinges as a familiar figure stepped past, a stack of plates balanced (a bit precariously) in his arms. “We’re still eighty-six on the half-and-half,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Just toss the heavy cream and milk in a pitcher for now. We can update the inventory later—”

“I’ll take a coffee, when you have a second,” Flint said.

The Proprietor’s head whipped around.

Flint leaned against the bar counter. “Glad to see the hairline’s still receding, old man.”

“‘Old man.’” The Proprietor let out a huff, as he strode behind the bar and began shelving the dishes. “I’m sixty-two, not dead, you insolent punk. They haven’t buried me yet.”

“Give it time.”

They held each other’s gaze.

The Proprietor was the first to cave. His lip twitched, before widening into a grin. “It’s good to see you, Flint.”

“Same.”

“What was it you said, a coffee?” He ducked below the counter. The telltale clink of ceramic was followed by him resurfacing a moment later, a mug in hand. “I’ve got a pot brewing in the back. Let me guess, the usual?” He didn’t bother waiting for a response as he retreated toward the kitchen. “Give me a second. Sit, pull up a chair. You know the drill.”

Flint waited until he disappeared into the back, before his smile wavered. The stool creaked as he sank onto it. Without the fear of an audience, Flint capitulated, and buried his face in his arms.

He was almost tempted to ask that he substitute the coffee for something stronger. Almost.

“Sorry for the wait.” Only when the sandwich and chips were slid across the counter did Flint grudgingly resurface. A carafe was unceremoniously plunked next to it, before the Proprietor wove around the counter.

“I didn’t forget about you.” Dante hauled himself up onto his haunches as a plate was set in front of him. “The brisket’s already seared, so don’t get any ideas. I’m not wasting another fire extinguisher because you like your meat charred.”

The Houndoom made a low, gravelly noise of assent, as he pulled the plate closer with his paws. The second the Proprietor had his back turned, he dipped his head, and exhaled a small jet of flame.

“Now, since you’re here”—he circled back behind the bar, and retrieved the carafe—“I’d appreciate a favor.” Thick wisps of steam curled above the mug as he poured. “If you’re going to be loitering in my establishment, then you’re volunteering as a test subject. I need a second opinion before I add it to the menu.”

“Not sure if I should be flattered, or offended.” In spite of himself, Flint peered at the foam with some interest. “What’s this poison called?”

“Komala roast,” he said. His glasses were starting to fog. “It’s an Alolan import, though for the life of me I can’t remember which island it was harvested from.”

“Maybe it’s the one with the Komalas on it.”

He slid the drink in front of him. “Less talking, more drinking.”

Flint picked up the mug, and squinted at its contents. “Do you think they roast the Komalas while they’re still alive, or do they—”

“Drink, or I’m throwing you out.”

He decided not to call his bluff. With a shrug, Flint lifted it to his face, and cautiously took a sip.

The Proprietor watched him with connoisseurial scrutiny. “And?” he prompted.

“Mellow, but not in a bad way,” said Flint. “There’s a lingering sweetness to it, if that makes any sense.” He went to take another sip.

“That would be the low acidity.” The Proprietor relocated the carafe to the back shelf. “The coffee beans lose some of the bitterness when they’re fermented in their intestines.”

Flint spat the drink back into his cup.

He could hear the Proprietor still laughing as he coughed over the edge of the counter. “Why’d you think they call it Komala coffee?”

It took a few seconds to compose himself, before Flint pushed the offending beverage out of his vicinity. “You know, I think I would have preferred if you actually poisoned me.” He glowered. “You’re going to lose customers if you add that to the menu.”

“Never underestimate the consumer’s love for novelty.” From somewhere on his person, he’d produced a rag, and begun polishing a glass. “Besides, I have your personal testimony. Mellow with a lingering sweetness. Sounds like a good sales pitch, don’t you think?”

“Please don’t quote me on that.”

“Fine, fine. Rob me of business.” He exchanged the glass for a tumbler. “Speaking of which, what brings you to Sunyshore?”

Did the League send you? Or did you volunteer?

The basket liner crinkled as Flint picked at a chip. “Why is it,” he asked, without looking up, “that I’m only just now hearing about these blackouts?”

“Ah.” The tumbler let out a dull thud as it was placed on the counter, and set aside. “I wondered when you would catch wind of them.”

The Proprietor cleared his throat.

“The first outage was pretty minor, all things considered. It only knocked out the Gym and a couple of nearby buildings. No one complained since the damage was negligible, and we figured it was an accident. Second one was a bit more inconvenient—everything within sixteen blocks of the Gym lost power. Annoying, sure, but the engineers had it fixed in two hours, so why fuss?” He snorted. “You know what people around here are like—they worship Volkner.”

It wasn’t as if Volkner had his reputation for nothing, although Flint kept that comment to himself. “What about now?”

“Now I wouldn’t be surprised if he’s pissed off half the city. Their tolerance is evaporating, and I can’t say I blame them.” His lips thinned. “The last outage caused some of the perishables in my walk-in to go bad. The only reason I didn’t lose more is because I triaged what was left, and cooked it before it could spoil.”

Flint opened his mouth to—what, apologize on his friend’s behalf?—only to stop, when he began to toy with that loose strand of logic. “How the hell did you cook if you had no power?”

To which the Proprietor jerked a thumb toward the corner, where his Houndoom was still demolishing the (now burnt) brisket. “Dante’s fire easily tops six hundred and fifty degrees. He’s a furnace with legs.”

Dante snorted, as he tore off another strip.

“None of this is adding up,” Flint muttered, half to himself. “This isn’t like Volkner.” His brow furrowed, as he studied the wood grains in the counter. Looking for a pattern that wasn't there. “Has he said anything when he comes by? Anything that seemed off?”

“Flint.” The Proprietor braced his arms against the counter, and leaned forward. “Volkner hasn’t been here in weeks.”

Flint jerked up. “What?”

“You heard me.” There was an unmistakable frustration permeating his movements, as he returned to polishing the glassware. “Trying to get a hold of him has been like pulling teeth. I can’t just demand an audience with him at the Gym, and I work late hours as it is. I’ve tried calling, but—”

“He’s ignoring your calls,” Flint finished. If he’d had an appetite before, it was long gone.

The Proprietor’s cleaning lost some of its intensity. “Were you able to talk to him?”

“Briefly.” One of the privileges of his title, as a member of the Elite Four. One which Flint despised having to invoke. “Not that it was a productive conversation. He pretty much kicked me out.”

“Figures,” he said under his breath. “He’s avoiding us, you realize.”

He did. But it didn’t exactly assuage his concerns.

“This is ridiculous,” Flint said, when the gap in conversation began to stretch uncomfortably long. “First the blackouts, and now this? And his staff are on edge. If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear that I walked in as they were about to stage a mutiny.”

To his surprise, the Proprietor scoffed. “Well, what did you expect? I’d be on edge too if my boss’s boss showed up at my job to inspect my workplace. Like it or not, you represent the League. They probably thought you were there to shut the place down for non-compliance, since the Gym hasn’t handed out a badge in over a month.”

A chill crept down his spine.

The stool protested as Flint sat back. “What do you mean,” he repeated, slowly, “that the Gym hasn’t been handing out badges?”

The Proprietor registered the shift in tone, and set the rag down, with a look of renewed consideration. “You didn’t hear?”

Flint shook his head.

“I don’t know all the details,” he began. “But word is, Volkner’s been destroying anyone that comes to fight him. I’ve had a few trainers swing by after their matches. It’s the same story, over and over.”

It was expected that some challengers wouldn’t succeed on their first try. But none?

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Flint said. “Is he not adjusting team line-ups between matches? He’s not pitting low-tier trainers against the roster he reserves for seventh- and eighth-badge fights, is he? Why would—”

The Proprietor held up his hands. “Like I said, I don’t know the details. That’s just what I’ve heard from gossip.”

Flint was quiet for a moment. “What else have you heard?”

“Well, I haven’t been able to verify it,” the Proprietor said, “but some folks have said that Volkner’s been hanging out at the lighthouse in his downtime. Apparently, he’s been going there to brood.”

Flint scowled. “Volkner doesn’t brood.”

The Proprietor silently peered over the rim of his shades, and Flint fought the impulse to shift under his stare. He wondered, a little distantly, if he hadn’t made that comment specifically to gauge how he would react.

The chair legs scraped over the floorboards, as Flint stood. “Thanks for lunch.”

While unsurprised, the Proprietor did frown in disapproval. “You didn’t even touch your food.”

“I’m not hungry,” he said. “Just give it to Dante or something.”

At the sound of his name, Dante looked up from the bone he’d been gnawing on. He didn’t appear to object to the idea.

“What do I owe you for lunch?” he asked.

At that, the Proprietor barked a laugh. “Flint, you haven’t paid for so much as a ketchup packet in fifteen years. Don’t insult me by asking now.” He waved the question aside. “It’s on the house.”

Flint smiled, a bit humorlessly. “Thanks.”

The bell above the door chimed as it closed behind him.

Late afternoon sunlight gilded the boats and rocky spurs that jutted from the harbor. The view from the elevator had always been impressive, regardless of the time of day.

As the lift ascended, Flint found himself wishing he could have enjoyed it.

When he dismounted, he was relieved to find the gallery room empty. At least he wouldn’t have an audience for what was about to come.

The door slid on its tracks as Flint pushed it aside, and stepped out onto the deck.

The Proprietor’s sources weren’t mistaken, as much as Flint would have preferred otherwise. Volkner was leaning into the railing, his back turned. Either he didn’t notice—or more likely, didn’t care about—the intrusion. Flint cycled through several false starts as he approached, debating which would be the most effective—

Until he caught Volkner’s face.

“Since when do you smoke?” Volkner tilted his head at the question, enough to watch him out of his periphery. He didn’t answer, though. The smoke that billowed up around his face didn’t have time to linger, before the wind dispersed it.

Flint frowned. “I thought you hated those things.”

The tip glowed, and Volkner exhaled.

He folded his arms over his chest. “How did the two o’clock match go?” he asked instead.

Volkner shrugged. “Dull.”

“Out of curiosity”—the metal bar dug into his shoulder as Flint reclined against it, one hand loosely braced for support—“did you deny this trainer a badge, too?”

“I can’t deny a person something that they didn’t earn.” He tapped the cigarette against the railing. “They lost.”

“To you?” Flint asked. “Or to your Electivire?”

It was subtle, but Flint didn’t miss the way his shoulders tensed. “To my mid-level team,” he answered. “I’m not gatekeeping my Gym badge, if that’s what you’re implying.”

“But you expect me to believe that every challenger, regardless of their badge count, keeps losing to you?”

The cigarette was becoming pinched in the middle where Volkner was holding it. “There’s nothing I can do about mediocre trainers. If you’re disappointed by the prospect of no League challengers next season, then get used to it.” He took a drag, and sighed. “I did.”

The stunned silence didn’t last long. His knuckles began to ache as Flint’s grip on the railing tightened. “I’m not disappointed by inadequate trainers.” He pushed away from it—and this time, Volkner watched. “I’m disappointed by you.”

Volkner’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you have any idea what kind of damage you could’ve caused?” Flint jabbed a finger at the harbor. “This lighthouse we’re standing in? It’s the only thing that keeps ships from hitting those rocks down there, and because of you, it didn’t work. You don’t get the right to endanger people just because you’re bored and don’t want to do your job!”

“I am doing my job!” The venom caught Flint off-guard. “I’ve been doing it. For years, in fact, meeting every fucking expectation the League ever had for me. If you have an issue with how I run my Gym, Flint—”

Volkner closed the distance between them.

“—then do something about it.”

He blew a cloud of smoke in his face.

The adrenaline hit a second before Flint’s thoughts caught up to him. Volkner grunted as Flint slammed him against the lighthouse wall, a hand fisted in his shirt collar.

The other man didn’t struggle. If anything, the hand that had reflexively grabbed his own wrist slackened. Volkner winced, but managed to meet Flint’s eyes. The anger in them was gone, as if it had never been there.

“If you’re going to hit me,” he said, quietly, “then get it over with.”

Volkner dropped like a dead weight as Flint released him.

He didn’t stop to check if he was okay. Flint spun on his heel, and left, not once looking back.

#pokemon #pokemon fics #ennui #volkner #flint #ignitionshipping #my posts #i speak #pokemon thought dump #i highly encourage everyone to go check out the wikipedia page on kopi luwak after reading this

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ckret2 · 1 year

Note

How is ford handling all of this

(Referring to my human Bill design—maybe I oughta come up with a tag for this AU.)

I already promised to answer the second half of @dykefnctl's question:

also, like, wtf does stan and ford think? i'm invested.

—and I separately covered the Stan half of it—so now here's Ford!

I mentioned in my post about Stan's reaction that he only doesn't kill Bill on sight because somebody points out that might just unleash his full triangular form again. No point for guessing that Ford's probably the one who brought up the possibility. Ford goes into full consider-all-the-risks paranoid scientist mode and he's also probably the one who immediately decides the best way for the Pines to contain the threat of Bill Cipher is to do it THEMSELVES, in their own home, rather than risk putting Bill in the hands of somebody who wouldn't be careful enough or appreciate the exact nature of his threat.

Ford's so inclined to handle threats alone—keep everything he knows to himself, dole out intel to his own family on a need-to-know basis, play his cards close to his chest, let NOBODY get involved. Trust no one. That works fine for Bill, who thinks that he's got better odds of escape in the Pines family's hands than he would with either local police or any federal agency.

So. Ford wants to keep Bill contained, and agrees with Stan that containment should only last until they can figure out a surefire way to destroy Bill for good. There's paranoia. There's fear. There's anger.

But there's also a lot of sorrow.

I'm a fan of the idea that, before Ford figured out Bill's scheme, he really did consider him one of his deepest, closest, best friends, and one of his few trusted confidantes. When he looks at Bill now, he doesn't just see someone who lied to him and exploited him; he sees a dear friend. A dear friend that manipulated him, abandoned him, and tried to kill everyone he cares about. He sees all of it at once.

It was a lot easier to ignore that history when Bill was either busy destroying the world, or invading Ford's dreams to taunt him about destroying the world. It's harder now that Bill is just there, all the time, knocking around the shack and being an incompetent human. Prattling on about unhinged alien things and ancient history like he does. Making passing comments about Ford's current research that imply he knows more about the topic than Ford does. Bringing up thirty-year-old inside jokes.

Not being threatening. Just being the person that Ford had thought was his friend. Oh, it hurts deeply, hearing this omnicidal maniac who tortured him and his family talking the way his friend used to.

It isn't hard for Bill to pick up on this conflicting view Ford holds of him. He tries to exploit it—lightly imply he might have a few regrets about that little apocalyptic whoopsy last summer, act a little more friendly when they're alone, suggest he could help with whatever Ford's working on now—no "deals," no quid-pro-quo, just a friendly casual consultation role, answer any big questions Ford has that Bill happens to know the answer to. If Bill gets his foot in the door, he can find a way to leverage Ford's soft spot to find a way to escape later.

Ford doesn't buy it. Ironically, even though he sees Bill as a (former, backstabbing) friend, it's when Bill's acting friendly that it's easiest for Ford to hate him. He's not as naive as he was in the eighties, and he knows too much about how Bill's manipulation works, with false kindness and flattery and tantalizing helpful offers. Ford shoots down all Bill's overtures of "friendship" consistently and without hesitation. They reek of future betrayal.

It's when Bill isn't trying—it's when he's using a glass of prune juice to unsuccessfully illustrate to the three-dimensional kids how gravity flows in six-dimensional space, or when he's casually referencing world events that won't happen for another few decades, or using a parallel universe to cheat at cards so he can pick what the family's watching for movie night (it's Flatland), or bringing up the author of the Voynich Manuscript as if he knew Enrico personally, or making a pun that only works if you know two dead languages but is hilarious if you do—those are the times Ford most misses the friend he used to have.

Bill knows he's making progress when Ford lies that he's got no idea how Bill could have cheated at cards (but maybe they ought to just watch Flatland like he wants so he'll finally stop asking about it). Bill just doesn't know how he's making progress. For now, he just hopes it's enough to inspire Ford to procrastinate on finding a way to kill Bill for real. (It is.)

#bill cipher #human bill cipher #stanford pines #grunkle ford #gravity falls #headcanons #anonymous #dykefnctl #ask #bill goldilocks cipher

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 2 years

Text

tuesday again 6/21/22

i never have to go back to the high school or possibly the town where i went to high school Ever Again bc my youngest sibling has graduated and im going to ride that high as long as possible

VERY long mobile game review, tried to be objective about quality of life stuff and how successful certain mechanics were but (spoiler) didn't like this one very much

listening i am being true to the original concept of this section, which was "what song have i had on loop this week bc it does something to my brain, even if it's kind of goofy or cheesy, instead of cherrypicking my shuffle for an indie song i think more people should listen to."

anyway this is lion by saint mesa, which was not originally written for a tv show as i first surmised but has been featured in several. if i can imagine some sort of long-anticipated trading caravan lumbering toward a watering hole somewhere in a blasted wasteland (even if it is extremely not the story the lyrics are telling me) i'm going to put that song on loop, perhaps for an entire hour of a six-hour drive.

youtube

reading fallow week

watching i watched Legend (1985, dir. Scott) in two chunks, about half last week and then the rest when i got back from traveling this week. i find myself consistently intrigued but lightly disappointed by scott's films. however, his films' visuals are fun in a way i appreciate. more of this please. "oooh the noir enjoyer likes heavy use of light and shadow and literally this exact framing in anything" thank you i am already aware

tom cruise would have been better served as the puckish but amoral fairy prince The Gump, i feel. like sure. he's a prettyboy and also a feral wild boy, and he does do the early parts of the movie when he doesn't talk very much very well... that felt a bit mean. he does a very good person who lives just outside of civilization and regard it all with some bemusement and feels no particular need to follow it. the film quickly snaps him into the mold of a silver-tongued rogue who can charm or squirm out of anything, which feels off. bring back feral tom cruise. the princess also has an odd moment of wits, which is an odd contrast with a very clumsy lie in her earliest scene, where she steals cookies from her old nursemaid and then tells baby tom cruise oh no she absolutely made them herself :) there isn't much on-screen character development for her between these two scenes, just being dragged away and kidnapped.

i chilled the fuck out a lot after realizing this movie was far more interested in the costumes/sets/visuals than any theme more complex than light vs dark. most irritatingly, the ending does not seem like our loving pair learned a single goddamn thing from this whole escapade or that it changed them in any way, she's still a spoilt irresponsible princess, he's still head over heels for her. this movie is not interested in the corrupting force of monarchies vs the corrupting force of i think the literal devil??? simply not what i am looking for in a film, and i did not see this at a formative enough age for the campiness to really nest itself into my soul, although i do appreciate it.

love a good Waltz that Corrupts. the visual language of tim curry’s lair is quite striking- the use of light and shadow is doing a ton of work to suggest more detail than there actually is, and make sets look more complex and larger than they actually are. you simply do not get fantastic grandiose sets like eighties fantasy movie sets any more.

tim curry was terrific, the creature design was terrific, everyone is always slightly sweaty and covered in glitter, i liked guessing how the costumes were put together. there are worse films to spend two hours with.

how'd i come across this: watched it as an edgy teen

playing it's time to dissect another mobile game that almost worked for me but didn't. i've tried to be objective and really get down into why the mechanics made choices i didn't like, even though i don't play a ton of this genre. the last big collectible trading card gacha-ish games i played on mobile were dragalia lost, something that was very similar to panzer waltz but i can no longer find the name of, world flipper, and sinoalice. not my very favorite genre of game, but i do dabble.

youtube

anyway i came across dislyte bc they got an investment recently and have an extremely aggressive and kind of shady marketing campaign.

here's the good: it's extremely fucking pretty. the character design and costuming/props are great, there are so many unique animations! the soundtrack and background music are fun, if in a slightly generic clubby top radio hit kind of way they're probably going for on purpose, and the little schtick of the menu music being announced by "dislyte excerpts radio" is funny to me. an interesting thing is "reviews" of characters that anyone can leave in their own separate little menu (which are all thirst comments basically, y'all down CATASTROPHIC for the jackal man), and the little "% of people chose this!" when you get points to assign to attributes. i think that specifically is a neat touch that will iron itself out eventually and be more representative of what people over time pick, but also: sometimes the favored build isn't very good for what you're trying to do with a character.

the bad: incredibly poor tutorials and menu design, it's a glorified autobattler.

tutorials, quality of life kvetches: i still do not understand very basic things such as "how to change who attacks first" and "what the fuck Does elemental strategy like Actually Do". weird fuckin things are overly complicated, like levelling up the little trinkets you can equip to a character that are a mechanic in every collectible gacha card game ever. there's a lot of different materials. there's a lot of different kinds of trinkets. there's some suggested trinket builds but heavy reliance on percentages AND percent of a change, which i fucking hate. tell me in simple words like "3x damage if this effect is active". i don't want to do mental math for your game and i do video game stats for a living.

on a related note, like many other collectible card games, this is "menus the game" but the "main" menu is laid out across four goddamn different screens.

on a related note to that related note, these menus are DEEP. you can get four or five menus deep on the character pages (i am not redownloading to double check). i should never be five menus deep into anything at any point. combine shit.

point three or whatever, everything is so fucking tiny. i have an iphone 12, which is a reasonably large modern smartphone. many many phones are smaller. i should not be holding my phone four inches in front of my face trying to make out which glyph is which because i can't zoom. (image)

actually point four bc this screenshot compilation reminded me: you have two different types of menus and ways to open them just on the individual card page: the bottom bar, and the tiny icons on the side. that's not even all the tiny icons, you have to hit the arrow to expand and see them all. that's simply too many options and it's confusing and hard to find things.

combat: again this feels like it started out life as an autobattler and then pivoted really late. fighting is simply tapping a button to activate an ability. there's no timing element, there's no real strategy behind saving up your abilities and gaming the cooldowns. you also start off with no cooldown on any abilities, which is very weird and makes it so you can just fucking mulch a level without being touched once if you're levelled up enough. if you're not levelled up enough, you die Extremely quickly. i truly don’t understand if i'm supposed to have a strategy? this video if i've timestamped it right should let you watch the first actual team battle. thrilling!

youtube

length of time for combat: everything in this game has a fancy little animation that is very pretty but takes forever. the game itself suggests enabling 2X battle speed. this is not a game you can bust out and play a level in line for groceries or something, and it's not really meant to be, but the length of time it takes to get through a level is on the upper limit of what i expected from a collectible card game and often strained my patience, especially in multi-stage battles. there doesn't seem to be a way to auto-run through the levels yet. i also don't find that kind of game intrinsically fun to play, so it's unlikely the inclusion would make me want to continue playing, but it's odd that there isn't that option when it's there in so many other games like this.

conclusion: i seem to have slammed into a hard pay to play cap at the end of chapter eight after three days/idk ten hours of on and off play. so this is where I leave it i think. for the next Big Update i would expect the menus to be radically overhauled and significant quality of life improvements to be made, especially with regards to inventory, but the art and music is not enough to make me keep playing until then. mostly because i didn't pull a hot butch-of-center lady i fell in love with, unlike genshin which almost immediately gave me beidou.

making lemon garlic paprika chicken. slightly too heavy on the lemon. no pics all gone.

after some vigorous discussion with my sister about saturation and hue, swapped a bunch of shit in and out of frames and hung up some shit in my living room. they are on either side of the front windows, which makes this awkward bc my view is very doxxable.

anyway, because i think i'm funny and isn't that really the most important thing in life when you think about it, amusing yourself, red for port: an 8x10 photograph acquired at my favorite used bookstore/ephemera/florist in the world, a black canary poster acquired from a free comic book day Several years ago, a terminator: dark fate poster i grabbed on the way to go see the charlie's angels reboot but never actually got around to seeing terminator: dark fate until last year.

blue for starboard: flyer from a show i went to matted Much bigger than it actually is, signed poster from my favorite roommate's cousin's band, poster from a show i did Not go to bc i ended up having to work but i do think it's one of the better posters wmua ever did

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem

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apieceofsushi · 2 years

Note

Any anime reccs?

sir, you have could not have asked a more godly question.

well, for starters, it really depends on what genre you’re into. i won’t recommend any really obvious series (like demon slayer or my hero academia as those are popular for a reason :D), but here’s some of my personal favorites:

action

eighty-six (86) is by far one of my favorite shows in this category. the animation is incredible, but man it is so under appreciated. if you like bits of action here and there but also with a story that touches your heart every time, I highly recommend this anime. basically, it’s kind of like a take on discrimination that we have in the world today, but instead the ones who discriminate are called Alba (who have distinct silver-white hair), and the ones that they look down on have all sorts of different hair colors based on their bloodline. they are nicknamed the “Eighty-Six”, and they are sent off to fight against the Legion, who are these automated drones and fight to survive, as they have no choice. the war against these robots has been going on for years, but for the country of San Mongolia, they’ve had zero casualties, as the Eighty-Six are not counted as real people. it’s a really interesting story set in the future, and there’s a lot to love about it!

trailer

toilet-bound hanako kun is a show that may sound strange at first, but it is explained within minutes of watching. personally, i prefer the manga (the art style is INCREDIBLE), however, the show still covers the story with impeccable detail. the anime follows this girl named yashiro nene, who is in her first year of high school and wants her crush to notice her. however, in this school, there is something called “the seven wonders”, each being these ghosts or creatures with different abilities and realms. nene goes to the girls bathroom, which is said to house hanako san, who can grant any wish at a price. but to nene’s surprise, the ghost she finds is a boy with a terribly chaotic personality. the dynamic between each character in the story is what makes the show so much fun to watch, and it’s what prompted me to start hoarding the manga. there’s only one season so far, however, but depending on how much content you’re looking for, it could be a good thing. this anime is so much fun, and it leaves viewers wanting more after each episode!

trailer

romance

komi can’t communicate is an incredible anime, I’d be shocked if you’ve never heard of it. it follows a girl named komi shouko, who has a communication disorder which limits her ability to talk around people, even her own family. it’s her first day of high school, and she is almost instantly loved her her stunning looks and cool attitude. everyone praises her as a goddess! only….komi doesn’t want to be seen as someone that’s too holy to approach, but…to make one hundred friends. but obviously, no one knows this, until tadano hitohito, the most normal and average teenager their could be, works up the courage to talk to his classmate, and uncovers the truth. this show is so wholesome, and it follows the heartwarming journey of this girl who just wants to make friends and have fun in school for the first time.

trailer

there are a ton of other shows i’ve watched, but these are a select three that i really enjoyed, so check them out if you haven’t already! hope this helps fulfill your anime needs 😌

#my asks #anime #86 eighty six #toilet bound hanako kun #komi can’t communicate #i don’t get these very often but it makes my heart sing when they come in #please give me some more asks! :D

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elwynten · 9 months

Text

Chapter 25

Talk with Miach, Hephaestus, Hestia and Takemikazuchi about immortality.

I invited Miach, Hephaistos, Hestia and Takemikazuchi to a special supper. I served hamburgers and French fries. Something they have never had before. The food was quite the surprise to our guests, although they did like the food.

The conversation was easy because our guests are kind and friendly people, or should I say 'gods'.

About halfway through the meal Miach spoke up. "While I do appreciate this delicious and unusual food. I have to wonder why you invited all of us here."

I smiled a Miach. "I have two reasons for inviting all of you here. The first is to try out the hamburgers and French fries, to see if y'all would like them. I might open a restaurant that serves them as well as a few other foods. The second reason is the main reason y'all were invited. And that reason is a little more… how should I put it… sensitive." I started.

Hephaistos nodded her head. "The food is very good. If you do open a restaurant, I will visit it regularly. Unless I can get the recipe so my cooks can make it." She said with a smile.

I chuckled. "Over time people will probably figure out how to make the hamburgers and fries, but until then I don't plan on giving out the recipe. But since y'all are my test subjects I'll let y'all eat for free for six months." I told Hephaistos and the others.

Take' nodded his head in agreement. "That sounds like a good offer." He admitted.

"Once the shop is open, I would appreciate if y'all would let everyone know how good the food is and get the word out." I told them.

They all nodded their heads in agreement. "What is the sensitive subject you wished to talk to us about?" Miach asked.

"Yes, what would be so sensitive that you would need to talk to us?" Hephaistos asked me as she looked between Hestia and myself.

I saw where Hephaistos was looking. "Hestia doesn't know what I want to talk to you about." I started. "So, to get to the point. To you 'gods' us mortals are only here for a blink of an eye. Some of you have fallen in love with a mortal to only have them die of old age in mere moments as far as you are concerned. I was wondering what you would think if there was a way for some of your 'children' to live hundreds or even thousands of years instead of sixty to eighty years." I started.

They all had surprised looks in their faces. "Sadly, our children can only live a short time. It is the way of the world." Take' said.

"Yes, as much as we would like our children to live longer, it is not possible." Hephaistos added.

"I would love to have Bell with me forever, but sadly it can't happen." Hestia said with a sad expression on her face.

Take' looked me in the eyes. "Why would you ask such a thing?" Take' asked. There was no anger in his voice, just curiosity and possibly some concern.

"I'm over sixty years old. I don't age, because 'I' am immortal. I will never die unless I am killed, or I want to die." I told them.

"You're telling us that you're a god?" Take' asked leaning forward onto the table.

I shook my head, negative. "No, I'm not a 'god', and I have never claimed to be one. But I was gifted immortality, 'and' I was given the ability to give that same immortality to anyone I want to." I said. "Now the immortality I can give to others does not prevent that person or people from being killed, but they will never die of old age. They will stay young forever." I explained.

Hephaistos stood up quickly causing the legs of her chair to scrape and squeal across the floor and looked down at me. "You're telling us that you are immortal, and you can make others immortal as well!?" She exclained.

"You mean Bell could be with me forever?" Hestia asked with a huge smile on her face and shining eyes.

I grinned at Hestia because I know how much she cares for Bell. "His life has already been extended. When I gave him a Companion, his life was extended to over four hundred years. It's the same with everyone I gave a Companion to." I informed Hestia.

Miach looked at me with a confused look on his face. "Companion? Who or what is this companion?" He asked me.

Hephaistos sat back down.

"Have you seen any of the animals that usually accompany our Familia's members?" I asked Miach.

"Yes, I have." He replied.

"Those animals are Companions. They are 'not' normal animals. They have human intelligence, they are stronger, more durable and have some other abilities and/or powers. And those abilities and powers are shared with their human partner." I informed them. "One of those abilities is Regeneration or quick self-healing. Some of them heal so fast a lost arm or leg will regrow in about seven days. Others the Regeneration will restore a lost arm or leg in an hour or less. And depending on the speed of the Regeneration the Companion and their partner will live three to six times longer than normal. In other words, they will live to be around two hundred forty years to four hundred and fifty years old." I explained.

Miach's face showed shock on it. "Those animals are as intelligent as humans? That's not possible." He stated.

I chuckled. "Taima would you come in here please." I called to Taima who was just outside the room. *In cat form please.* I sent to her as well.

A moment later the door opened, and Taima in her Snow Leopard form walked into the room. Taima trotted over to an empty chair at the table and jumped up onto it, then she put her front paws on the table. "Who doesn't believe I'm intelligent?" She asked our guests.

Miach and Hephaistos pushed their chairs back away from the table, while Take' had a thoughtful look on his face.

Hestia gave Taima a dirty look. "Paws!" Hestia told Taima with a little heat.

Taima removed her front paws from the table and placed them on the chair. "Sorry, lady Hestia." Taima said to Hestia.

"Thank you, Taima." Hestia said as Taima removing her paws from the table.

Hephaistos, Miach and Take' all gave Hestia and Taima surprised looks.

I chuckled. "Hestia, rightly so, will not allow anyone or anything to put their feet on the dining table." I explained.

"She-she… the c-cat removed her feet from the table when Hestia said 'paws'." Hephaistos observed. "Hestia didn't even tell the cat what to do. She just said 'paws' and the cat removed her feet from the table." Hephaistos said surprised.

"That's because Taima knew what Hestia meant and she also knows she's not supposed to put her feet up on the table." I explained.

"I did know what lady Hestia meant. That is why I took my front paws off the table." Taima explained. "And since Eilwyn is immortal, I am immortal also. A Companion's life span is the same as their partner's. That means when a Companion's partner dies, the Companion dies. Which means since Eilwyn is immortal, I am immortal." Taima added.

Miach looked at me for several moments. "Can you prove you are immortal?" Miach asked me.

"Not really. How would anyone prove they are immortal? Although I can give you information that might help you believe What I have said is true." I told Miach and the others. I held out my hand and summoned from my closet PD, the first paper Hestia had given me with my status on it after she had given me her 'Blessing'. "When I joined Hestia's Familia, she handed me this paper. It's the first paper with my status on it. I kept it just in case I needed it, and it looks like I need it." I told them then handed Miach the paper.

Miach's eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. "Th-this isn't p-p-possible!" He exclaimed.

Hephaistos reached across the table and took the paper out of Miach's hand. She looked the paper over.

"I would appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone about what you are seeing. You know how some of the 'gods' want anyone that's different." I told them. I also pushed it into their minds that they would not tell anyone and that they would only talk about it if they were alone with the other people in this room.

Hephaistos handed the paper to Take' so he could read it. "How is this possible? How could you be so… so… so powerful?" Hephaistos asked me and Hestia.

I chuckled. "I really must record that story, so I don't have to keep repeating it. Long story short. I was in an accident, a life-threatening accident. I heard a voice in my head after I blacked out. The voice told me, my dreams would come true. When I woke up, Taima was there looking at me, and I had all the powers and abilities you saw on the paper and many more that aren't on the paper." I explained to Miach, Hephaistos and Take'. "And one of those abilities is immortality." I told them. "Plus, I can give that very same immortality to anyone I want. I have already given Cindy, Iris and Kimmy immortality, and I'm thinking of giving Rosni, Bell, Welf and the rest of the Hestia Familia immortality. Of course, I'll ask before I give anyone immortality.

"You have abilities not listed on your status sheet?" Take' asked.

I nodded my head in agreement. "Yes, I can see in total darkness, and I can see in infrared, which means I can see the heat that people, animals and other objects give off. And…" I said while I stood up and moved behind my chair. I extended my Extra Arms out, using three of them to lift myself off the floor. The fourth 'arm' I reached over the table and used to scratch Taima on the head between her ears.

"You know I prefer that you use your hands when you scratch my head." Taima gave me a mild rebuke.

I chuckled. "I was just demonstrating how my 'Extra Arms' work." I replied.

Hephaistos stood up and looked at my 'extra arms'. "How do those work?" She asked with awe in her voice and on her face.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I don't really know how they work. They are just one of the abilities I received, and I can use them just like I can use my natural arms." I told Hephaistos. "And again, please don't tell anyone about any of this." I reiterated.

"B-but if you don't know how they work. How do you repair them when they get damaged?" Hephaistos asked me.

I smiled. "That's the nice thing about them. They don't get damaged, so they don't need repaired. They are indestructible." I told Hephaistos.

Hephaistos stared at my 'Extra Arms'. "But even unbreakable swords need to be sharpened and maintained."

"These don't, along with all of my weapons and the weapons of my Familia. None of them need to be sharpened nor do they need to be maintained." I assured Hephaistos. I set myself back on the floor and retracted the 'extra arms'. Then I summoned my naginata to my hand. I handed it to Hephaistos to look over. "You might want to take a look at this." I suggested.

Hephaistos took the naginata from me and started taking a close look at it. "Who made this weapon?" She asked.

I shrugged my shoulders. "No clue. I got it along with all the other weapons from my Armory. Why?" I replied.

Hephaistos looked up at me with awe on her face. "This is a perfect weapon. There are no flaws, no blemishes, no imperfections. It's perfect. What are these markings?" She said pointing to the runes on my naginata.

"Those are runes that allow the owner of the weapon to do different things." I started. I pointed to each rune as I explained what they do. "That one is a Bonding Rune. It allows you to bond or store the weapon 'in' yourself. It doesn't harm you and you don't even know it's there. Plus, you can summon it to your hand whenever you need it, and while it's Bonded to you, you can use any of the other runes when you want to use them. Then there is:

Electrical Control (create and control electricity) Metal Control (create and control metals) Weather Control Healing (Heal people, mend/repair non-magical objects) Air Control (Create and control air) Multiples (Doppelganger, make copies of the weapon) Purify (Cleanse wounds, food, places) Elementalist (Electricity, Air or Earth can be used on the blade to cause greater damage) Extended Range Danger Sense."

I listed everything the runes on Sasori and what they each can give the owner the ability to do.

"It will not crumble after you use the magic a certain number of times. It lasts forever or until I put it back into the Armory. And it doesn't use mind to power it, so you don't have to worry about mind down or mind zero after you've used the magic several times." I told Hephaistos.

Hephaistos sat in her chair shaking her head in disbelief as she read what was on the blade. "There' are hieroglyphs on the blade as well." She said as she read what it said. "This is Hestia's Falna!?"

"This first side reads; The truest of silver and brilliance of mithril, shapes thy body. The true light shall be clouded if touched by others. Take care, as only one who shares your blood, can draw this blade." Hephaistos read.

"The edge of the blade says; You are the Goddess Hestia’s double. The flame of hearth that splits the shadow, the one who cuts through the path of your master. You are to be the forever companion, protecting your master." Hephaistos continued.

"And the other side says; The master of The Armory, being an ally of Hestia, to create this weapon. Marked by the Falna, god’s Blade, you are our beloved Familia. Commanded to be equal to the name of Hestia. Share your strength and give glory to the ones who share your blood. The name of your master, Eilwyn Tengee. You become the other half of your master; may you smile together, rage together, cry together, hurt together, travel together, surpass hardships together, grow together. Excelia be your food, sharpen your edge, and reach new height together." She finished reading what was written on the blade.

"This weapon is alive. It'll grow as you grow and get stronger as you grow stronger. How did you get this?" Hephaistos asked shocked and surprised by what she had read.

I grinned. "I told you; I got it from my Armory. And I should let you know that everyone in the Hestia Familia has their own version. Bell has a Hestia knife, I have my Hestia Naginata, Welf has a Hestia Sword, Cindy has a Pair of Hestia Gossip Yuanyang Tomahawks, Iris has two Hestia Hook Swords, Kimmy has a Hestia Pole Axe…" I started listing off all the 'Hestia" weapons, but Hephaistos stopped me before I could finish.

Hephaistos held up her hand, palm facing me. "Enough I don't need to hear what everyone's 'Hestia' weapon is. If they can do what I think they can, they could become the most powerful weapons on the planet." She said with awe and fear on her face and in her voice.

"I also have a couple different styles of Hestia Short Swords as well." I added.

"I said ENOUGH!" Hephaistos said forcefully. "I don't need to hear the whole list. It's bad enough everyone in the Hestia Familia has one of those in the first place."

I chuckled at Hephaistos's dilemma. I tried to change the subject back to immortality. "We'll drop the weapons for now." I said and summoned my naginata to my hand. Hephaistos's hand still looked like she was holding the shaft of my naginata although her hand was empty. Hephaestus jumped in shock and surprise to find her hand empty and my naginata back in my hand. I then Bonded it to myself.

"Back to the immortality. What would you think of me giving a few people immortally? Of course, everyone in the Hestia Familia will receive immortality, 'if' they want it. And I would have no problem giving those in the Miach Familia, Take' Familia and some in the Hephaistos Familia Immortality if they want it as well." I offered.

Miach looked at me thoughtfully. "Would anyone that you give this immortality to also receive one of those Hestia weapons?" He asked me.

I shook my head in the negative. "No of course not, because they are not in the Hestia Familia. All of the Hestia weapons only work for people 'in' the Hestia Familia. Anyone else that tries to use them, the weapon looks, feels and acts like a piece of useless junk." I explained. "Now, I can get Miach Familia weapons as well as Take' Familia weapons." I said then I looked at Hephaistos. "I'm guessing your smiths wouldn't want one. Although Welf has one and is trying to figure out how to make them himself." I told Hephaistos and grinned.

Hephaistos rolled her eyes. "That child." She said exasperated.

"Since Nahza isn't an adventurer anymore. I don't see any reason to give her a Miach Familia weapon, but I'll leave that up to you and her." I told Miach.

Miach looked at me for a moment then he nodded his head in agreement. "I can see that reasoning." He admitted. Miach then looked at Take' and Hephaistos then back to me. "I believe we will need to talk more about this immortality before we tell our children about it, or even think about offering them immortality." He told me.

"Yes, we should talk about it amongst the three of us." Take' said.

Hephaistos nodded her head in agreement. "Definitely we'll need to talk about it more. If we have any questions, will you be available to answer them, Eilwyn?" She said.

"If I'm able to, I'll answer any questions you have. But you have to realize I don't know all of the answers." I replied.

Hephaistos nodded her head in understanding. "That is acceptable."

"Now if everyone isn't off their food. We have bubbly pies for dessert." I offered.

= = = = = = = = = =

A fortnight later (2 weeks) Takemikazuchi, Hephaistos and Miach returned to the Heartstone Manor. This time we were sitting in the living room.

"You are sure anyone that receives this immortality does not age?" Miach asked me.

"Yes and no. They will age to their prime which is usually around twenty-five years of age. But once they reach their prime age, they will stop aging." I answered. "Plus, if someone that is over their prime receives immortality, they will age backwards until they are at their prime, then they will stay at that age." I added.

Miach nodded his head in understanding. "What does it take to give this immortality to a person?" He asked.

"It takes about five minutes to give the immortality to a person." I told Miach. "Although I do have the option to 'not' give immortality to anyone I feel is unfit to receive it. There are some people that would abuse it. Plus, it is free. The immortality is 'not' for sale. That way it cannot be considered something that only the rich or rich Familia's can obtain. Although I would like to keep this as quiet as possible. I don't want anyone and everyone coming to the door wanting immortality." I told them. "And one more thing. After I give someone immortallity, I can take it away if I feel they don't deserve it or are abusing it."

"That is understandable. Would you be willing to give my 'children' immortality?" Take' asked.

I nodded my head in agreement. "Yes, I would. They will either have to come here or I'll have to go to your home to do it. And they will have to want immortality as well." I told Take'.

Take' nodded his head in understanding. "That is as expected."

I looked at Miach. "What about you?" I asked him.

"I will tell them about it and leave it up to them." Miach told me.

I turned to Hephaistos. "With as many members you have in your Familia, you might want to give it to only those that work hard, learn their trade well and won't use immortality to build themselves up." I suggested.

Hephaistos nodded her head in agreement. "Kind of like a bonus for doing good and not cheating customers. Sadly, there are a few in my Familia that try to pass off shoddy work for first class work." She admitted.

"Sadly, that happens in the best of businesses." I agreed.

I turned to Take' and Miach. "If you would talk to your Familia's and find out if they want immortality or not and who wants it, then let me know. After you do that, I'll give immortality to those that want it." I told them.

#DanMachi #Bell Cranel #Hestia #Miach #Hephaistos #is it wrong to try to pick up girls in a dungeon

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ruminativerabbi · 1 year

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An Honest Man

I was saddened this last week to hear of the death at age eighty-eight of Harold S. Kushner, Rabbi Laureate of Temple Israel in Natick, Massachusetts, and one of the most successful author-rabbis of his day. Or any day. He will be remembered for many things by those who knew him personally, but most others will recall him primarily for his six best-selling books, of which When Bad Things Happen to Good People, published more than forty years ago in 1981, was both the most successful and the most widely acclaimed. It remains in print in more than a dozen languages; more than four million copies were sold in the first twenty years after it was written. Amazingly, given that it was written by a rabbi drawing on the wellsprings of Jewish thought for his material, it was widely successful among non-Jewish readers as well as Jewish ones. And I can speak to that aspect of the book’s appeal personally: I knew a Christian minister back in B.C. who routinely gave copies to congregants trying to find their way through grief to solace.

My personal connection is that Harold Kushner and I both served as editors of the journal Conservative Judaism, as did also my predecessor at Shelter Rock, Myron M. Fenster. But that was more of a coincidence than anything else; what made me admire him the most was the breadth of his learning and, even more than that, his willingness to write and teach honestly always and without exception. For readers unfamiliar with the Jewish bookshelf of the four decades since When Bad Things Happen to Good People came out, this may not sound like such a big deal. And, really, it shouldn’t be. But the truth is that writing about theological ideas without dissembling or intentionally obfuscating, following ideas logically along their natural progression without feeling the need to avoid stress-inducing conclusions, and not mistranslating texts because their simple meaning would be upsetting or unduly challenging to traditional beliefs—these should be the natural tools any author possessed of spiritual and intellectual integrity (and particularly any Jewish author writing about Judaism or the nature of Jewish faith) should bring to his or her craft. But that is certainly not how things are in the real world of Jewish books, a world in which people routinely publish books in which they declaim as simple truths ideas that they find appealing and sustaining, but which they cannot say with any certainty at all are true.

Knowing the back story of When Bad Things Happen to Good People is crucial to appreciating its worth. The story itself is terrible. The Kushners had a son named Aaron who suffered from a disease called progeria and who died in 1977. Progeria is a terrible thing, a condition that leads to premature and rapid aging. This year’s Broadway hit, Kimberly Akimbo, features a bizarrely upbeat take on the disease, depicting the title character afflicted with it almost as fortunate because of the deep insights her misery suggests to her adolescent self. But the reality is nothing like what you see on stage and is truly tragic: when Aaron Kushner was ten years old, he had the body of a sixty-year old. When he died, he was as tall a toddler and weighed as little as you’d expect. And then, after such a strange trajectory through an impossible childhood, he died just a few days following his fourteenth birthday.

This is the kind of thing no one who hasn’t personally experienced can imagine. But most parents forced by circumstance to live through the kind of nightmare that features the death of an innocent lad who has never had a moment of normalcy in his short life would at least have the luxury, if that’s the right word, of being left alone by the world to work through their emotions in peace. Or, if that’s not quite true—the shiva week is, after all, designed specifically to make sure mourners are not left alone at all with or in their grief—then at least it is true that most people would be allowed to work through their loss without having to test that work against the dogmatic lessons of classical Jewish (or Christian or Buddhist or any) theology. Most people would be allowed to grieve in peace.

But Rabbi Kushner was not just anyone, He was the rabbi of a large congregation filled with people eager to condole with him and with his wife, to help—even if only slightly—to dissipate the cloud of misery that had visited the Kushners’ home and left such terrible sadness in its wake. And—and this is the key part—and eager also to hear their spiritual leader explain how such horrific sadness could have been visited upon a man whose entire life had been devoted to serving others. Wasn’t God a just Judge? Isn’t that notion—that God judges the world fairly and honorably, rewarding the good and punishing the wicked—isn’t that idea at the very core of the High Holiday liturgy? If God visits misery on people arbitrarily, then why be good at all? And if God only visits misery on people who deserve it because of their wicked deeds, then how can people explain the suffering of people—like Rabbi and Mrs. Kushner—who appear to do only good in the world? And even if they did deserve—for some secret reason—to suffer the loss of a child, then what did the child himself do to merit such a severely truncated life? Surely, the boy was not responsible for his own misery!

For Jewish people, none of these questions can be asked without reference to the Shoah. And that was part of things too—Harold Kushner was born in 1935, so was just growing into his teenaged years as the true dimensions of the losses endured by the Jews of Europe were becoming known. He went to high school in Brooklyn, then to Columbia as an undergraduate, then to JTS, my own alma mater, where he was ordained in 1960. This was long before people were prepared even tentatively to try to work out a way to maintain traditional faith in a benevolent and just God against wartime stories of depravity and barbarism so horrific that even now, scores of years later, they seem unimaginable to most. The weak and unsatisfying idea put out by most who even tried to respond theologically—and which I myself heard spoken aloud many times during my years at JTS—was that the Shoah was a mystery that by its very nature will never be explained adequately…and that the best path forward would therefore be not even to try to explain it cogently or rationally lest failed attempts lead away from traditional observance or faith.

But the death of Aaron Kushner sparked something in his father that could not be tamped down with reference to divine inscrutability or ontological mystery. He was a rabbi and an honest man. He found himself paralyzed by grief and unable to explain how his blameless son could have suffered and died if Judge God is all-knowing, just, and fair. Most would just move forward and try to forget. But Harold Kushner didn’t forget. Or maybe he simply couldn’t forget. But neither could he stay where he was mired in melancholy—time was marching on and he needed to move along with it.

And so he began to write his book that became the most famous of all his works. In it, he took on the questions that most prefer—and prefer vastly—to ignore. And he produced an answer that worked for him. He angered many with his book. Among radical traditionalists, he was vilified for daring to write as he did. Some of my own teachers at JTS wrote unflattering reviews in which they breathlessly revealed that the solutions he proposed were inconsonant with traditional theological tropes. But the book was resonant not with thousands, but with millions. Countless readers who hadn’t ever studied theology seriously but who had experienced excruciating loss understood that Rabbi Kushner was writing about them, speaking to them, and baring his soul for them. I was in graduate school when the book came out. I read it almost as soon as it was available. And I was fully engaged by what he wrote: not by the details so much, but by the breathtaking honesty of a man unwilling to find comfort in fantasy…and yet who was also unwilling to abandon his faith and find solace in atheism.

The thesis of the book is that God is infinitely good but not infinitely powerful, and that the notion of divine omnipotence—that is, the idea of an all-powerful God—is so inconsonant with the world as we experience it in the context of our daily lives as to make it a ridiculous foundation upon which to build anything at all, let alone a spiritual life. And so, embracing the idea that God is infinitely good and just—but not that God can step into any situation to fix it and make it right—Kushner moves forward from chapter to chapter. Using anecdotal evidence gleaned from his own career as a preacher and a pastor but also providing textual support from the Psalms and from other biblical passages, Kushner makes a reasonable case for embracing faith as the foundation for life itself but without falling prey to the fantasy that God can right every wrong, that God could have saved all the children murdered by the Nazis but just didn’t for some reason, that God could easily have cured little Aaron of his terrible disease but decided for some inscrutable reason not to.

It's powerfully and intelligently written, that book. I read it when it came out and was astounded by the man’s insistence on not looking away no matter how painful staring directly into the light might be. Here was the honest man Diogenes sought. And that I myself also sought…and found in Harold Kushner.

May his memory be for a blessing. And may he rest in peace.

#Harold Kushner #When Bad Things Happen to Good People

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dynimest · 2 years

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allyouneedisbuck · 3 years

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i don’t wanna do this (i don’t wanna lose this)

eighteen plus blog minors dni

summary -> it’s all fake, every piece of it scripted and perfected for the camera, even the upcoming break-up you pretend doesn’t break your heart.

words -> 2.5k

warnings -> fake relationship, use of name (bucky calls the reader by her character’s name, lucia, once) nickname uses (baby, sweetheart) co-workers/friends to lovers, no smut, not beta’d

notes -> this is for the lovely maera’s ( @ambrosiase ) hotel indigo writing challenge i absolutely love this idea mae and am so appreciative that you created this challenge, it really pushed me out of my comfort zone and i got to explore an entirely new au.

room & service -> business meets pleasure with celebrity bucky barnes -> bucky and reader are co-stars in a fake relationship in a hotel for their final comic-con together.

— ➶ —

Bucky has been doing interviews with Sam all day today.

You’ve been working together for six seasons and have both been to too many comic-cons to count. Every single one of them you and Bucky had been paired up to do interviews and photo-ops together.

A scripted piece of a scripted relationship. Agreed upon when your characters romance began to pick up popularity and designed to look perfect until the end.

Tomorrow an article with be released ‘leaking’ the details of your perfect break-up too. A source close to the both of you will comment that wrapping of the show and being forced to go long distance just wasn’t working for you two. The writer will supply photos of today, the two of you avoiding sitting near one another and not speaking. They’ll write that their source confirmed this convention is actually the first time you’ve seen each other in months.

Even more articles have already been planted periodically questioning whether the two of you were still together, generating buzz around the show and what happens between your characters. It’s a brilliant job, honestly.

Except, you and Bucky had been in a fake relationship for so long, it had begun to feel real. This distance between you two felt purposeful in a way that hurt you more than it ever should have.

Your assistant is supposed to go through your instagram soon and begin archiving posts and pieces of your fake life with Bucky. He’s been glaringly absent from your social media recently and it makes your heart ache at the idea of him being nonexistent.

Your fans have noticed too. You read comment after comment all asking the same thing; What happened to you and Bucky?

“Oh, Lucia! My dear, Lucia.” You bite down a grin at the sound of Bucky’s voice through your door. His words were filtered by the wall between you and a little slurred from the drinks he had no doubt consumed at the hotel bar. “Open the door, please.”

You lock your phone and lay it on the bed beside you. “I’m busy, Bucky! Go bother Sam.” You call back despite already walking towards the door.

“Bother Sam? On our last night together?” You can see Bucky smile teasingly though the peephole. Despite his joking tone the words hurt. “Four years together and this is how things end? Through a hotel room door?”

His fist comes up to bang against the door and a hand comes up to his heart. He’s putting on a show for you, fully away of your eye watching carefully through the peephole. “How much have you had to drink, Bucky Barnes?” You ask as the door remains closed.

Bucky holds his fingers up in a pinch too small to be true. “Not much.” When his hand falls back to his side he smiles up at the peephole. “Let me in, sweetheart. I’ve missed you.”

You melt, becoming putty in his hand as you quickly move to unlatch the door. “I’ve missed you too.” You admit to him, face to face, as you lean against the door jam.

A smirk replaces Bucky’s sweet smile as his hands reach out to grip your hips. “This break-up is tough on me, baby.” He pushes you into the room, kicking the door shut behind him. “One more night. One last time. You and me.”

“Shut up!” You force his hands off of you and turn towards the mini bar in your room. “You’re such a dweeb. I’m glad we’re breaking up.” You pull out the miniature bottle of wine and twist the top off.

Bucky’s hand slams across his chest as he falls against the wall in dramatic fashion. “You’re… Glad? My frail heart can’t take it,” he falls to his knees, “Please. Tell my mother, I loved her.”

You watch, unamused, as Bucky falls to the floor in front of you. “You’re obnoxious.” A beaming smile breaks out onto Bucky’s face that makes you grin.

“I was serious, about missing you.” Bucky moves to sit up with his back against the edge of your bed. You move to sit beside him on the floor. “These junkets and photos just aren’t the same without you by my side, cracking jokes in my ear.”

You rest your head against his shoulder. “Me too. I love Wanda, but it’s just not the same.” You admit quietly.

There’s so much that you want to say to him. What if this wasn’t fake? What if we didn’t go through with the break-up plan? “Did they send you our social media plan?” Bucky asks quietly.

“Yeah,” You swallow thickly, “I have my assistant going through my account for me soon. We’re supposed to start untagging and deleting photos of each other this week.”

Bucky snorts. “How fucking sweet. Four years together and they have us untag each other to confirm a break up.” His fingers tap against his thigh as the two of you sit on the carpeted floor together.

“Has it really been four years?” You ask quietly. It’s more of a question to yourself, but Bucky answers it with a nod anyways.

“My longest relationship ever and it was fake.” Bucky’s awkward laugh makes the air tense as he stares down at his hands. “I’ve wasted so much of my life. So many chances gone.”

You know the words aren’t said with ill intent, but that doesn’t stop the crack from forming in your heart. You can’t fathom the idea of all your time together, fake or not, being a waste.

Your eyes cut away from him in embarrassment. “Was it really all a waste?” You ask quietly. The words are unintentional, but that doesn’t change the fact that they’re out in the air.

“What?” You can feel his eyes settle on you in an attempt to read your face or body language, but a career in acting comes in handy. Your back is ramrod straight and your face turned away perfectly to hide the emotions in your eyes. “It was fake when we could have had something real with people we actually cared about.”

It’s a knife to your broken heart. “People we actually care about?”

“You know, like, other girls and guys who we wanted to pursue but couldn’t because of the contract.” Bucky reaches out to wrap a hand around yours, but you pull away. “I don’t understand what’s wrong here.”

You shake your head, the regret of your words settling over you. “Nothing. I’m just… It’s been a long day.” You use the edge of the bed to help you stand while Bucky remains on the floor, watching you in confusion. “I’m tired, you should go.”

“Woah. What’s this one-eighty?” Bucky stands too and follows you as you move around to gather your toothbrush and skincare. “Two seconds ago we were joking about a fake break-up and now you’re all quiet and weird? You expect me to just leave?”

“Please.” You plead. The last thing you want to do is dump all your feelings out to Bucky, on the last day you two were officially contracted to each other, and make him feel guilty for feeling free. “I just need to be alone, Buck.”

You move to push past him towards your bathroom, but Bucky’s hand wraps around your wrist. “Come on, sweetheart. Don’t do this closing yourself off thing.”

“I’m not.” You say stubbornly. “I’m tired.” You try again to move past him, but his grip only tightens as he forces you to actually face him. “Buck-“

“You can tell me, you know?” He says quietly as his grip slackens. Your eyes meet his, pools of blue staring back at you with something akin to hurt. “You can trust me. We’re best friends, right? You’re my-“

“You don’t have to lie to me, Bucky. Pretend to care. You can go back to the bar and…” You pull your hand from him and cross your arms over your chest. “And tomorrow we can start being with people we actually care about.”

Bucky’s eyes squeeze shut as his own words are repeated back and left out in the open between you two. “That’s not what I…”

“What did you mean then?” You cut him off. You want to sound angry, but your tone is sad and tired. “Enlighten me, please.”

“I just meant… I meant we could date who we wanted to date, I didn’t mean for it to sound so awful.” He answers quietly. “I care about you a lot. We’ve been friends for over half a decade, of course I care about you.”

You swallow thickly. “What if I don’t want to date anyone else?” You force yourself to ask. If not now, then when? Ten years from now at a reunion of your show? You couldn’t live with this what if.

“What?” Bucky’s hand falls from your wrist as he takes a step back like your words have burned him.

You push through the thundering of your heart and ringing in your ears to ask, “haven’t you ever thought about it? I mean, four years of just us, all those dates and premieres, was it really all just work for you?”

“I don’t know… I mean…” Bucky rubs a hand over his jaw as you stare at him expectantly. “Have you?”

“I asked the question I think that would imply…” You trail off as his answer weighs down on your mind. It feels like a no. No. No. No. It’s on repeat in your mind as you move to sit down on your bed. “After a while the dates and photos and sappy posts didn’t feel all that forced anymore.” You admit quietly.

Bucky paces silently in front of you. You’re unsure of what’s going through his mind as he does it and it’s all you can do to not tap anxiously as you watch.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” He finally asks when he finally pauses in front of you. You look up at him unsure of what to say. “I mean… When did you start…” He trails off like he doesn’t want the answer.

You look down at your hands in your lap. Despite your worries in telling Bucky you guess you had never truly thought of this conversation ending up this way. All these questions felt like Bucky preparing for a gentle rejection.

“I don’t know. After our second anniversary?” You keep your answer to him vague despite you being fully aware of when you started seeing Bucky differently. “That post you wrote for me that day. All the ones after. All of those words were fake?”

Your mind drifts to his words that day. The sweet and short caption had made butterflies erupt as you scrolled through the photos he had posted with it. Despite you both being required to post something, the photos he had chosen had been entirely genuine.

Pictures the two of you had taken together on set, selfies during your fake dates, and even a sweet set of photo booth pictures from your first premiere together.

You had stared at the post far too long as emotions rushed through you. Your heart raced at the idea of Bucky taking his time to pick photos that meant something to the both of you.

“I think that..” You shake your head in an attempt to rid yourself of the painful reminders. “I think you should go.” You stand up suddenly, your hands pushing gently at his chest.

Bucky’s eyes widen as his hands come up grip your arms in an attempt to stop you. “Woah. Let’s talk about this. I’m just trying to figure everything out.”

“Figure it out? What is there to figure out, Bucky?” You cry out, shoving harder. “If you don’t know how you feel then you should figure it out on your own.” You move past him to open the door.

Bucky follows after you hastily. “Sweetheart, wait, please. I just need a moment.” You grip his forearms tightly using Bucky’s own momentum against him as you guide him to the hallway outside your room. “I wasn’t expecting this. We have articles and photos and interviews planned about a break-up tomorrow.”

“I shouldn’t have said anything, Bucky.” The two of you are back where your night began. Opposite sides of the door as you stare, unsure of what to say. “Let’s just pretend this never happened, okay? The article will be published and we’ll confirm it and life will move on.”

The door slams shut in his face without warning, not giving him a chance to say anything else. You stare blankly at the ugly, green shade its painted in silence as you remind yourself; It was all fake. A script you had been given and followed to a tee. One you had gotten too caught up in.

You’re feelings don’t change the ending.

There’s a slow knock on your door. You suck in a breath as you move to open it an apology on the tip of your tongue.

“Bucky.” You’re cut off as his hands come up to rest on your cheeks and he pulls you towards him. Anything you had to say dissipates as his lips meet yours in a bruising kiss.

Your hands come up to grip his t-shirt tightly as you kiss him back your tongue slipping into his mouth while he pulls you flush against his body.

An arm wraps around your waist and Bucky pushes you back into your room, his foot kicking your door closed harshly.

The back of your knees hit the edge of your bed and you finally pull away to look at Bucky, but he speaks before you can say anything.

“Of course I’ve thought about it.” He breathes out. His eyes are wide with nerves and his cheeks flushed red. The sight of it mixed with his kiss makes your heart pound. “I’ve thought about kissing you for real, not in a room filled with crew and cameras. About what it would be like to be on a date where paparazzi hasn’t been tipped off. Baby,” his hands rest on your cheeks again as he forces your eyes to meet his, “I’ve thought about it all. What it would be like to be with you, to really be with you in every way. Sometimes it’s all I think about when we’re together.”

You take pause, your eyes widening and hands freezing in place as you listen to what he’s saying. “Why didn’t you say anything then? Why’d you just pace and ask me all those questions?”

“Because I’m an idiot.” He smiles brightly when you giggle. “Because I couldn’t believe you actually felt the same way. I was in shock.” He presses a gentle kiss to your lips.

You smile up at him softly. “What do we do about the article tomorrow?” You whisper your question.

You feel giddy with excitement as Bucky’s hands land on your hips to hold you in place, flush against him. “We deny it.”

“What about our managers?” Your smile doesn’t fade even as stress over the situation arises. “And…And our separate interviews tomorrow?”

“What are they gonna do? Fire us?” Bucky smiles. “We’ll tell them all about how in love we still are. That the source in the article was a dud and we’ve just been private recently as the show wraps.”

“We will?” You ask quietly. Your heart racing at his words. “You want to say all that?”

Bucky nods his head. “I do.”

You don’t say anything else he leans in for another kiss, you could worry tomorrow.

Bonus -> The Next Day

liked by buckybarnes, samwilson and 134,759 others

yourinstagram the final season of our show premieres this weekend and we’re so excited for you all to see how it ends. the first photo is from tonight and the second from our first season! the past six years has brought me so much joy and i’m so grateful for everything this show has given me. most importantly though, i’m thankful for you, bucky barnes. my adrian to my lucia. my best friend. my lover. thanks for making this show so fun.

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samwilson we made a great show. love you guys.

buckyfan thought y’all were a pr stunt lmao

yourinstagram apparently you’re not supposed to really fall in love for those to work…

buckybarnes i am most grateful for you. you made work worth it every god damn day.

yourfan my favorite couple on and off the screen.

— ➶ —

notes -> this is my first ever time joining a writing challenge, it really pushed me to work through block and focus on this instead of letting is die out like i have with other projects despite liking them so much!

(hoping you guys don’t hate the extra instagram idea, i just felt it fit in!)

hopefully you enjoyed and if you did, reblogs are greatly appreciated!

#the hotel indigo writing challenge #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes imagine #james bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x f!reader

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lepusrufus · 3 years

Text

Double edged scalpel ch. 7

Ch.1 ch.2 ch.3 ch.4 ch.5 ch.6

Summary: in which Cassandra gets bullied and other sappy shenanigans

---

"Oh Nicole dear, so happy to see you again!" Duke's voice was cheerful as ever, tone masterfully crafted over years of being a businessman.

Nicole, taking small steps inside the ornate and now full of items room, greeted him with uncharacteristic giddiness.

"Duke! How's business?"

"Same as always, I'll be heading to Beneviento later tonight to deliver some tools for her," he took a long drag of his cigar and, noticing green eyes scanning over multiple items and said, "I also have your order."

With a childish grin on her face, she approached him, hands shuffling inside the small bag attached to her belt that all staff members had. She pulled out the money owed for her package and, in return, the Duke placed a decently sized box in her arms. With an oof she shifted it in a less precarious position, it's heavy contents seeming to plot against her small frame.

"Unfortunately I can't stay, duty calls. But thank you Duke."

"No worries, I do understand that your employers can be quite," he took another drag of his cigar, looking for the right word. "...demanding"

Nicole chuckled. That was one way to put it.

"Well until next time dear. Or if you find yourself in need of something else, I'll be here until six."

---

She was only wearing a long white towel when she heard a knock on the door. Assuming it was another maid, or even Anita inquiring about whether or not she'd be joining the rest of them for dinner, she opened the door just a crack.

It was a surprise to see none other than Cassandra standing there, her elegant frame in odd contrast with the modest corridor. She flung the door open, letting the brunette inside and took a quick glance down the hall, making sure no maid was on the floor after fainting due to fright.

"What are you doing here?"

"Aw, are you not happy to see me?" She was pouting, but her tone was joking.

Nicole rolled her eyes, but the small smile on her lips betrayed that she was indeed happy to see her. Cassandra only laughed instead, a beautiful melodious laugh, so unlike the dark cackles heard by prisoners down in the dungeons.

"Just sit down, I need to get dressed," Nicole pointed to the bed before moving to the small dresser and pulling out a clean uniform.

Cassandra went to sit on the slightly disheveled bed, eyes following the redhead's form as she let the towel drop to her feet and started to put on the various layers of her uniform. Then golden eyes darted to the box sitting on the bed. The tape sealing it had been cut not long after Nicole brought it back to her room to make sure all its contents made it safely. Not that she didn't trust the Duke, but postal service was postal service.

"What's this?" Cassandra inquired, trying to read the label but having no success as it had been scribbled over with a marker.

Nicole stilled for a moment, hands frozen on her white button up. She cleared her throat and shyly admitted:

"Actually that's for you. Do open it if you want."

Cassandra's eyes widened, a faint blush appearing on her cheeks. The gesture had really caught her off guard. She gingerly lifted the lid, inspecting it's contents for a moment and then hummed.

"And here I was thinking you like my hair. With how much you love to pull on it and all that."

Nicole, now fully clothed and sporting a deep blush, marched to her and plucked the two boxes of red hair dye from gloved hands. She placed them on her nightstand and, with her voice just slightly more high pitched, she turned to the brunette.

"Those are mine, I meant the rest of it." And, after a chuckle, "I mean have you seen my roots? They're horrible!"

Cassandra only gave her a deadpan look and, after a long moment, said: "I think your hair is beautiful."

She didn't wait for a reply, not that it would be anything more than a stammered mumble of course. Instead she chuckled and returned her attention to the box. She examined the rest of its contents and then gingerly lifted one of the few tomes inside. The cover was glossy and malleable, it's pages shiny and with a distinct typography smell to it. It was so unlike her other books, it's pristine white state making it feel extremely out of place in the castle. She glanced at Nicole inquisitively.

"I do appreciate the gift, don't misunderstand me, but surely you know there's a small bookshop's worth of medical books in this castle."

"With all due respect, from what I've seen most of them are at least somewhat outdated. Interesting, yes, but I thought you'd like to learn something more...modern." Then she pulled out another book. "This is the same one I used while studying forensic pathology. It would make teaching you some things easier. Uh… assuming you want that."

Nicole averted her gaze, suddenly unsure of the usefulness of her gift. Cassandra however grabbed her chin between two fingers and pulled her gaze back on her. She smiled, finding the shy demeanor beyond endearing.

"I'd love that."

A small smile appeared on thin lips and Nicole leaned in to kiss Cassandra. It was soft and short, but no less intimate than the deep kisses they shared so many times in Cassandra's bed.

They had to go anyway.

---

Let's go to the library, Cassandra said. It'll be empty, she said.

When Cassandra swung open the intricate door, only to find the other two sisters lounging on one of the couches, it's not like they could do a one eighty and leave the room. That would've been both impolite and highly suspicious.

Instead, Cassandra grabbed her arm protectively and led them to the reading spot farthest from the other two. They placed one of the textbooks on the small desk and Cassandra took out a notebook. This would've been a lot more fruitful with an actual body on hand, but there were still a couple days until the human flesh supply had to be replenished and Cassandra was beyond eager to start on some things. So, for now, they had to settle for theory alone.

It took all of five minutes for the other two sisters to make their way to their desk. Daniela had a giddy yet curious expression on her face, while Bela seemed as unreadable as ever, if not for a glint in her eyes that betrayed her interest.

"Whatcha dooooing?" Came Daniela's voice, who cocked her head not unlike a curious puppy would while looking at the book's contents.

"Working," Cassandra replied, a slight growl accompanying her words.

"Could've fooled me," Bela spoke from behind the youngest sister, eyeing the hand protectively placed on Nicole's waist.

Cassandra snapped her eyes at the blonde, looking ready to throw her notebook at her head but Bela ignored her sister's ire and addressed Nicole instead.

"What are you studying?"

"I uh- just some basic anatomy concepts. Thought it would be a good idea to start with the things that the older books in the castle don't cover."

Bela only hummed, grabbed an ornate chair nearby, and plopped herself at the desk, opposite from the pair. Daniela mimicked her sister, but instead chose to sit down right by Nicole on the small couch. It took more willpower than she would admit not to glue herself to Cassandra's side when Daniela's face came uncomfortably close so she could look over the book's diagrams. She stood still as a statue though. After a couple seconds of silence and Nicole trying to figure out what she was supposed to do, Daniela drew her head back, looking at her with what was possibly the most serious expression she had seen on the youngest sister.

"You do realize we're not going to hurt you right? How could we lay a finger on our dear sister's lover hmm?"

Nicole's breath caught in her throat. She wasn't sure if it was due to the word used to describe her or how Daniela apparently knew that she was utterly terrified of her. Cassandra sighed beside her and, seeming to at least partially read Nicole's thoughts, clarified:

"Your heartbeat."

Oh. Yeah. Yeah her heart was beating a million miles an hour. And apparently the other three vampiric occupants of the room were able to hear it loud and clear. It did very little to ease her mind.

"Please do calm down, it feels like someone is having drumming lessons. Bad ones," Bela complained, head resting in one of her hands like she was already bored.

"Then shove a sock in your ears," Cassandra snapped.

Bela simply leaned back in her seat and stretched her arms above her head. "And risk not hearing my beloved sisters sing along to some pop song?"

Cassandra shut her mouth, a blush now slowly spreading across her cheeks while Daniela burst out into laughter. Even Nicole couldn't help betraying the brunette and letting out a giggle.

"I didn't know you could sing."

"I can't."

"Au contraire dear Cassie! Should I remind you of the last time Dragostea din tei came on the radio? The pathos!" Daniela reached over Nicole's lap to lightly shake her sister's knee through her giggles.

Cassandra only let out a long groan, face now hidden in her palms. "I hate you both."

"Mhm, we love you too," came Bela's reply, accompanied by a chuckle.

Nicole couldn't keep a small laugh while she snaked her arm behind the brunette to show some form of support against the merciless assailants. Maybe not a complete betrayal.

The scene really had something deep within her heart aching beautifully. It reminded her of the countless times she and Alex would mercilessly tease each other, but still have each other's backs through thick and thin. And for this familiarity to come from people that any sane person would consider bloodthirsty monsters? Hell, maybe they should start considering her a monster too, for the only word she could use to describe them in that moment was endearing.

"So," Bela lightly clapped her gloved hands. "Now that your pulse isn't giving me a headache anymore, what are we doing?"

She had a confident smirk on her face, but her eyes betrayed curiosity. Same for Daniela and, although mixed with a hint of annoyance, Cassandra. She opened the book in front of her, one of general human anatomy, and decided that the digestive system would be a good enough starting point.

---

Their little impromptu lesson didn't last more than two hours. Two hours that proved to Nicole just how oddly human all three sisters can be. Of course she had gotten familiar with Cassandra, intimately so, but the other two still felt like two looming monsters hiding in the shadows. At least up until now.

Bela seemed oddly intrigued by Nicole's explanation, although unlike Cassandra, she seemed to view it more like a story than anything. Daniela seemed slightly more interested, asking questions here and there and even starting to giggle like a middle schooler when they got to the rectum section. That got an eye roll from the other two. Nicole just laughed, finally understanding Mrs Hawkins, her private biology teacher from before she was allowed to step foot in any public school.

After they were done, Bela simply stood up and bid them good night. Danila instead excitedly proposed the skeletal system for next time and picked up the books she abandoned earlier. Then, with a small tower of tomes she went through a door tucked at the very back of the room. Her study, Cassandra had pointed out as they made their way out of the library.

"I didn't know your sisters were interested in medicine too." Nicole kept her voice low, almost as if talking too loudly would disturb the shadowy hallways.

"More or less. Daniela likes it and has a bit of hands-on practice but she has her nose in romance novels more often than not. Bela finds it interesting but botany is what she really loves. That and classic lit." She added the last part with a grimace and Nicole had to wonder which author had offended her personally.

Before she could continue that train of thought though, her gaze moved to the windows, the cloudless sky beyond thick glass panels full of twinkling stars. Her mind kept going back to a few hours earlier and at what Daniela had said. Lover. Did Cassandra truly see her as one or was the youngest sister just being her over the top self. Did she see Cassandra this way? Nicole had not allowed herself to dwell on that up until now, the idea that the brunette saw her as more than an over glorified lab partner with whom she occasionally scratched an itch seemed almost laughable. But the small gestures of affection shown in ways Cassandra seemed to know best were undeniably there. And the familiar flutter in her chest at each of said gestures was also undeniably there.

"What's wrong?"

Cassandra's voice, accompanied by the slight echo through the empty hallway, snapped Nicole out of her thoughts.

"Oh um- nothing." She sounded as convincing as someone trying to sell you a fork while showing you a spoon.

And Cassandra didn't seem to buy it. She moved in front of the redhead, walking backwards with no concern over possible furniture to collide into along the way.

"You always get this… face when something's bothering you."

"I do not-" the indignation in her tone was weak, little more than an attempt to change the subject.

"Mhmm you do. You normally look focused. Kind of like, if someone tried to scare you by throwing an eyeball at you, you'd laugh." She would. "Now? Now you look like a rabbit that has no time to run and is just laying low hoping whatever's hunting it passes by."

Nicole shut up for a moment, only looking at the brunette in front of her incredulously. Maybe she was far more attentive than she gave her credit for.

"Uh. Just thinking." At a raised dark eyebrow, the no shit went unsaid, so Nicole tried to elaborate. "About earlier. When we were with your sisters and Daniela uh- Daniela called me your lover."

Saying that the words felt awkward on her tongue was close to the year's biggest understatement. It felt like pulling out teeth would be an easier task. Nicole had never been good with her words, having learned since childhood to keep her mouth shut. But the fact that Cassandra seemed to share her struggle brought some semblance of comfort.

"And?" As if they were talking about the weather.

"And… was she right in describing me as such?"

She couldn't help a small gulp when the brunette stopped walking, looking at her with a frown. Any sane person would be at the very least somewhat afraid in this situation. Sanity however was scarce these days as Nicole was afraid, though not of the bodily harm that may come from her inquiry, but rather of Cassandra's answer.

"Nicole, your tongue has been in my mouth." Amongst many other places.

The redhead's cheeks turned a slight shade of crimson and she mumbled for an answer. She wasn't sure how to tell her that sleeping together did not automatically make them lovers. But then again, Cassandra's thoughts remained a mystery more than anything.

Thankfully the brunette took the metaphorical reins of the conversation and stepped forward. She wrapped her hands around Nicole's arms, gentler than one would imagine possible from her, and bent down to whisper no more than an inch away from her ear.

"I'll have you know, I'm not particularly fond of letting anyone I don't deem important touch me. Especially not the way you do."

The words made something flutter in Nicole's chest, an unfamiliar and comforting warmth. Said warmth got chipped away at the slightest bit when Cassandra pulled back to look her in the eyes.

"Should I take it that it's not mutual then?" Cassandra's tone was nonchalant, almost as if she didn't truly care about the answer. She could keep doing whatever she wanted either way, afterall who was going to stop her? But to someone who got familiar with all her small quirks and habits, the waver in her voice was more than clear.

"No." The world slipped from her lips with no hesitation.

No hesitation, because the more she thought about it, and she didn't need to think a lot mind you, the more Nicole realized that she couldn't remember a time when she felt the way she did here. Sure the initial threat of death looming over her head was anything but pleasant, but once that melted into affection and nights spent in Cassandra's arms the thought of leaving didn't as much as graze her mind.

"No, no. It is," she repeated, more certainty making its way into her tone.

At that Cassandra smiled. A small, almost shy one would say if they knew her well enough, smile. Her shoulders seemed to lose some of their tension when she leaned down again, her lips stopping not even an inch away. Nicole wasted no time leaning forward, their mouths meeting in a kiss that mixed softness and need beautifully. Their lips slid against each other until, surprisingly, it was Cassandra to pull back and sigh.

"Come sleep, we have some cutting up to do in the morning."

Nicole frowned. "Tomorrow? Wasn't that supposed to be due in a few days?"

A devilish grin appeared on black lips, fangs shimmering ominously in the low light. "Bela caught a foolish man-thing sneaking around the forest on the castle grounds. She's really excited to turn this one into a nice steak."

The redhead only let out an oh in acknowledgement. Foolish indeed. At least they could finally put into practice a few autopsy tricks Nicole had been itching to show her.

She let herself be guided back to Cassandra's chambers and into her bed, that she had grown intimately familiar with. The last thing she felt before falling asleep was the brunette's cool skin, pressed against her own. A welcomed comfort among the myriad of soft pillows that surrounded them. Nicole wondered briefly if being undead meant it was hard to keep yourself warm, but the thought quickly slipped away as she fell into a dreamless sleep.

#cassandra dimitrescu x maiden #unhinged maiden™ my beloved #bela dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #double edged scalpel #fanfic #the dimitrescu daughters

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tibbinswrites · 3 years

Text

Day 3 - Rainbows

They were everywhere. Plastered in shop windows, strung up across the street, at every booth and stall. It seemed like everyone they passed was rainbow-coloured in some kind of way. Clothing, bags, hair, even beards. Flags waved proudly above and around them. People were smiling, laughing, kissing, holding hands. Like Dean. He clenched on so tightly to Cas’ hand that he almost felt the bones grind beneath skin. He expected Cas to say something, but he didn’t, so Dean held on.

It was his first pride. At forty-one years old he was at an event that was full of young people who’d already figured themselves out. Sam (with glitter on his face) looked down at him with a soft expression.

“We can go, if it’s too much.” he said quietly. Whatever was showing on Dean’s face was apparently so pathetic that Sam didn’t have the heart to mock him.

It was too much, and Dean wanted to go. He wanted the quiet of the bunker, of the Dean-cave, where he understood how everything worked. There, neither Sam, Cas or Jack cared that he was broken. They loved him regardless, and Cas let Dean love him too, in a way that he hadn’t thought he was allowed to.

Jack, immediately distracted by the colours and sounds, rushed off towards the nearest stall, chatting animatedly with the… guy, girl? Person, person behind it, who had a multicoloured mohawk and a yellow, white, purple and black striped shirt. They looked briefly taken-aback at Jack’s overly-forward approach (and probably thousand questions), but responded just as eagerly. Jack was beaming. Eileen (with her own glittered face) followed him after a moment and Sam turned to look with a soft smile before turning back to Dean, his ‘whatever Dean needs’ face replacing it.

“I’m fine.” Dean lied, hoping that his shirt was thick enough to hide the sweat he could feel building down his back and under his arms. “Besides, Jody’s brood will be here soon, it’ll be good to see them.”

Sam paused for a moment but nodded. “Let me know if you need anything.”

“That’s what Cas is for.” Dean muttered.

Sam’s smile was fleeting but warm. Eileen called his name and Sam turned to see his fiancee wink at him, holding a free string of condoms. Sam flushed red and went to join her, pressing a kiss to her glittery cheek and signing something back which made her laugh.

Jack was darting from stall to stall, apparently interrogating everyone, but in such a disarming, truly curious way that nobody seemed to be taking any offence.

Cas remained by Dean, letting him crush his hand, standing stock-still barely inside the cordoned off entrance.

His mouth felt dry and he didn’t know what to say. He didn’t belong here. Everyone else looked so comfortable. There were couples everywhere, of all kinds, thruples too. There was even a string of six that all kept trading kisses and fond looks to each other. Even those on their own looked relaxed. Either waiting for friends or making new ones.

There were drag queens in the most flamboyant, ridiculous and amazing costumes. Huge feather boas, sequined everything and more glitter that Dean had ever owned (which was, admittedly, not much) on every exposed inch of skin.

“How about we go get a burger?” Cas said after a while, pointing at a food truck that looked a little quieter than most of the other, closer, places.

Realising that he’d spent a good long while lost in his own panic, not moving, he figured he should do something other than loiter by the entrance. This was Cas’ day too and he probably wanted to go enjoy himself with everyone else.

“Yeah,” he said, so, his feet feeling like lead, they made their way over to the truck and got a burger and bottle of water each. There were a couple of park benches set up nearby, so they sat there, next to each other, and ate. Letting go of Cas’ hand was more difficult than he’d expected. It had taken him months to get comfortable with the idea of holding Cas’ hand in public, weeks more to get comfortable with the practice. Cas winced as the pressure was finally released. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Cas shook his hand out before digging into his burger. Between mouthfuls, he went on, “We all convinced you to come here because we thought it would be good for you to break down some of the stigmas you’ve held for years about why you can’t be like one of these people,” he gestured around them, “but I don’t think any of us ever thought to ask if you were ready. This is clearly difficult for you. I’m sorry we pressured you into it. If you want to just sit here and wait for Claire and everyone to come before heading back to the bunker for dinner, that’s perfectly okay. None of us are going to judge you. This is a big experience and we’ll take it at your pace.”

“I love you.” Dean said immediately. That was his gut reaction to a lot of things Cas said, and if Dean had learned anything over the past year, it was that Cas always appreciated hearing it. Even now Cas’ eyes crinkled warm, and the edge of his mouth curled up.

“I love you too.”

They finished their burgers in silence and Dean, bolstered a little by Cas’ reassurance, began to really look around at what few booths he could see from where they sat. One of them was for struggles with high school, another was selling flags, another was about the history of Pride. He was curious about that one, he admitted. He didn’t know much about this community he was supposedly a part of. The kind of community that was so vastly different from the one he’d been raised in. A community that John had scoffed at, disrespected, with only Dean to hear him most of the time. But shifting his gaze from the stalls to the people, he had to admit that it was less overwhelmingly rainbow than he’d first thought. There were people in biker jackets and boots, people his age looking similarly nervous, without an angel of humanity to hold their hand. A teenager who looked close to tears carefully glanced around before darting into the high school booth. There were people on their own, some with an air of defiance, others completely comfortable, still others with a cloud of sadness over their heads; here, but with no family who could, or would, join them.

It was an odd thing to take comfort in, the pain of others in this place of joy and self-love, but this more than anything reminded him that they were all just people. People with their own struggles and burdens. People came to Pride anyway, either in defiance of everything that tried to tell them to disappear, or to find comfort in those with similar stories. He wondered how many people out there had fathers who forced them away from their family to try and ‘fix’ them; he wondered how many were in their forties and only just now ready to admit that maybe they weren’t the person their father had wanted them to be, that that person actually went against the values they’d been taught, and the ones they’d figured out for themselves. He was so used to feeling alone in this aspect of his life that it hadn’t even occurred to him that there would be others. He saw a man who must have been in his eighties holding his partner’s hand and brandishing a sign with fervour. Never too old to come out, and he couldn’t help but smile. He nudged Cas and pointed. “Guess that applies to you too, huh? And I think I’m slow. It took you millennia.”

Cas smiled at the men and then shook his head. “It took me millennia to find you,” he said pointedly. “Gender and sexuality was not something I ever thought about before. They don’t mean much to me. And it’s fascinating to see a celebration that both says ‘these things don’t define us’ and ‘these things are important’. It’s all about being comfortable with yourself and fighting for the world to learn to be comfortable with you too.”

“Kind of the meaning of pride, I suppose.”

“Whoever said that was a sin was sorely mistaken.”

“I mean, Pride of the seven deadly was a huge asshole.”

“Hubris is not the same as pride. I’ve always thought that sin should be renamed.”

“Take it up with Chuck,” Dean said with a grin which Cas returned.

“Thankfully, he has no more say in it than I do.”

“Let’s go look in that history booth.” Dean said suddenly, already standing and holding his hand out for Cas to take. Research was always the best first step after all. And if it was right next to the stall selling pink, purple and blue pins, then that was just pure coincidence.

#suptober21 #day 3 #rainbows #pride #destiel #supernatural #fanfic

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brown-little-robin · 2 years

Text

25: Predator and Prey

part one | previous | next | masterlist | ao3

Thad’s choking.

He wakes up retching, dragging in hacking gasps of air like he’s expelling the nutrient womb liquid from his lungs. There’s no liquid, but he can’t stop coughing.

Max is going to come to check on him! Thad holds his breath as best as he can until his body stops heaving.

There’s a sour taste in his mouth. He wipes his mouth uselessly, as if he’d really just coughed up nutrient liquid, and sits up. Ow. He’s sore all over.

What was that?

He's in the loft bed. Sunlight is streaming through the window. Did he not close the curtains yesterday?

Oh.

No, he did not close the curtains yesterday, because Max carried him to bed yesterday, because he fell asleep watching Star Trek with Helen.

He spent a day without Max. Holy grife. The Flash gave him permission to spend a day without Max and he broke down and cried on Helen, breaking his two-week streak of self-control. He acted like a complete child.

He got too close to Helen. He let his yearning for comfort endanger his future. They’ll never let him go if they start thinking of him as—

She called him baby.

Thad’s breathing hard. His sympathetic nervous system is responding to a perceived threat. He is under threat, but this isn’t helping. He needs to calm his body.

He closes his eyes, inhales slowly: one, two, three, four, five, six…

He breathes past the count of four that the typical grounding breath exercise suggests. His lungs have greater capacity than a typical human’s. It would be too fast to count just to four.

He holds his breath, one, two, three, four, five, six…

Doctor Morlo said breathing the liquid of the nutrient womb for upwards of eighty percent of his life—with infancy spent 99% submerged, only removed from the womb to make sure he was capable of breathing air—improved his lung and chest strength. Thad liked that. He enjoys it when Morlo appreciates the perfection of his body. He preens under Morlo’s gruff admiration of the genius engineering of his cloning and training. Thad is an athlete. Morlo understands that.

He exhales, one, two, three, four, five, six…

It’s shaky. The exhale is always shaky on the first repetition. Thad can be patient. Thaddeus is good at being patient. Good at waiting and repeating until things come smoothly. Until it looks like he’s been good at them all along.

He inhales, one, two, three, four, five, six…

He was Inertia, but he thought of himself as momentum… the inexorable crescendo, the building of speed. He was an avalanche, gathering force until he became unstoppable destruction thundering down upon the Allens.

He holds his breath, one, two, three, four, five, six…

His destructiveness was written in his very genetics. He’s a crossbreed. Bart is too, but Bart was born from a truce, a marriage. Thad was created out of conflict. He’s half predator, half prey.

He’s more Thawne than Allen. His blond hair and the sharp, instinctive cruelty in his tongue attest to that. But there is Allen in him too. Maybe that’s what gives him the void in his chest. Not enough Allen to fully love someone, but enough to crave love.

He exhales, one two three four, and realizes he’s counting too fast. He lets go of his breath for a minute, panting.

Choosing his soft side is like lying down, exposing his belly, and baring his throat, every single day. It’s wearing him down. Given nothing to destroy, will he consume himself? He isn’t consciously self-destructive, but he keeps messing up, and his body and mind seem to deteriorate every day.

He inhales slowly. One, two, three, four, five, six…

He’s not a Thawne or an Allen, he tells himself. He’s his own person. He’s free.

In the bathroom, he looks up from washing his hands and sees Bart Allen’s face in the mirror.

Shortly before lunch, he slices his finger open. He was trying to cut an apple.

He stares at the blood. He can feel his heartbeat throbbing in the gash. A split second later, it’s healed.

He feels like he's floating.

Helen asks “Are you all right?”

Thad sucks the blood from his finger and says “I’m fine.”

But horror shivers in his belly, and he can feel himself drawing back from himself. He doesn't mind. It’s going to be a weird body day, he can tell from the way the sight of his hands keeps throwing him off-balance. And he keeps tasting blood. Today will be a good day to be distant.

During lunch, Max asks him how he would feel about having Wally West over for dinner.

Thad blinks at him, brain trying to catch up.

Helen says carefully, “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

Helen is treating him like something fragile.

Max transfers his attention to Helen. They exchange looks. Now they’re excluding him from the conversation!

Thad speaks. He feels like he’s thinking through a thick layer of technoplasm, but his words come out clear. Good. He’d hate to slur his speech.

“It’s fine. Have him over.”

Max looks at him worriedly.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Thad leaves it at that, too distant to bother thinking of an explanation. To his mild surprise, Max just asks, “Is today all right with you, or would you rather save it for later?”

“Today is fine.”

He doesn't want to wait.

Maybe he’s been undermining himself… arguing so sharply with Max. Maybe it’s actually a better strategy to state his wants simply. Max has a real affection for him; Thad finds it within the realm of possibility that Max wants to let Thad make decisions.

While doing chores, Thad tests the theory. It takes him till midway through sweeping the kitchen to gather the impetus to speak.

“Max?” he asks, still working.

Max stops wiping the table. “Yes, Thad?”

“Can we not go anywhere today?”

“Sure,” Max says. “Ah… any particular reason?”

Thad considers it. Swish, swish, goes the broom, distracting him for a minute with the sound and motion of the frayed bristles, the tender ache of his sore body forced to move.

“I’m dissociating.”

Not that he hasn’t gone out with Max while dissociating before… he’s probably dissociating a bit most of the time, actually. But he’s curious what Max will say.

Max comes and kneels in Thad’s line of sight, blocking his path. Thad pauses.

“Are you feeling okay?” Max asks. “Is there anything I can do for you?”

Oh, that’s… that’s really nice of him.

Thad sets the broom upright, thinking. Max can’t ground him; Thad hasn’t talked to him about grounding techniques. And Thad doesn't want to stop dissociating anyway. Not… yet.

“I’m fine. But… you could notify me an hour before West gets here.”

“I’ll do that.”

Max stands, and Thad waits for him to get out of the way, but he steps closer, leans down, and tenderly brushes Thad’s hair back from his face. He kisses Thad on the forehead.

Thad feels Max’s lips tingling on his forehead for a long time.

The afternoon passes in an uncomfortable haze. Thad is not dissociated enough, or he’s too dissociated; he doesn't know, and he finds that he doesn't have as much control of it as he thought he did. He tries to relax under his desk, but nothing there can hold his interest.

He goes and puts away his clean laundry. Usually, he enjoys the repetitive, simple task, but today all he can think of is the incongruity of it: Thaddeus Thawne’s hands folding socks. Thaddeus Thawne’s hands hanging up a shirt. The soreness from waking up is gone thanks to his hypermetabolism, but the coarse shirt collar rubs on the back of his neck. The pants brush his legs every time he moves. He craves… sleekness… something that would cling.

He craves the skin-tight Inertia suit.

No. No. No.

He puts away all of his laundry. He is nothing if not persistent. Then he goes and showers, hoping to wash away the crawling-out-of-his-skin feeling.

Being naked feels better. Familiar.

Thad stands in the shower and breathes. Under the rhythmic drumming of the water, breathing the warm steam, he feels his heart finally begin to slow down.

And then he looks down at his hands and is hit by such a wave of wrongness that he instinctively clenches them into fists.

For a desperate moment, he considers telling Max to call off the dinner with West. But how could he explain that? Sorry, Max, I think I’m slipping back into being Inertia. Sorry, Max, I think if Wally West comes over I might have a mental breakdown. Sorry, Max, my Thawne side is fighting my Allen side and I think the Thawne is winning. And giving no explanation would just make Max worried and suspicious. It’s not a casual thing: Hey, Max, tell West NOT to come for dinner. I know I said I was fine with it, but I’m not. No reason!

He can’t tell Max. He’d decide Thad is an unstable child, someone to gently remove decisions from. Or a Thawne, too destructive to be trusted. Either way, his chance of having an independent life would be gone.

He has to hold himself together through the dinner.

Abruptly, Thad turns the water cold. He hisses at the shock. It does what he wanted it to, though: snaps him into alertness.

He dresses in the black on black of his most formal attire. He buttons the shirt up to his throat and looks at himself in the mirror.

He looks…

The words that come to mind are ‘ghost’ and ‘widow’. Black for mourning. The darkness makes his pale flesh shocking, the blond of his hair ghostly bright. The bags under his eyes stand out. But the severe formality gives him dignity.

Good. He’ll need the strength of his anguish for CRAYDL. If he couldn’t love CRAYDL enough to save it, at least he grieves it fiercely enough to seize what CRAYDL wanted for him… life.

He waits in his room, and soon enough he hears the muffled greetings. The Flash is here.

He listens, but he doesn't hear the chipper voice of cousin Irey. Only the voices of the Flash and his wife.

Thad opens his door and walks to the entryway.

“Thad,” the Flash greets him, letting go of Max’s hand. Linda Park is standing next to him. No children.

“West,” he answers calmly. “You didn’t bring your children?”

“No, they’re having a sleepover with the Garricks tonight,” West answers.

Thad looks into his eyes and sees… removal. Not defensiveness, but something more infuriating… something cold… the way Wally West looks at a person he’s not sure is truly his ally. Thad has seen this look in recordings.

Oh, sure, what a coincidence, Thaddeus doesn't say. Sending your children to be with the only people who could protect them from me.

Instead, he shrugs.

“I like Irey,” he says with mild disappointment. “Maybe next time.”

West smiles. Ah. That was correct.

Max herds them into the kitchen, sets Thad the task of setting the table, and starts a conversation. Thad concentrates on setting the table efficiently and obediently. They’re having pot pie and fruit salad.

He watches everyone with the intent focus he used to watch the styroband recordings of Bart with. He notes that Linda Park asks excellent questions, that Max is more talkative with the Park-West family than he is with the Garricks. Helen is a bit quieter.

He catches Wally West staring at him when he turns around to climb off the counter with the cups. The man looks away quickly.

Thad waits for the inevitable.

They get through about half of their meal discussing inconsequential things: Linda Park’s recent news stories, Max’s collaboration with the Barnett Zoo, Helen’s yoga club, how Wally West’s kids are doing. Thad notes the details about his cousins carefully. He’ll never be friendly with Wally West, but… maybe… his children could come to think of Thad as… family.

Irey likes to dance. Irey is more extroverted than Jai; they do about equally well in school. Jai likes to eat peanut butter off of spoons. Jai likes turtles, Irey prefers dinosaurs.

Max offers, “Thad has been interested in marine biology recently.”

Linda Park turns to Thad, smiles, and says, “Really? What kind of marine biology?”

“I like seals and penguins,” Thad says. “Cold-water surface predators, mostly.”

“Ah, I remember you told us about penguins,” Linda says.

Thad nods and does not elaborate.

After a moment, Max starts telling them about how they’ve been going to the library.

This whole situation is infuriating. Everyone is talking around him, watching him, watching each other’s reactions to him, and pretending that everything is normal. It’s an inspection, this dinner, Max trying to convince the West-Parks that Thad is a good clone now, and the West-Parks watching him for signs of danger. It’s like Max is putting a trained animal through its paces: look how he sets the table! Isn’t he well-trained? He even goes to the library with me like a real boy!

Thad quells the urge to growl when Helen laughs artificially, telling Wally West and Linda Park that they’ve been watching a lot of Star Trek. That’s special. At least—Thad thought it was.

And then he sees her fingers tighten on her fork when Linda laughs with her, and he realizes that Helen is just afraid. Like him.

And then Max broaches the subject of Thad’s paperwork.

“He’s got a new name now and everything,” Max says. “He’ll officially be my adopted son within a few days.”

“That’s great!” Linda Park says.

Wally West looks at Thad, and Thad tries to smooth his face out of the pained expression it went into when he heard Max say it. Why? Why taunt him with the false legality? Logically, he knows it’s a calculated move to inform West that Max thinks of Thad as a child under his care. But it still hurts.

“What’s your new name?” Wally West asks.

He doesn't know? Thad respects Max’s commitment to his privacy, but he wishes Max had just told West. It’s a vulnerable thing, giving someone his name, and he’s not prepared.

“Sophos Thaddeus Anacletus Free,” Thad says as firmly as he can.

West looks surprised.

He was expecting ‘Crandall’. Thad has undercut Max’s strategy. This is what comes of a lack of preparation.

Thad explains, “I’m not going to be anyone’s weapon anymore. Thus ‘Free’.”

West sets down his fork.

“Thad,” he says.

Thad meets his green eyes despite the thrill of fear it sends through him. Maybe, at last, something real will be said.

West says, “I know everything is all pretty new and strange for you. But we’re all really glad you’re making all these good decisions.”

Something about that infuriates Thad. He laughs coldly.

“Good decisions? Oh, please. If I hadn’t happened to live with Helen and Max seven years ago, I’d still be trying to kill you.”

“Thad!” Max says. He looks horrified.

“What?” Thad asks. “It’s true.”

But his stomach turns uneasily. He looks around. Helen has her hands to her mouth; Linda Park is looking at him with her eyebrows raised; and Wally West—

The Flash is frowning resignedly. Like he’s thinking yes, I knew all along: Inertia can’t change.

Thad is sick of this. Sick of being a good little prey animal, sick of this artificial small talk, sick of pretending he’s a normal child when everyone knows what he really is: a deadly weapon. If this charade goes on, they’re going to blame him when he inevitably makes a mistake and breaks the illusion. Better to force them to face the truth while it’s relatively safe.

Thad lets his Thawne tongue do what it likes.

“You,” Thad says to Wally West, almost crooning. “You know it’s true. I’m no better than those clones you murdered.”

The Flash’s green eyes open wide.

“Tell me, how many of my brothers did you kill?”

Thad hears Max Mercury snap, “Sophos Thaddeus, control yourself or go to your room.”

Hah.

Thad keeps his eyes on Wally West while he spits “You’re not my father.” Then, before Max can take control of the situation, he says to West, “I’m serious. How many of my brothers did you kill?”

Wally’s frown deepens.

“Two,” he says. “In self-defense. Did you know them?”

“I never had the chance. But they were my brothers nonetheless… bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh.”

Deliberately, Thad breaks eye contact and takes another bite of the pot pie. He licks it off his fork like an animal cleaning a bone. No one speaks. Thad’s senses are alight with adrenaline; he hears every breath that West takes, sees every motion in his peripheral vision. Max and Helen and Linda barely exist; it’s just West and Thad, a sudden tiger in the room with the tiger-hunter.

“I’m sorry,” West says.

Thad scoffs.

“Don’t give me that. I know you, remember? I memorized the book. The Life Story of the Flash. You’re not sorry for me; you think I’m evil.”

“I don’t think you’re evil,” Wally West says. “You changed the timeline, remember? The book isn’t true.”

“Yes. I changed the timeline.”

Thad looks Wally West in the eyes and lets his rage rise simmering to the surface.

“Call me selfish, but I didn’t like my ending. ‘Inertia would eventually run headlong into his own destruction in a suicidal bid for revenge… the evil clone almost redeemed by his refusal to live in a world without his loyal servant, CRAYDL. Did he truly care for the technoplasm monster, or was it hubris that drove him to fatal rebellion against the Thawnes? We will never know.’”

West winces.

“I’m sorry for your loss.”

“‘I’m sorry’ won’t bring CRAYDL back, and it won't absolve you of your sins,” Thad snaps.

“Thaddeus,” Max says, and the dawning horror in his voice says that he has realized that Thad’s aggression isn’t just instinct, it’s anger.

“Let him talk,” West says. “But listen, Thad. I don't take well to being yelled at. Say your piece if you need to, but keep it respectful.”

Thad laughs out loud.

“Respectful! Like how my memory is recorded? ‘Bart’s dark twin’? ‘Irredeemable sociopath’? ‘Sick, corrupt clone’? Or, oh, what about ‘half bloodthirsty animal, half calculating machine’? You Allens really know how to make a person feel respected.”

“Look, I’m sorry. I really am. But that’s in the past. We really don’t think of you like that anymore.”

“So what? If the speed force hadn’t spat me out—”

A quiet, pained sound from Helen. Thad doesn't let it distract him.

“You’d have gone on acting like I was a monster!”

Sounding strained, West says, “Sometimes all you can do is move on. I moved on. I am sorry… but you might have more peace if you did, too.”

“Move on,” Thad sneers. “All you do is move on, huh, Flash? And you want me to move on? CRAYDL is dead, and my brothers are dead, except the one that’s stuck in the Flash museum as good as dead, and you’re trapping me here just like him, and you think you can make everything right with apologies?! How dare you. How dare you come here and tell me to move on.”

“I’m trying to give you a chance,” Wally West says, and finally, finally he sounds angry. “Believe me, I never wanted to kill your brothers. I had no choice.”

“Oh, I believe you. The Thawnes give no choices. But is keeping me on this short chain self-defense, Wally West, or do you just hate Thawne clones that much?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“You hate the idea of me,” Thad parries. “It makes you shudder, doesn't it…? That there are clones of Bart, but wrong. ‘The Thawnes' weapons’, you called us. ‘They know nothing except killing.’ Don’t think I didn’t hear you talking to Green Lantern in the Watchtower!”

West’s recoil is very satisfying.

“Hypocrite,” Thad spits. “Treating me like a weapon. You’re the murderer here.”

West says “You sure have the Thawne mouth on you.”

“I AM NOT A THAWNE!” Thad shouts.

And then Max Mercury’s hand is on his shoulder, and Max is saying “Thaddeus, breathe.”

Thad lets out his breath in an explosive exhale. He completely froze when Max touched him, he realizes. Did he lose time? No. He doesn't think so.

“I’m not a Thawne,” Thad repeats.

And Wally West looks at him with those brilliant, terrifying green eyes, and he says nothing.

He can’t convince him, Thad realizes. Words will never convince Wally West. He only cares about actions. And Thad is not going to get a chance to prove anything with his actions. Not like this, not trapped with Max, not if the day he spent with Helen didn’t change West’s mind. And if he doesn't prove to the Flash that he’s not a Thawne…

Sooner or later…

Thad shudders suddenly and pushes Max’s hand off his shoulder. Will—he wonders morbidly, uncontrollably—will Max help when West takes Thad’s speed? He certainly won’t protect Thad. Will Thad be given a warning, or will West just—burst in one day and chase Thad down—force him to pull on the speed force, faster and faster until the Flash overtakes him and—rips the speed force out of him—like a plant by the roots—

He hears CRAYDL's voice. Work the problem, boss. You've got this.

Thad stares down at his plate, mind racing. The essential problem here is that Wally West doesn't trust him. Okay. Solution? Convince Wally West that Thad is trustworthy. How? Prove that he has had the opportunity to be a Thawne and chosen another path. How?

What would a Thawne have done? he hears CRAYDL ask.

Aha.

Wally West won’t be convinced with words that Thad isn’t a Thawne? Fine. Actions it is.

You can do it, boss.

Thad yanks on the speed force, vibrates, turns, and runs.

#feel free to yell at me about this #oh! and points to whoever can guess what Thad's about to do.#The Strange Redemption of Thaddeus Thawne #Thad Thawne #Thaddeus Thawne #Wally West #dc fanfiction #pro tip: if you're stuck in fight-or-flight mode #DON'T SAY YES TO A FAMILY MEETING #WITH SOMEONE YOU HAVE IMMENSE TRAUMA ABOUT!!#okay that's not fair.#Thad doesn't feel he can safely say no right now.#max isn't TRYING to pressure him but Thad's too traumatized for this.

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