#and yes Who Even God Fears is meant to be as mysterious as possible
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Incident 8786-1
Content Warnings: Cursing. Mentions of death and murder. Mentions of others treated being lesser than and inhumanely. Darker themes and tone.
SCP-8787's file
True best friend's don't care if you're an SCP
______________________________________
Jeremy had been asked a few times why he worked for the foundation.
While it was a little hurtful to be asked by so many people, most of who were senior researchers who took one look at him before blurting it out, he kind of understands it.
He’ll jump at every shadow that seems to move on its own. He’s careful not to get assigned to medical emergencies where the patient is nearly impossible to save. He wrinkles his nose whenever his colleges comment about D-Class personnel like they’re below dirt.
Jeremy is not made to be in a facility where impossible to understand entities exist and are two minutes away from breaking out of containment that could cause numerous casualties within seconds. But that doesn’t mean he can’t help.
If anything, he’s actually the one medical staff who attends to anyone’s anomalic injuries. At least, those that don’t require any surgery, because he never received a degree for such complicated procedures. But he ensures everyone is examined after encountering an anomaly while on site or when field researchers and agents return. And that includes D-Class personnel.
He never understood putting a limit on who got to even see medical after interacting with anomalies. Especially those who interact with them almost daily! Wouldn’t they want to have a report even if there seemed to have been no effect or there was no ‘true’ interaction? Jeremy might just be an examiner, but even he can say that interactions can be purely psychic and therefore should be documented. If not for caring about a human being, then there’s at least more research to put into the file to better understand that specific SCP.
But no, Jeremy had to fight for D-Class to get examined after every encounter. It didn’t stop there, because even researchers weren’t happy about stopping by his office after entering a containment room.
It took him managing to complete five different reports for five different anomalies after examining five separate D-Class for the site to realize it should be a requirement. Again, if now for their health, then to better understand what is being researched.
So he knows every D-Class at the site he works at. He doesn’t like to think about when someone is no longer in his files. Nor does he linger on why certain names seem to replace the others.
It meant getting nasty looks from his other coworkers when their procedures had to be updated. It meant getting yelled at by certain senior researchers for making ‘progress’ with a certain anomaly go even slower than before. It also meant people he thought of as friends decided they weren’t.
But that’s how he met Mike.
The thing about D-Class personnel is that they’re rarely out of their own quarters, and usually only come to the upper floors when certain experiments were needing to be conducted. It wasn’t until Jeremy received orders to examine them after every anomaly exposure were they allowed onto the upper floors much more frequently and freely. Even allowed access to the researcher’s cafeteria if they had to stay in medical for a while.
He learned quickly that most of them were nice as long as you were nice. Which he can understand considering their role when it comes to being D-Class on site. There were only a few that, despite being helped from a trained medical personnel who’s only job was to help, wanted nothing to do with him. Which again, he can understand! But when it came to trying to attack him is when all his sympathy left.
Jeremy can count on one hand the number of times it happened. But the one time a security officer wasn’t in the immediate area to help, another D-Class personnel had come to his aid.
They originally were resting after being exposed to an incredibly odd form of radiation. It was fatal, but not contagious, and therefore was given a cot to be closely monitored. The last time Jeremy checked on them, they had been unresponsive to his question if anything was needed, tucked into a tight ball with their eyes firmly closed.
And yet it was that same person who burst into the examination room the second Jeremy screamed for help after he barely dodged a fist attempting to strike him.
His attacker had been effortlessly shoved aside, unable to try and land another punch before getting kicked out into the hallway, a voice snapping at the nearest researcher who had been walking by to find a security officer.
“You okay?” was called back to Jeremy as the two stood off in the hallway, nether making another move.
“Uh, y-yeah,” was all he could say. “Th-Thank you.”
It was only when a security officer arrived when his savior walked back into the room, looked Jeremy up and down, before walking over to the cot and flopping into it to curl into a ball again.
Jeremy had cancelled the rest of the examinations for the day. Because not only was he going to be much too shaken to get accurate information, but he wasn’t going to force someone who helped him move to the other room.
He did use the rest of his shift to look up the man’s file. Learned his name was Mike. Realized he was one of the original five D-Class personnel Jeremy examined in order to finish the reports for five different anomalies.
Actually, Mike’s name wasn’t permanently taken off the list because Jeremy’s treatment allowed him to be healthy enough to continue working as D-Class instead of being no longer usable.
Jeremy was hoping Mike didn’t help him while in pain from radiation because he technically saved the other and therefore felt obligated. Didn’t bring it up until the man managed to survive an anomaly with a 75% fatality rate and was given a clean bill of health.
“Y-You didn’t have t-t-t-to-” was all he managed to get out before his hair was being ruffled, Jeremy too stunned from his previous curls getting messed up.
“See ya.”
Jeremy saw Mike a few times after that. The man was quiet, and would act like a severe wound didn’t hurt as much as it did, but he was always friendly. Would ask questions about what techniques were being used when stitching or be genuinely curious what medicine was given and why despite having drank said medicine without hesitation only a few seconds before.
Jeremy liked to think they were friends.
It had definitely taken a while, but he was even told about the scars on Mike's head from the very first encounter he had with an anomaly. An encounter that actually had been the reason why the man was a D-Class in the first place. And after that, Jeremy had even earned a nickname he was greeted with. And despite the fact seeing Mike meant he was put into interactions with anomalies fairly constantly, he was always happy to see the name come up on the list for examinations that day.
There were even times when Mike would sit with him when recovery took longer than usual, either in his office or during examinations. Became Jeremy's shadow for a week, even if he was supposed to be resting. His medical supervisors didn't need to know. Not when this particular D-Class personnel was sought after the most considering he survived more exposures than anyone else and could give full detailed reports on the effects.
Mike deserved a break. Especially because again, if Jeremy didn't argue D-Class should be examined as well as interviewed, they wouldn't have the man for such informative research.
And after all of their interactions, it seemed like there wasn’t anything the man would hide.
Yet Jeremy could immediately tell he wasn’t being told everything when Mike walked in with a file labeled SCP-8786. Because for once he didn’t hop onto the examination table when asked. And he knew it wasn’t because the man was hurt, because he managed to do that the time radiation was raging through him. Or the time when his leg was a bit...destroyed.
“How do you f-f-feel?”
“Fine,” Mike shrugged, hands in the pockets of the standard D-Class uniform that always reminded Jeremy of prison uniforms.
Jeremy glanced at the report that was handed over to him and made a worried noise in the back of his throat at reading what could only be described as panicked scrawl when usually he had typed reports for each D-Class examination, or at the very least extremely well printed notes.
Never had he been given one with the large words ‘Location Of Anomaly: Unknown’ before.
“What h-happened?” he asked. Tried to keep himself from panicking. Because not knowing where one is was completely different from a containment breach...right?
For the first time, Mike refused to meet his eyes. “There was a...portal.”
“Y-Y-You can curse.”
Mike finally smirked like normal before he rubbed his head nervously. “There was this goddamn portal, and some asshole said I needed to fucking touch it. So, I did, and then the fucking thing vanished.”
“Did it h-h-hurt t-to touch?”
“No, cold as hell.” Mike glanced around the room before looking at Jeremy. “I trust you, Jerber.”
That immediately had the shorter beaming with pride. “Th-Thank you!”
“Do you trust me?”
Jeremy was nodding his head before he really thought about it. But, he did trust Mike. He kept the other safe from getting punched. He also always made sure Jeremy was never at risk of being near anything that was contagious after each anomaly encounter. There were even times Mike snapped at any or his medical coworkers who attempted to degrade him.
“Y-Yes.”
“I’m the fucking portal.”
...that was not what he was expecting.
“Oh." Jeremy hesitated before looking for any obvious wounds from what sounded almost like a fusion, though he didn't go any closer with how worried Mike looked. "Uh...are y-y-you h-h-hurt?”
Mike seemed to relax completely after that. Nodded his head before reaching toward the pen on the counter.
“No. Don’t feel any goddamn different. But when I push shit-”
The pen was nudged with one finger, and immediately disappeared into thin air. But before Jeremy could complain that was one of his good pens, it reappeared in Mike’s grasp and offered.
“I can take shit in and out of the portal.”
“...a-and you’re s-scared,” Jeremy realized as Mike threw his hands up.
“Yeah! Those bastards throw me at everything!” the man exclaimed. “Now that I’m a fucking monster, they’ll get even worse, and you can’t fucking talk shit with me anymore!”
That was when Jeremy confirmed they were friends. Friends who healed the other from fatal injuries inflicted by anomalies. Friends who didn’t tell the researchers who put your life in danger they became an SCP and instead only tells the other. Who is mostly upset they won’t be able to talk anymore because anomalies don’t need medical examinations when exposed because they are what others are exposed to.
“I-I can still talk to y-y-y-you,” Jeremy began. “Y-You’re still human. A-And because y-you're always exposed, I’ll have to w-w-write reports.”
Mike hummed in thought at that.
“A-And they’ll be n-n-n-nicer. They can’t l-let you get hurt b-b-b-because they want to kn-know everything,” Jeremy continued, unable to help but become more confident because Mike can’t be taken off the list anymore. They can’t throw him at another anomaly without precautions or else completely lose SCP-8786, because it sounded like the portal was altered completely from its previous form.
“And if they learn every goddamn thing?”
“They d-d-d-don't h-have to know everything.”
Mike snorted before he burst out laughing. “Thought you did every-fucking-thing by the goddamn book!”
“I wouldn’t t-t-t-treat D-Class if I-I d-did,” Jeremy huffed.
“Alright Jerber,” Mike grinned. “We’ll fucking tell them. But I see your ass every fucking week.”
"B-B-Because you c-c-c-constantly f-feel cold and d-don't know if it could g-g-get worse.”
Mike offered a fist Jeremy admittedly was confused about until it bumped with his own fist. “Fuck yeah. If you want, I’ll hold you goddamn hostage too.”
“Y-Y-Yeah- what!”
#and the Mike and Jeremy!#alright that's everyone accounted for#and yes Who Even God Fears is meant to be as mysterious as possible#...as mysterious as it can be#but that's it and I like the line up we have!#a confident senior researcher who bit off more than he can chew#a newer recruit who has been claimed#a god who was outwitted to the 10th degree#and two idiots with no plan or safety precautions figuring it out as they go#this is going to be fun#it was a bit of a roller coaster but I hope ya'll enjoyed it so far!#and I will definitely be trying to get SCP AU Chapter 1 out this week#but no promises#FNAF bois#SCP AU#BTE writing#cw#content warning
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may i pleaaase have a “i hate everyone but her” wednesday, where she literally cannot breathe without Fem!R by her side, and she would do anything, anything, to make R happy, even if it meant sacrificing her infamous reputation as a cold-hearted, blue-blooded sadist by wearing a sparkly pink sweater R knit for her around the school, just to see R laugh and tease her about it. but if anyone else were to even dare mention it or make fun of R for making her go through this, she would gladly slit their throat as slow and as torturously as possible in front of everyone. basically really whipped wednesday and shy and soft reader. thank you in advance<333🫡
Wednesday almost killing someone in a pink sweater? YES!!!!
i hope this is what you were hoping for <333
3k
Without moving your eyes from the clock you watched as the hands ticked way too slowly towards the end of your Werewolf Anatomy lessons – you hope it was Werewolf Anatomy, you hadn’t really been paying attention to anything the teacher was droning on about. Wednesday would definitely need to help you study for the class later.
When the bell finally rang, you practically swept your arm across the desk to force your books and pens into your bag as quickly as you could. did you lose a few pens as they clattered to the floor? Yes. Did you care? Not at all.
It was finally the lunch period, which meant that your “I will stomp on your heart” girlfriend would be waiting outside for you, a bag of “I will put my needs first” pastries she had picked up from the Weathervane during her free period, specifically for you, in her hand.
‘Stomp on my heart my ass’ you thought as you tried to push your way into the crowded hallway.
As you’re finally able to fight – literally, you took a few elbows to the ribs – your way out of the crowd of people huddled by your classroom door for no particular reason, your eyes immediately fall onto Wednesday, who, unsurprisingly, is glaring at anyone who stepped too close to her in the middle of the busy hallway.
Again, unsurprisingly, despite the throng of bodies that left very little space to move, there was a bubble around the gothic girl where no one dared to step out of fear of being maimed for life.
Except you, of course.
When her eyes finally found your own, the itching in her right hand to let her dagger fall into her grasp was overwhelmed by the urge to simply hold onto your hand, to let the warmth of your skin seep into the coldness of her own. She thought it was sickening that her hand sought out your own the second you were within reach, she absolutely adored the way her stomach twisted painfully in her stomach at the soft smile that you graced her with the second she did.
“And how are you doing today?” you strike up the conversation as you both walk towards the large tree in the quad that provides another shade against the shining sun for you to lounge comfortably under. “Any dead bodies? Mysterious stalkers?”
“Sadly, no. It seems that whoever decided to begin the game of cat and mouse took the week off,” she leans back against the tree, allowing your head to fall onto her shoulder as she hands you the brown bag.
“Yeah, well, uh… fingers crossed for another murder soon, then?”
She only smirks in response, her form of gracing you with a full-blown smile in public, because God forbid anyone sees the absolutely adorable dimple that she had when she really smiled.
Your mind swam with thoughts of the girl, ‘fuck, I am such a gay ass mess for her’, being one of the most dominant thoughts.
Once some time had passed and you knew lunch was coming to an end, you lifted your head from her shoulder and started fiddling with your hands as you dodged her curious gaze at the sudden lack of contact between you.
“So, Enid’s gonna be at Yoko’s tonight, right? With Divina?” you wait for the confirmation nod, despite already having asked the blonde werewolf earlier. “I was wondering if you were busy later tonight? If you are it’s totally fine, obviously, I was just curious.”
You awkwardly clear your throat, trying to prevent the absolute word vomit you knew was impending from leaving your mouth.
“Cara mia, I am free for you whenever you ask me to be. I was already thinking of asking if you would like to come to my dorm later, I miss being able to have you to myself without these idiotic buffoons crowding us,” the howling from one of the furs that sounded more like a cat screeching than a powerful beast accentuating her point.
“Okay, okay cool cool cool. I’ve got a class, so I’ll see you later?” you place a rushed kiss on her cheek as you practically trip over your own feet in your haste to separate yourself from Wednesday before you could embarrassingly ramble your way into revealing your plans for later.
‘Keep it together, damn.’
----
Exhaling softly, you adjust the black parcel in your hand and softly knock at the door.
Does she even like gifts? Yes, she showers you in them consistently, the Addams’ wealth allowing her to do so without a second thought – although you were well aware of how much she appreciated her upbringing, despite seeming as if she does not. But did she like getting them?
‘God, I fucking hope so’
Before you could fall even further into the pit of self-doubt, the door swung open.
If you thought you’d ever get used to seeing Wednesday in her oversized hoodie that reached her knees, paired with the softest pair of sweatpants you’ve ever seen, the ones she only wears around you, you were far from wrong. You would never get over how absolutely beautiful the girl looked, forever being shocked that she was yours.
Trying to remember that you needed to breathe and that whilst it may be poetic to die because your girlfriend literally took your breath away, it was also humiliating. All she had to do was look at you and you felt like you were drowning.
Clearing your throat, you try to shake the thoughts of gayness from your mind.
‘Time and a place, y/n, time and a place.’
“Hey, Wends,” you step into the room, her hand immediately holding onto your own as she pulls you towards her bed.
“Y/N,” she murmurs before gently placing her lips on your own, it wasn’t sexual or overwhelming, it was just so goddamn soft and loving.
A dreamy sigh left your lips as she pulled away, pushing you to sit with your back against the headboard, already leaning down to place her head in your lap as she reaches for a book so ancient you were surprised it hadn’t already crumbled to dust.
Her lack of words didn’t add to your mounting anxiety, you knew Wednesday like the back of your hand – apart from gift giving apparently – and knew that her actions always spoke louder than her words. Her immediate comfort in your presence and allowing herself to be vulnerable around you meaning more than anyone else would have been able to guess.
Yet, despite the bundle of adorableness Wednesday was being right now, you had a plan.
Gently gripping her hand that was stretched towards the book, “Wends, actually, I- okay. Phew. I have something for you, it's nothing big or like, lavish, I guess. I made it myself. And I know it’s not your style, but I made it way before we started dating for you,” you shake your head at yourself gripping the wrapped gift harder than you probably should. “But I thought since I made it for you, you should have it, right? Like a belated birthday gift. You don’t have to like i-“
“Y/N, as much as I love when you ramble, I think you are getting slightly off point,” her slightly calloused hand coming to rest upon your cheek.
Without uttering another word you all but thrust the gift in her direction, eyes glued to her face as she gently unwraps the black ribbon that held it all together.
As her eyes landed on what was covered by the dark paper, the usually comfortable silence becomes deafening as it slowly drags on, each second passing feeling as if there were nails clawing away at your skin.
Silence.
Silence.
More fucking silence.
Her hand pulled the brightly coloured fabric upwards, letting the knitted sweater hover between the two of you, the contrast between her dark clothing currently and the sparkly pink sweater she held in her hand making you realise what a stupid, illogical gift idea this had been.
“Oh, God. Yeah. No. Bad idea, understood. No hard feelings, yeah?” you feel the all-too-familiar heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck. “I was just bored; it was a stupid thing to make. Hey, if anything we can give it to Enid, right? Uh, okay, I’ll just-“
You reached out to remove the object from her grasp, ready to fling it and yourself over the balcony. Before you could even let a fingertip run over the fabric, her hand grabbed onto your wrist, forcing your hand away from the bundle of pink fabric.
As she released your wrist, she finally opened her mouth. “You’re right in saying it is not my usual style or colour scheme, but I don’t hate it. It was made from your hands, and I will treasure it more than you will know.”
“You sure? You don’t have to say you like it if you don’t,” you pull your eyes from hers and instead focus on pulling at a piece of loose thread in your own knitted sweater.
“Y/N, I swear to you that I do not hate it. From this point on, it will be one of my most prized possessions,” she smirks lightly as she adds “even above Thing.”
A series of furious tapping from Thing comes from the inside of Wednesday’s desk at being referred to as a possession, leading you to raise a brow at the amused look that crosses her face at her trapped companion
“Ignore him. He is being punished for attempting to help Enid paint my nails a disgustingly bright array of colours whilst I was asleep”
“Oh, and I get away free after giving you the sweater, do I? Is The Wednesday Addams finally coming around on the colour pink?!” you tap her nose lightly. “My adorable little raven. Not so intimidating now, are we?”
“I love you, mon cher, but if you insist on teasing me then you can join Enid on her next trip to the lupin cages on the full moon.”
You scoff at the obviously empty threat before delicately pulling the macabre girl to lay her head in your lap, a pleased hum coming from the girl.
Wednesday, intimidating? Ha. Funny.
---
Never once had you expected Wednesday to actually wear the sweater. Well, maybe every now and then in the dorm when Enid was out, and you came over for the night. But in public? Never.
Whilst Wednesday may not care too much about her reputation, you knew that she absolutely adored the terror that she instilled in people with a simple look, the way people cowered when they crossed her path without even having to utter a word or raise a finger. It truly was delightful in the psychic’s eyes. To be feared so easily.
With that being said, the way that your heart almost screeched to a halt when Wednesday stepped out of one of Nevermore's large school vehicles on another of the seemingly never-ending trips into Jericho in attempts to stop the unwarranted prejudice the normies had against the outcast community.
Her usual dark attire had been replaced with the slightly too big sweater you had gifted her, the vivid pink making her stand out more than she usually would. Still, that didn’t tamper the murderous glint she had in her eyes, nor did it prevent people from parting like the red sea when she began her walk towards you.
She took her place next to you, her face passive as if she wasn’t doing anything so completely out of the ordinary that outcasts and normies alike kept glancing in their direction.
Laughing, you pointedly looked at your girlfriend’s choice of clothing until you met her gaze. “Wends, I love the look, but you really don’t have to wear it just so I don’t feel bad.”
Knocking her shoulder with yours slightly, she shook her head. “I want to it. Apart from the joy I pull from seeing the looks of horror and confusion washing over people’s faces, I want people to know that I am yours and you are mine,” pulling her eyes away from yours, she surveyed the bustle of people surrounding you. “Besides, it is surprisingly comfortable… and it smells like you. So, no more commenting on the sweater, I want to get a quad before all of these imbeciles flood the Weathervane.”
“Whatever you say, my darling rainbow,” placing a kiss on her cheek.
Tugging you along in a way that Wednesday found herself doing more often than not, she felt content. she had you by her side, looks of fear from strangers she did not even bother to acknowledge reminding her of her home, and the memory of Enid’s panicked face at actually thinking Wednesday’s skin was about to melt from her body at the pink sweater that she threw on.
All was perfect in her eyes.
Until the overly brave Yoko Tanaka thought the pink garment was a sign from Satan himself that teasing Wednesday would be a good idea. The vampire may have been decades old but that by no means meant she understood or had any self-control. It was something she and Enid were trying to work on together.
“Woah, Addams,” she called from behind the couple, “who the fuck had to wrestle you into that thing? It looks like a unicorn threw up all over your ass,” she lowered her tinted glasses slightly as she glanced between the two of you. “Damn, Y/N, you really have her on a leash, huh?”
At the comment, you felt embarrassment creep up your neck at Yoko’s taunts and the snickers it pulled from the few outcasts brave enough to make a sound around Wednesday. Realistically, you knew Yoko’s words were more so intended to annoy Wednesday than anything, but that didn’t make the situation any less awkward for you as you stood glancing between the cocky vampire and your seething girlfriend – if you weren’t scared she was going to murder Yoko, you would’ve been laughing at how adorable she looked, being all rageful wrapped in bright pink.
Yet, before you could even think of pulling Wednesday away, she pulled her hand from yours with a speed that you weren’t even sure a human – human? Was she human? You didn’t even pretend to know what the Addams’ were at this point – and had Yoko pinned against the brick wall of the Weathervane, the taller girl's head smacking against the brick in a way that made numerous people watching the ordeal wince.
And, of course, because Wednesday is Wednesday she held up a freshly sharpened blade against the vampire's throat.
“I know that you vampires like to act as if you are above everyone else, and whilst I do regret leaving my stake at Nevermore, I also know that you bleed and that you feel pain just like any other being on the planet, immortal or otherwise,” Wednesday presses her dagger against the girls throat harder. “With that in mind, Tanaka, I suggest you take whatever asinine comments you had hoped to make and leave before I lose my restraint and decide to see just how deeply I will have to carve my blade into your skin before your healing abilities fail you. Is that understood?”
Yoko could only give a rushed nod of her head, worried that if she tried to speak the blade would cut her skin.
“Good. Before you run away, you should know that unlike you and your ‘creatures of the night,’ I do not need dark clothing or those ridiculous glasses to be feared by others, so I shall wear whatever choice of clothing I desire. And considering this was made by Y/N, you should apologise, because as you know, if you so much as look at her in a less than enthusiastic way, I will carve your heart from your chest.”
After a second or two of intense eye contact, Wednesday releases Yoko and returns to your side with her hand back in yours as if nothing happened.
Walking backwards Yoko nodded so fast a human may have gotten whiplash, “Yeah, no, totally. Really cute sweater. Really, really cute. Good job Y/N, it’s very good. The knitting is… is cute. Great, even! Amazing. Just so- so perfect.”
Wednesday felt a smirk pulling at her lips as she saw the vampire stumble over her own feet to put as much distance between herself and the Addams, calling for Enid once she was sure she wouldn’t be chased, or more accurately, hunted down.
Turning your attention to the girl beside you, your eyes darted around her body looking for any signs of injury. “You okay, Willa?”
At seeing no visible injuries, you placed your hand against the cool skin of her neck and stared into her dark eyes.
“Are you asking if I am okay after having Yoko pinned against the wall, with my blade at her throat?” Wednesday raised an incredulous brow at you. “She should be glad she walked away with her skin intact.”
“Wednesday!” She is literally a vampire. You know, vampire? Immortal? Bloodthirsty? Gobble gobble on human flesh?”
Scoffing at your words, she began walking towards the Weathervane again – she would still refuse to admit she had a slight (major) addiction to caffeine. “Please. I am an Addams; she should have known better than to insult a gift from my beloved and expect to walk away without any consequences.”
Deciding that there was no point in trying to unravel whatever the hell being an ‘Addams’ meant exactly, you only smirked as she dragged you along. “Well, thank you for defending my honour, my oh-so-charming knight in shining pink armour.”
“Y/N, you do remember that I have a dagger on me, correct? Multiple, in fact.”
“Wends, we’ve spoken about the daggers. You do not need that many, you hardly even need one!”
“As much as I adore you, my love, the daggers are here to stay.”
You roll your eyes, brushing past Wednesday as she holds the door open for you, Wednesday smirking at your reaction.
If Enid noticed how Wednesday had cleared one of the drawers in her closet to fill with the array of clothing you made for her, she didn’t mention it. Mostly because Yoko had filled her in with extreme detail about how sharp Wednesday’s blade was.
Nope, she refused to wake up with the gothic girl holding a knife above her head, it had happened one too many times already.
#wednesday addams netflix#wednesday#wednesday addams x reader#x reader#jenna ortega fluff#jenna ortega#wednesday addams
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Arthur Morgan x F!Reader
~4.8k // MDNI // exhibitionism // first times // pointless, shameless, let-me-fuck-that-man smut // reposted from ao3
“Shh,” he coos, slowing your hips from their desperate grinding. “Keep those pretty noises just for my ears.” His mouth quirks slightly, thumb coming to stroke over your bottom lip. “Unless you want to be caught.”
“Got room for one more?”
Your stomach twisted with nerves as the stagecoach you rode in came to a rickety stop, heart beginning to race when the lockbox in the back opened and a stranger's items were set beside yours. Your first long trip alone, and you’d be spending it in a small coach with an unfamiliar man. What if he was a road agent? Or if he tried anything on you? Simply someone annoying you had to put up with for the next however many hours to Saint Denis?
You watched out of the corner of your eye as a tall figure approached the side door of the coach, each step punctuated with the sound of clicking spurs. Spurs and no horse, you thought. The pages of the book you’d been reading were pinched between your fingers, mind racing through all the undesirable possibilities of who this man may be, what he might want, what he might do.
As the coach rocked with the weight of a new passenger, your stomach jumped, eyes finally dragging away from the empty seat in front of you to the man who will soon be filling it.
Tall, broad, and rugged, the brim of a worn hat covered most of his face, but the moment he looked up you felt yourself shrink.
The sharp jaw and downward slope of his pouting lips somehow came to contrast the otherwise austere appearance. He was terrifyingly handsome, what with the mean pinch in his brow and sheer size of him. Tall enough you doubted he even needed to use the foot pedal to get in.
But at the drop of a hat, his face had suddenly softened. The fear that had built-in your stomach since the slow of the coach had dissipated in an instant when you realized his shift in demeanor was to one of...nervousness.
“You okay with an extra passenger, miss?” he had asked, as if the decision was up to you. You’d explained to him it wasn’t a private ride, that the driver was welcome to take on any passengers he wanted on the way to your destination, but the man didn’t seem satisfied until you finally said, “Yes.”
You thought for a moment you’d have to ask him not to ride up at the top with the driver with how he deliberated whether to get inside the cart. All the while your eyes had been at the two guns on his waist. A man would be suicidal to leave the house without protection--be it from the wilderness or road agents or God knows what--but you’d rarely seen someone brandishing two. You thought for a moment you could make out the shape of a flower engraved on one, but before you could inspect it further the coach rocked to one side.
Your cheeks flare at the memory. You hadn’t meant your gasp to be rude. Arthur Morgan, as he’d since introduced, was not a slight man, but it was just the sudden shift of the coach that had spooked you.
You peer over the page of your novel at him, relieved to find him preoccupied in a book of his own. Not reading, though. Doodling, you think by the quick strokes of a short piece of graphite. What is the real mystery. The leather-bound book pulled close to his chest so as not to give you even the briefest of glimpses.
A shame, you think distantly, tucking your nose back into your pages. You’d really love to see what Mr. Big and Burly deems worthy of immortalizing on paper.
—
A yawn interrupts your reading, bringing forth small pricks of tears to your drooping eyes. The sky has long since lost its color, the inside of the coach illuminated only by the dim light of a lantern. Along with the light lost, the day’s heat has tapered off quite dramatically, the chill of the night settling in unapologetically. Stretching your legs, you feel goosebumps flush along your exposed skin even despite the shawl around your shoulders.
Tucking yourself deeper into the seat, your eyes flick over to where Mister Arthur Morgan sits with his hat drawn over his eyes. You envy the tanned sheepskin jacket he has on, keeping him warm against the elements. He’s probably as hot as a fireplace, you think with another yawn. Just how late was it?
He’s been asleep for hours now, not even rousing when the coach shook and jumped along the road. Maybe, if you just went to his side you could warm up and move back without him even realizing it. You doubt your smaller presence would rouse him any, not in comparison to the bumpy ride.
A nipping breeze decides for you, and you slink over to his side of the coach. Tentatively, you slip in next to him, the heat of his body drawing you in closer and closer. You were right, you think, eyes fluttering shut. He’s like a freshly stoked fireplace.
--
You wake up to a particularly harsh jostle, the coach’s wheels running over a patch of rougher terrain. Groaning quietly, you defiantly keep your eyes closed, set on falling back asleep, but a gust of wind slips in through the windows, pulling a shiver up your spine. You go to burrow closer into your seat, to the warmth accumulated there, but get pulled closer instead.
You’re barely able to rein in a gasp, eyes snapping open.
It doesn’t take but a second for your mind to catch up to reality, or for your eyes to adjust to the dark interior of the coach. Seeing your empty seat across from you and two pairs of legs spread out in front of you.
You’re tucked tightly against Arthur’s side, certainly not the position you recall before you had fallen asleep on him. Arthur’s heavy arm is folded over your shoulder. His relaxed hand barely grazing your exposed arm, but the sensation sends goosebumps over your skin. Your own hand is placed on his thigh, a comfortable resting spot but entirely improper. Snatching it away, you shift as much as you can to look at the snoozing man next to you. His green eyes are still closed, even breaths coming as quiet snores half of the time.
“Mr. Morgan?” you whisper, testing to see how deeply asleep he is. The only response given is another low snore. Squirming a bit to try and remove yourself, you squeak when his arm only tightens around you, sliding around your clavicle to lock you in firmer.
Accepting that the only way to remove yourself from the situation would mean to draw attention to it, you relax against him and try to will yourself back to sleep. Maybe he’ll lighten his hold sometime through the night and you could divorce yourself from this, pretend it never happened.
Until then, you wait.
And wait.
And--Arthur shifts, groans, adjusts his hat, then goes right back to sleep. The entire time his arm doesn’t move from where it’s locked around your body.
You stare longingly at the book across from you, hardly a meter away yet entirely out of reach. For a lack of anything better to do, you drum your fingers against your skirt, press creases into the satin fabric, and flatten them out over and again.
You eye the hand resting limply on the thigh farthest from you. Where his fingers are long and thick, with nails looking to be bitten to the quick, yours are dainty and well kept. Hands that have only known the scorn of a quickly turned page, or the prick of a sewing needle.
You wonder what Mr. Morgan’s hands know.
Your fingers lightly brush over his thigh, strong and thick underneath his trousers. Your whole hand couldn’t cover the top, even when you splay your fingers.
It’s mindless entertainment, but entertainment nonetheless as you measure the width of his thigh with the first knuckle of your finger, then with two pressed together. Rolling them over this way and back the other, skating them from your leg to his.
You don’t notice when his snoring stops, or the man’s breath goes deathly silent. Only when the large hand you were just studying wraps around your wrist do you realize he’s awoken. The yelp that nearly escapes you gets trapped behind his second roughened palm pressing against your lips, barely a peep hitting the open air.
Neither of you speak for several beats. Long enough that you feel your chest ache for the air you’ve been holding back despite your nose being uncovered. So long you begin to wonder if Arthur had simply reacted as a reflex in his sleep. Maybe you could still get out of this, gently pry his grizzly-sized paws off of your person and pretend this never happened.
But your blood runs cold in your veins before you can make that decision, a low growl rumbling right against your ear.
“Go ahead and explain yourself, girl. We both know that’s not where I keep my money.”
His hand moves from your lips to your chin, guiding your face towards his with a foreign gentleness. This close you can see the flecks of yellow and blue in his eyes; could count his lashes, if your life lasted long enough to allow it.
You try not to pant outright or look into his scornful stare, but when your gaze cast to the side his grip tightens--a painless warning, but a warning all the same. “Don’t make me ask you again.”
“I wasn’t trying to steal from you,” you quickly squeak out. The breath he huffs through his nose is warm on your face.
“I’m well aware. So,” his fingers squeeze on your cheeks, pushing your lips forward. “What were those wandering hands of your doin’?”
“I-I don’t--don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” he repeats, a hint of amusement lingering in his tone. You nod your head as much as his hand will permit. “Then maybe you need a reminder.”
The hand around your wrist still trapping you against his thigh guides your palm up his leg--far higher than you ever traveled--and then back down again. Your eyes widen, snapping up to his own.
“I wasn’t--”
“Oh, but I think you were,” he says, guiding you higher again. Your hand passes over something underneath his pants. “Your wanderin’ hand caused quite the problem.”
The way he speaks, low and confident, sends a wave of heat through your body, melting the ice your blood had turned to when he caught you. It all pools hotly at the bottom of your stomach, scorches your cheeks. His eyes rake over your expression, face slowly but surely inching towards you. You can feel the heat of his breath on your wet lips, his nose brushing gently over your cheek. But just as your eyes flutter shut he removes his hands from you. Lets go of your jaw and places your hand in your own lap.
“Feelin’ a man while he sleeps is mighty improper, miss,” he says, voice devoid of its earlier gravely husk. “Best get some rest now so we can both forget about it.”
It takes you a long moment to fully register the switch in demeanour, your lips still parted, but for an entirely different reason. He was just going to...let you go? After that ?
Properly humiliated, you rip your gaze away from his profile, glance to the other side of the coach. The seat where you know you should retreat to, slink over with your tail between your legs, and pretend this never happened for the sake of propriety. You know this, and yet you keep yourself planted in the seat next to him, thoughts fuzzy and heart beating at a dizzying rate.
It’s hard to say what came over you. A fit of hysteria or complete mania, perhaps, but without his prompting you place your hand back onto his thigh, grazing it lightly over the swell of corded muscle there. It flexes involuntarily under your touch. “I don’t think I quite understand, Mr. Morgan,” you purr in your best seductive voice, leaning closer to him and pressing your breast up against his arm. You creep up his inner thigh until your fingers curl to cup the bulge that extends far closer to his hip than you expected.
The rush that passes through you when his eyes widen you’ve only felt once. When during a dinner party you snuck into the kitchen and split several bottles of wine with the help, giggling and drinking with them all for God knows how long. You spent the rest of that evening giving demure smiles and hiding behind your fan to conceal the dark red stains on your teeth. Oh, how it felt to do something frowned upon. To hide a little secret in front of so many people.
A feeling you’d much rather chase after than drown.
There is nothing modest about the smile stretched across your face now. The grin splitting your lips is salacious and predatory when you lean towards his parted mouth.
“What’s so improper about this?”
Your free hand snakes its way up his broad chest, grabbing onto the black neckerchief there and yanking on it to close the distance between your mouths.
The stubble on his chin and cheek abraid against your own, but his lips make up for it entirely; warm and supple and surprisingly soft. Almost too pliant at first, tentative and chaste, but when you move his bottom lip between your teeth it puts an end to that.
You have only ever read about men who kiss the way Mr. Morgan does. Dominating and firm but gentle and rich. You’ve kissed wealthy men before but never have had a kiss feel so luxuriant. As his tongue runs around the seam of your lip your mind is wiped clean of any memories to even compare him to. It’s shameless and near urgent, the way he tilts your head back to completely swallow you. When his tongue strokes against your own you let your lips wrap around it, sucking and licking and capturing him there to play with for as long as you please. He moans into your mouth, presses your body closer against him until he’s nearly pushing you down, and tangles his hand in your hair to assert himself back as the one in control.
You break apart purely out of necessity, wet and bruised lips parted to pant hard against each other. Mr. Morgan leaves you breathless once more when he moves you to his lap with such ease you’d think you were a child and not a grown woman.
“You need me to teach ya about improper?” he asks, mouth leaving hot and wet kisses along the column of your neck. You keen and tilt your head higher, giving him more room to explore.
“Would you be so kind, Mr. Morgan?”
“Arthur,” he corrects, teeth nipping at your exposed clavicle. The vibrations run down your spine like a silky cord.
You echo him breathlessly, “Arthur.” It sounds nice on your tongue; a handsome name. A strong name. “I’m afraid I’ve rarely been afforded the luxury of hand-on-hand instruction.”
He’s pulling down the neckline of your dress and exposing your breasts to the rapidly warming air inside the coach. You gasp, having only been this nude in front of your help before. There’s an urge to cover yourself, but you quiet it down when his warm, rough hands press them together.
“Then we better be real thorough, Miss.” He kisses your cleavage, tongue licking a line down your breasts to take a nipple into his hot mouth. You arch further into his touch when a hand moves to your bottom, kneading the flesh there.
He lets go of your breast with the barest graze of teeth, coaxing a whimper out of your throat. He chuckles from below you. “This okay with you, princess?”
“I believe there’s no backing out now, is there?” you jest.
His hands and mouth still, face lifting from your chest to look up at you with a sudden earnestness. “You call the shots, darlin’. If you wanna stop just tell me when.”
You blink at him, having not expected that kind of response. For such a tough and severe-looking man, you expected him to be the type to take what he wants. Maybe that was the initial appeal, but looking at his lust-blown eyes, now tempered with self-restraint, makes you all the more eager to be with him. Not sure what to say, or even trusting your voice to carry a sentence, you dip down and capture his lips once more, sweeter and slower than before. He takes the meaning and lets his hands continue their ministrations, pinching and rubbing and stroking against your breasts to find what pulls the better reaction out of you. Just as you pull apart the stagecoach hits a bump, jostling you two slightly. Arthur holds you steady against him, but in doing so presses you against his erection.
He groans deeply. A grin splits your face.
“Forgive my negligence, Mr. Morgan,” you purr, slipping your hands under both the straps of his suspenders and jacket, sliding them off of his shoulders. Your fingers flick open the buttons of his trousers with an ease that surprises yourself.
When your hand disappears under his trousers, you’re almost surprised by how heavy his erection is. It’s like velvet hilt beneath your fingers, hot and wet at the tip. You roll your palm around it before pulling him out.
“Despite all the erotic dime novels I’ve read I’m afraid none of them went into quite such detail,” you admit sheepishly.
Arthur grins, lopsided and lazily charming. “Let me show you.”
His hand folds over yours, gently guiding it up and down his shaft. You’re caught between watching his erection slip in and out of your hand and watching his expressions: The flutter of his long lashes, the burning red in his cheeks. His mouth remains parted to allow his deep breaths, but his teeth clench in a hiss when you dip your thumb into the slit, smearing the pooling liquid around.
“Move just like that,” he says, hand leaving yours to trail under your skirt and over your stockings.
“Has anyone ever touched you like this?” he asks, fingers mapping out the space between your parted thighs, slipping between the slit of your undergarments to brush over and part your folds. You shake your head, trying desperately not to whimper when his palm presses up against your core. “But you’ve touched yourself like this?”
You struggle to nod your head, not entirely due to his dizzying touch. Arthur notices this, latches onto it. “Say it, princess.”
“I-I’ve touched myself. Before.”
He hums, rewarding you with a large finger rubbing up against your wet entrance.“I want you to show me.”
Before you can question him, he’s removing your hands from his, wet fingers moving you so your back is in the seat. He kneels between your parted legs and hikes your skirt up your waist, untying your underwear easily to shimmying them down and off of your ankles. You fight against yourself to close your knees together tight, caught instead by Arthur’s deep green eyes locked with your own. “Show me,” he repeats, guiding your hands to the space between your thighs.
You want to be embarrassed, tell him this is the point where you call a recess, but with the way the heat in your stomach seeps down to your core, aching to be acknowledged, and Arthur’s reassurance of his own enjoyment, evident by the hand slowly stroking himself--you decide to chase after the feeling of wine stained teeth.
With tentative strokes, you begin pleasuring yourself the way you would in your bedroom back at the estate. Your fingers dip down to your entrance to gather the slick there and spread it over your clit, making gentle but firm circles over the small bundle of nerves. As you begin to build your familiar rhythm, your second hand rises to your chest, stroking and pinching your nipple. Arthur seems caught between the same binary as you: to watch your sex or to watch your face.
He decides on the latter, and to your further joy leans up to kiss you, his knuckles brushing against your own with every flick of his wrist. You moan against his mouth, less occupied with moving your lips than you are chasing after your pleasure.
When you feel your core begin to tighten, Arthur pulls your hips to the edge of the seat. He leaves your mouth to sink down, his face inches from where your fingers are making quick, tight circles.
“What are you--doing?” you ask, breathless.
Arthur looks up at you from where he kneels, taking in the look of genuine confusion on your face and smirks against your bare thigh. “Your dirty novels not tell you ‘bout this?” You shake your head. “I’d rather show you.”
Nothing he’s done thus far has been anything close to unpleasant and, as silly as it is to come to the conclusion now, you trust him. You move your fingers, mourning the loss of your budding release, and nod once.
“Go ahead.”
He smiles against your thigh, kissing you there before continuing lower. And lower. And lower still, until his breath is hot against your core. Before you can grow any more nervous and ask him to stop, you feel the flat of his tongue lick from your entrance to your clit.
You gasp, hand shooting up to cover your mouth. You’ve never felt anything like that before. His tongue is heavy and wet against you, soft lips bringing your folds into his mouth. Salaciously, he looks up at you from between your legs, and you can see his smile in his pretty green eyes. He repeats this once more, but stays at your clit, circling it with his tongue before lapping at it greedily.
Your fingers card through his soft blonde hair, careful at first not to pull, but too far deep in your own pleasure to realize when you do. He moans against you when your hips raise involuntarily to press impossibly closer to his mouth, hands roaming over your waist and to your breasts. You didn’t realize why he wanted you to pleasure yourself in front of him, but now you understand. Everything you showed him he took into account, using it to dangle you over the edge of an impossibly blissful sea.
Your mouth hangs open, keens and whimpers escaping without care as his dexterous mouth and hands strum your body like an instrument, unaware of just how loud they ring in the stagecoach until Arthur’s mouth pulls away and you’re brought back to a sane state of mind.
“Shh,” he coos, slowing your hips from their desperate grinding. “Keep those pretty noises just for my ears.” His mouth quirks slightly, thumb coming to stroke over your bottom lip. “Unless you want to be caught.”
Without your permission a low moan pulls out of your throat, desperate and needy. Your eyes widen, suddenly sober to your unintentional reaction. Arthur looks to have sobered up slightly too, but when his green eyes meet yours they fall darker than they were before.
“Oh, you dirty girl.”
Arthur rises from his kneel, looms over you in the small space of the coach. Slides his hips between your thighs like the piece of a jigsaw puzzle, the warmth of his manhood hot and heavy over your mound.
“That really gets to you, huh? The idea of gettin’ caught in such an indecent position?”
You go to retort, save yourself the embarrassment of a misunderstanding, but you stop yourself short. There really is no misunderstanding. Arthur kindly doesn’t press the discovery, but you squirm all the same until his lips coax your mouth open and your thoughts away. All the way up until you feel the head of his cock presses up against your entrance and you gasp.
“I-I’ve never--” you’re quick to blurt, but Arthur’s quicker to sooth.
“I know,” he coos, looking at the swell of your mouth. “Ain’t no need for it, darlin’, just say and I’ll go back to what I was doin’ before this.”
You swallow against a dry throat, eyes darting over his face and waiting for something inside of you to say anything other than yes, yes, yes. It doesn’t come, and Arthur waits patiently for your answer. “Please. Keep going.”
The sensation of being filled--of being stretched. Nothing in your books gave it proper tribute. It’s a sweet, slow burn that you feel all the way up your spine; a heat that spreads through your thighs, up to your navel. Your fingernails leave skinny red lines along Arthur’s forearms, stopping only when he’s fully seated inside of you.
You come to a standstill, luxuriating in the feeling of the other. “You fit me perfectly,” Arthur whispers, grinding his hips against the plush of your ass. You gasp.
“You think I’m the one with the dirty mouth?”
He chuckles against your lips, kissing you once quick and hard before pulling back to give you a proper grin, “This is church talk, girl,” and thrusts into you.
You’re already so full of him, filled in a way you hadn’t imagined possible, and having him press deeper into you hits something that has you out of breath with pleasure. Your toes curl, fingers digging into Arthur’s strong shoulders. It’s so, so good--
And then he pulls back to properly thrust.
If having his tongue on you was the best thing you’d felt, having him bury himself in you over and over again is nothing short of heavenly. Each time it feels like he may be leaving, only to sink back in, you lose any sense. The hand at the back of your thigh, your ankles locked together, the sweat dotting your brow. It all feels like so much, and yet it waves to the background while Arthur takes you. You haven’t realized the noises filling the coach are entirely yours until Arthur quiets you with his tongue against yours. When your mouths finally pull apart the first thing back on your tongue is his name.
“Arthur,” you whimper, bottom lip catching between your teeth.
“What do you need, girl.” Your lips parts to tell him, but the words catch in your throat, another wave of euphoria hitting you when he presses all the way in and stills. Like this you’re so obscenely stretched and filled in ways you never knew you’d want to be, but he presses your hips back against him, pushing against your limit even further. “Tell me what you need,” he whispers, pulsing inside of you.
“H-harder.”
If the bulging muscles in his arms weren’t affirmation enough, the display of just how strong he is comes when his arms hook under your knees to push them back towards your chest, hands splaying along your upper back. You think for a second he’s going to throw you onto the floor and take you like that--something you’re surprised to learn you aren’t entirely opposed to--but instead of letting you drop he holds you just like that, supporting the near entirety of your weight in his arms.
You’re completely laid bare before him, legs spread lewdly for his viewing pleasure, hands too busy clawing at his shoulders and hair to cover your expressions from him, but it only makes the scorching need in your core burn brighter. He chuckles when you hook your feet over his shoulders, letting go completely to the obscenity of it all.
You think, at least. Then he starts to move.
His arms swing you back while his hips lift to meet you, thrusting inside of you with long, rough movements. The first slap of your arse to his thighs is loud inside of the coach, but not any louder than the sounds that rip from your throat. They only spur him on, working to keep a rhythm that has you useless in his arms.
“God!” you brokenly gasp, uncaring of your volume or the swear. “L-like that!”
“There you go,” he husks, hands squeezing you tight. Every part of you is overwhelmed by him, inside and out. His voice, his touch, his scent, his taste. It pushes you closer and closer to the edge, every sense heightened and primed as if with the sole purpose of bringing you over. That tempting line between wanting to remain in the rapture that comes right before your climax and needing to feel yourself fall apart. For him, on him, because of him.
The need only burns brighter every time you sink back down onto his length, his thick head pressing impossibly deeper inside of you and hitting every sensitive spot along the way.
You try to warn him, at least to keep him going long enough for you to claim your mark, but it comes out a broken mess. “A-Arthur, I’m--don’t, ah! Keep--“
“Let me feel you take your pleasure.”
And you do.
#arthur morgan rdr2#arthur morgan smut#arthur morgan x reader#arthur morgan x you#rdr2 smut#rdr2 x reader#Bunny Writing#testing the waters here how thirsty is everyone#are the arthur morgan girlies still alive
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OK, into the goblin camp. Rakha's dark urge bloodthirst was sated for a little while by killing the gobbos in the outer post, so we're not quite going in guns blazing, but if someone looks at her funny, heads are probably going to end up rolling. She's feeling very on edge after the Absolute's voice blindsided them on the bridge.
The most eye-catching (and ear-catching) thing happening in the celebration happening outside is, of course, Volo, who is being forced to sing by several of the goblins at swordpoint.
And the song is terrible.
"With fragulous crown and with scepter abrade,
Dror Ragzlin short work of the innkeeper made!
The inn burned to ash! The captives were many!
Goblinkind had reduced them to cowering filfenny!
So raiseth your goblets and drain them with pride!
Dror Ragzlin, the True Soul, hath led you galide!"
Baffling. Rakha knows nothing of music - she didn't even get a chance to hear Alfira sing before the beast gutted her - but it's easy enough to see that this is meant to be entertainment, and in fact that the goblins seem to be enjoying it. But it is nonsense.
"I reckon Dror Ragzlin's the gobbo in charge," Wyll says thoughtfully, "the way this one's carrying on."
Rakha grunts. That explains some of it. Not all. "'Fragulous'?" she asks with some bewilderment. "'Galide'? I don't know this language."
She has wondered to herself on more than one occasion how she knows any language, when so much else seems to be lost to her. But the bard's strange tongue is most certainly a mystery.
One of the goblins gives her a disdainful glare. "Common, ye turnip," she snarls.
Rakha scowls. That very well might be true, and the words simply lost on her. She doesn't like the possibility much. Sometimes it feels as if for every bit of this world she starts to understand, she finds a hundred other things that spark no recognition at all.
-----
Wyll gives her a slight smile, seeing her confusion. "No fear," he says in an undertone, low enough only for her to hear. "They're no words I ever heard of either. He's making them up."
She feels herself relax just slightly at this gesture of encouragement. "For what purpose?"
"To make the goblins think he's smart, I suspect. And you, for that matter," he says with a soft laugh. "Though I don't think it will hold out for long - look there." And indeed, Volo seems to have lost the thread of his song, and one of the goblins is in the process of hustling him off the stage with a kick. "Ouch."
"As I told you," Lae'zel puts in dryly. "A master only of falsehoods. And perhaps foolishness."
-----
The rest of the courtyard is full of celebrating goblins. Rakha gathers, from overheard conversations, that they are celebrating a raid on a nearby settlement, the capture of some important prisoner. None of them seem to notice Rakha's presence particularly, which makes a certain amount of sense - Nettie did say they would likely take the tadpole infection as indication that they are all on the same side.
Two particular things catch her attention - the first is the owlbear cub they first spotted in the cave with its mother some days back. There's no sign of the large one, but the cub is being tormented by one of the goblins, who is trying to get everyone nearby into a game of 'chicken-chasing.'
Rakha has no interest in the game, and would happily skewer the goblin, but as for the little beast...
She remembers Wyll's guidance for befriending Scratch, and crouches down to its height, sticking a hand out for it to sniff.
Narrator: You notice a shiver run through his feathered coat - fear, a desperate longing for the safety of his nest. But his mother is gone - taken. All that's left are these creatures.
She snorts softly. Adrift. As I am.
Offer him your hand. He can follow your scent to your camp in the wilderness.
"Oh, thank the gods," Gale says dryly. "I did worry you might be about to lash out with another kick."
"That was not my choice," Rakha mutters. "I've no quarrel with the beast."
Wyll smiles. "He'll make a fine addition to camp, if we can get him there."
In the end it doesn't take much effort to frighten the goblins into letting the cub go. With a joyful hoot, it barrels off into the distance at top speed.
-----
The other moment of interest is a drunk goblin holding forth to several others in one corner of the courtyard - and who, seeing Rakha, decides unilaterally that they are going to have a problem.
"And who're you?" he shouts up towards her. "Nother pest? Think ya rule the world just cuz ya got a scary face? Hah!"
Rakha glares at him silently, irritation stirring rapidly into anger in the back of her mind. The goblin - unfortunately for him - keeps talking.
"We got the Absolute on our side now. Ya better learn yer place! Go on - kiss my foot, or I'll wipe that nasty look right off yer face!"
The anger slides into rage, like a worn and comfortable glove sliding back onto a fist. Her vision whites out at the corners and she feels the beast stir in her head.
Lae'zel hisses with similar annoyance. "End him or leave him," she snaps sharply. "But don't you dare grovel to this slug."
Rakha feels a cool smile twist her lips. In this, she and Lae'zel are very much alike. The disrespect is guaranteed to call up the rage faster than anything else. And this creature will suffer for it now - it only matters how.
Kill, says the beast. Kill. Make him bleed. Pull him apart, piece by piece by bloody piece until there is nothing left.
She feels her control slipping, the hunger suddenly surging up again, inescapable.
Ponder how it would taste to bite his toe clean off.
Yes. That would be good. Turn the tables. Pull him apart. Make him suffer. Make it hurt. Make the blood poor from his foot as he tries to fight back and dies, and dies, and dies...
Narrator: You kneel before him, eagerly feigning reverence.
Before she fully realizes it, she has moved beyond thought into movement, her knees hitting the cold, damp stone. Her head drops; she can smell the stink of the goblin, overwhelming, before everything fades out and the beast takes over completely, her jaws closing like a predator around the goblin's foot.
Narrator: But with one quick snatch, you envelop a toe in your foul maw.
(A/N: Definitely trying to take all Dark Urge choices that don't involve a companion death, but also this is GROSS lol. Ew.)
Narrator: The toe itself tastes of curd, cave-aged, with thick helpings of rancid gristle.
The goblin screams, matching the dark screaming in her head. She tastes his blood on her tongue and it is intoxicating like fine wine. The bitter flesh contrasts with it, stokes the hunger higher still. She wants more. She wants him to bleed and scream and die under her blade. He mocked her and he will suffer...
She reawakens in a blood-hungry haze. The goblin's toe is clutched in one fist, dripping hot across her palm. The goblin is still screaming with pain and rage.
"You fiend! I'll teach you some respect!"
-----
"When I said end him," Lae'zel says, unsheathing her sword as the nearest goblins close around them, "that was not what I meant."
"Now who's acting surprised when they shouldn't be?" Gale says dryly. "Ow!" he adds, as Lae'zel elbows him sharply in the ribs.
-----
Several of the goblins crowd around to join in the fray, but Rakha and Lae'zel are both of a single mind, focused on the one that started the whole business - the one currently bleeding heavily out of one foot. And when he falls, Rakha is very satisfied to see that he begs, at once.
"Wait - I yield! I yield!" he bellows, terrified, as Rakha stands over him.
Rakha could not care less. This is beyond her now, and there is only the beast, and it will not be calmed until the goblin is dead. Lae'zel clearly feels the same.
Wyll and Gale have been watching this play out with some bemusement, a little further back. Gale looks troubled, but Wyll has his eyes narrowed, and to Rakha's distant surprise, he sounds almost as angry as she feels when he speaks.
"He wants mercy. I say show it to him - decisively."
Ignore his pleading and prepare for the finishing blow.
Lae'zel smiles in satisfaction as Rakha's knife slides from its sheathe. "A fine show of force," she murmurs. "The worms shall feast tonight."
The goblin panics completely and begins scuttling away in a desperate attempt to escape as Rakha closes with him. "HELP!" he screams. Faces from all over the camp begin to turn and look towards them. "HELP ME!"
Rakha's knife slides into his mouth and pins him to the wall behind him, and a roar goes through the whole camp.
"So much for a quiet entrance," Gale says wearily. "Yes, yes, I know," he adds as Lae'zel shoots him a glare. "I should have expected it."
#bjk plays bg3 durge#rakha the dark urge#this one got long :P#but yay Durge dialogue!#gross durge dialogue :P#and all the violence we could have expected i suppose :P#poor gale#i'm pretty sure he is the least comfortable in the team with rakha by FAR
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looks at you. hi. spare mayoi lore thoughts
GEHEJSHDJFBJ HII.. OK LET ME JUST PREFACE i have yet to read ch 5 mainstory + most of the stories out in !! currently so there may be preexisting evidence that totally contradicts my scuffed theory, n most of this is my imagination i thinks. but umm
you know how Kanata was revered as a god? im of the belief that Mayoi was like that, but directly opposite, with he and his family considered descendants of evil by the Yaobikuni cult
[ ID: Three screenshots of dialogue from Main Story Chapter 2: Troublemakers, Episode 28: Seniors.
Mayoi: Even so, it must be uncomfortable for others to be around people like me, so I chose to live in as secluded a place as possible.
Tatsumi: Haha. You talk like you are not a human being yourself.
Mayoi: Oh...I'm sorry, but I've spent a lot of time not being treated like a human being. I can't help but think that I'm different from the rest of the world.
End ID ]
Mayoi has nonexistent self-esteem, and he reveals that he wasn't treated as human for a good portion of his life. it's clear he was super fecking neglected and abused as a kid and made to feel subhuman, but he speaks as if he is / was meant to play that role. he thinks of himself as an evil and wretched thing who will never change and who should disappear from the world. it's almost like he was purposely raised to be a scapegoat... perhaps an embodiment of evil...
[ ID: Two screenshots of dialogue from Motor Show, Snail’s Pace / Episode 5.
Kanata: Hmm~ ... Somehow, I can sense a nostalgic "smell" on him.
Mayoi: Ehh? Oh, sorry for disturbing! Please ignore me, gentleman of [the] Five Eccentrics!
End ID ]
additionally, it’s established in Motor Show that Kanata has some unconscious familiarity with Mayoi — it could just be that Mayoi was a student of Yumenosaki and was Eccentric-adjacent enough to be noticed by the student body (i mean he's one of the mysteries of Yumenosaki) so maybe his name was thrown around or Kanata had a meeting with him once, but what if they had a deeper connection (o_o ) what if they were connected, not by any meaningful relationship, but rather by a cult making figureheads of them
after all it's not just coincidence that Mayoi has a masterkey to nearly every room in Ensemble Square, right? that the land Ensemble Square was built on was bought from the Yaobikuni cult? that Mayoi has been living on that land for a long time before Ensemble Square was even built?
it makes sense to me because with a majority of mythology, where there's a "god", a force of good, there's usually a "devil", an opposing force of evil. in contrast to the Shinkai family, wish-granting descendants of the god of the Yaobikuni, the Ayase family serves as the embodiment of sin, the perpetrators to blame for any and all misfortune. the sacrifice, if you will, but in a different sense.
this is just a crazy ass theory though, and there are other connections i wanna make that i shrimply cannot bc of Not Reading Stories syndrome </3 if he is connected to the Yaobikuni cult, i can't explain why Mama doesn't seem to have relevant knowledge of him outside of being the phantom of Yumenosaki. his fear of the Sakumas is interesting to me though, and i'd love to look into his 2nd Featured Scout's story if i can find a translation (esp knowing that it involves Madara (O_O ))
so um. yes. thats why Mayoi is the devil! hope you liked the read!
#enstars#ensemble stars#piper ens posting#mayoi ayase#i forgot if i have a tag for you nyx ill make one right now#mayopi elli#<- is for u#tbfh with all the recent lore connecting godfather to yumenosaki i wouldnt be surprised if mayoi either ended up being a descendant of godf#ather or someone who was raised by him for his own goals#would be MADS about it.. would be RAGEFULS about it.. but wouldnt be surprised#but anyway i hope you like my lore thoughts (*explodes *
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mortalworkers
Lyrics
mortalworkers is part of the album death and all her memories.
[Clarification: Yes, the song is supposed to be spelled mortalworkers while moralworkers are spelled w/o the t.]
In the story behind the album, moralworkers are people who handle both birth and death as the people of that realm view them as inherently linked. The main character in the story is a moralworker chosen specifically to deal with criminals and traitors. After preparing the body of a rebellion leader, she meets said leader's ghost. The leader cannot move on without the moralworker and they form a pact to save the realm from destruction.
The song mortalworkers refers to morticians and funeral directors. It discusses accepting the inevitability and mystery surrounding death. For me specifically, it's me trying to accept the possibility that there might be no afterlife at all after death. While I practice hellenic paganism and believe I'll go to the Underworld when I die, I still allow myself the acceptance that their might be nothing. It's still a terrifying thought that I could just cease to exist but I know I can't live forever and I'm going to die and there's nothing I can do about ceasing to exist.
[First Verse Analysis]
The first verse discusses the mundanity of life. We have routine, we try to stay alive, we may take risks, or we may avoid anything and everything in fear of dying. Then the verse describes my particular anxiety and a tug of war of trying new things or staying in my bubble and agonizing over missing out of stuff.
Cities of gold and rivers of earth refer to both heaven and the rivers of the Underworld. The cities of gold line refers to religious trauma I endured and how there were two places, two extremes. You either follow the "correct" religion without ever truly knowing if you were good enough to go that city of gold, or you suffer and burn in the fiery pits of hell. And that contrasts directly with my current religion where there are three places: Tartarus, the Asphodel Meadows, and Elysium. Tartarus is meant to be for the objectively bad people like murderers. You directly choose things that lead you to Tartarus. Then you have the Asphodel Meadows where most people go. It's not a life of suffering and it's not a life of glamour either. Then you have Elysium where people favored by the Gods end up; people who were heroes. It just made more sense to me. It helped my anxiety around death and find peace in it. More than anything, the Gods helped me find peace in it. There's a place where horrible people end up and there's a place that people can actively aspire to go to but it's not bad if they can't achieve those things.
[Pre-Chorus Analysis]
The pre-chorus describes the thesis of the song which is the possibility that there might not be anything after death. A lot of people want to know they did good and that they can reach paradise but it's possible they won't have anything. Just the void. Then the line referring to "eight minutes left in eternal sighs" refers to the death of the sun. If the sun died, it'd take eight minutes before the sun's corpse could reach us. So, if you had eight minutes left before you died, what would you do?
[Chorus Analysis]
The chorus is about the anxiety that exists around trying to accept the chance of no life after death. That acceptance is a barrier in trying to decide how to live your life, how to take risks but with the understanding that it's okay if a risk isn't taken. It's a frustrating balance.
[Second Verse Analysis]
The first chorus is meant to be an epiphany that leads to the second verse which discusses the freedom that is accepting death as an inherent part of life. How, even with people who you will never meet in your entire life, we are all connected by birth and death.
[Bridge Analysis]
The bridge is mostly me talking to myself before I finally resolved an identity crisis I've had since childhood. I felt very empty and dissociated then and like I had to please everyone and thus I had to mold myself to do so. But then the pandemic happened and all the isolation brought out the truer parts of me and thus the empty shell I used to be died.
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Modesty is the most undervalued principle and virtue of the Father. It was the first principle introduced to Adam and Eve after the fall. God called them out of the dark to clothe them in the robes of his righteousness.
Modesty is not a physical destination. A physical pitstop. Modesty is in all things physical, intellectual and spiritual of course. Their are social benefits and protection when you honor this principle. Modesty is the light itself, the movement of the Father to remain mysterious from the naked eye.
To his righteous he calls us to be wise and moderate in all of our actions and behavior. Learn to refrain yourself from the wantings of the flesh. Don't reveal all things to your enemy. We don't fight against people but principalities of enticement. To be properly principled in righteousness is to be protected from carnal principles of the flesh, from principalities of darkness that are naked to the human eye. They have their principles of allurance but we also have God's principles of his glory to uphold.
Christ is the only person that can change our hearts and cleanse our perspective. The manna principle was given for our benefit. Only God can give manna. We can't provide our own. We shouldn't ask for something more desirable to satisfy our lust instead. But when we do, God will give it to us even if it disappoints Him. Sometimes when Christ and his teachings to honor God's will is not fully received only the consequences have hope to catch us up to speed that we may be able to return back to the fullness of God's embrace where pure knowledge and safety abide.
God warns us when we satisfy our lust. When he comes again those not clothed in God's righteousness will be naked before the Lord and they will flee from his presence. Similarly, as soon as Adam and Eve partook of the fruit of good and evil they fled the Lord's presence. Why did they run? Perhaps it was more than just the adversaries whispering or their own guilt. Perhaps they finally understood that the glory of God far surpassed their own shadow of light.
The adversary tried to change their perception of God, but God in His mercy called out to His children to return to his presence with an offer for rebirth. Yes, he is a glorious God to be feared and revered, but we must remember above that He is also our Savior. Principled in righteousness to save. Full of mercy and grace only given by the highest laws upheld.
Modesty is a principle that flows in a way that only true glory can flow. It brings order, focus, direction, towards truth and righteousness. Christ was the epitome of a Modest Son of the Great King whom he served and defended from all unrighteousness. Modesty helps to eliminate the weeds in all aspects of our lives, to fortify and strengthen all the areas our hands touch, to make better choices that we may flourish with spiritual fruits to share.
Modesty is an important component of repentance, a chance for a rebirth through the Son. It's a cleansing act that gives reverence for all things created by God including ourselves. It increases gratitude and the love for simple things. It helps you to see the underlying ripple of an action manifest when you consecrate the will of God as an offering.
This principle will help you understand who Christ is. Though charity is the greatest of all gifts, modesty will lead you there at your own pacing. It gives reverence to the glory of the Father while understanding your place and value as his creation meant for spiritual increase. He paces you to never run faster than you should. To trust his seasons. To go where he wants you to go. To accept challenges you never thought possible to climb. When your relationship with Christ strengthens, your ability to treasure his pure knowledge increases. There is no one who can persuade you better than the Savior himself and your daily devotion to him.
Such a small action with profound reach. To utilize the gift to repent being cleansed and refreshed by the word and Spirit is to find success in many dark places where Christ is most near. You're fervor to increase your stride will come from obedience and reverence to the word that brings life. Many will wonder where the light comes from. Many will want to follow. It's not a mock up glory of allurance. But a light that is only possible from truth that values order, that values the eternal laws to claim an eternal destiny of light worthy of entering the Father's house. Only light can enter the Father's house.
This glory of God's is not loud, obvious, spiteful, vengeful, jealous, controlling, covetous, or lustful. Nothing made of that will be able to sit with God. His own qualities that save us sit on the higher virtues of forgiveness, mercy and grace. Truth upholds all his standards making him worthy to defend and worship. For all light comes from his presence.
Christ came to uphold the order and bring balance to all things. The great sacrifice was Christ. It afforded and granted an increase of glory for both the Father and the Son. No one can repay that debt. No darkness can challenge that light. Why should God stop procreating what is good because a few turn dark on their own terms. Where would the balance of justice come from if there were no righteous King? Why should there not be any principalities of righteousness to challenge what is dark? Light is the only thing to consume what is dark. When what is made of light loves the dark the darkness consumes their appetite.
Modesty is the answer. The Gospel of Christ is as plain as day. You might hate the sun but when you sit in the dark and find that your own light can't chase the shadows how can you shout your vexing towards the only light. Shouldn't you aim for what is light instead of dancing in the filth of your own darkness and pretending what is clearly dark is rich. Where is the increase of your darkness. Where is the increase of your own filth. We are all shadows to God's light and yet his hand stretches out to save you through his ability to forgive you. He already has forgiven you before you even ask. Yet the confession is good for your own soul. He awaits you to humble yourself and confess. The word needs to release before the body can recieve Christ. The sin must be purged out by tongue before the mind can rest. As many times as you need on the mercy seat of Christ until his light fully declares your redemption. Until every inch of your body is claimed.
The body is carnal, but the light is in Christ. The movement of glory is modest. The journey takes inches. The pacing is on His watch to reclaim all of us until he comes. In the meantime we reach for new manna while cleansing our yesterday's through the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
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Distracting Thoughts
Prompt: Stranded On A Boat
Characters: Beelzebub x Fem!MC
Content Warnings: Masturbation, MC has thalassophobia(a fear of the ocean and other large bodies of water), MC fantasizing about Beel, lots of smutty good times with Beel
(I like how there is a word for how I feel about large bodies of water. Did not expect it to be this long ass word though.)
Another fic for @voltage-vixen ‘s Summer of Smut challenge! Enjoy!
“How on Earth did I end up in this mess?”
A heavy sigh left your lips and you buried your face into your hands.
Right now, you were stuck in the middle of the sea on a boat that Lord Diavolo had outright purchased. Not everything was going so bad, but you wouldn’t be feeling so slighted if everything was going good either.
Oh no, no. It was simply terrible.
For one thing, while you weren’t in immediate danger, being stuck in the middle of the freaking ocean was downright terrifying! All you could think of was scary scenarios of you drowning in this never-ending sea. Like the boat could sink and you could drown, you could fall over the edge and drown, or you could fall over the edge and a nearby shark could see you as a tasty snack and that could be your end. Your mind just kept coming up with the most exaggerated and impossible one-in-a-million chance scenarios that really did no good for you.
You hated being anywhere near large bodies of water, but there was one thing that kept some of the thoughts at bay. And that was you weren’t entirely alone.
You sat on the back deck of the boat Diavolo had purchased, far away from either edge that you didn’t want to be near, and before you was the ever-so lively Demon Brothers of the House of Lamentation. In short, your lively roommates who just make everything so much better...sometimes. Lord Diavolo and Barbatos was there as well but they mostly kept to themselves with Diavolo mostly sunbathing.
Your mind felt more at ease with the guys around since you knew if any of the scenarios did happen, they would not hesitate to immediately step in to save you. Though you still hope it would never have to come to that in the first place. You felt most safe around Beelzebub, the sixth born.
Your eyes caught him in the pool that was several feet away from you. He was joined by his twin and locked in a fierce game with the second and third born. Well, you say fierce but its clear that Beelzebub is the victor. Mammon and Leviathan were no match against Beel’s pure strength. And had Belphegor been with anyone else besides his twin, he definitely would not have stood a chance against a team up of his older brothers.
You weren’t too interested in their game play, however. Your eyes were trained on Beel. Even before this boat fiasco, your eyes have never strayed far away from the gluttonous demon. For a long time, you didn’t know if it was a crush or if you’re just naturally drawn to his sweet nature.
“Or maybe that chiseled body of his.”
The tips of your ears grew hot as the thought crept in, replacing your previous anxiety-ridden thoughts. Your mind soon became riddled with images of Beelzebub’s torso. Mostly of his glorious pecs and washboard abs because this demon was built like a freaking Greek God. God knew exactly what he was doing when he made him, but him being a demon made his appeal so much greater! It was, in every sense of the word, sinful.
You were brought back to reality when you heard a large splash and some yelling. You looked up in time to see Levi and Mammon getting flung out of the pool by Beel, all while Belphie napped out on a floating donut. The whole thing brought you to tears as you laughed at the ridiculousness of it all. Mammon had caught you laughing and scolded you.
“Hey, (Y/N)! Don’t laugh, it ain’t funny!,” he yelled, but you continued to chuckle. You felt a little bad, but it was so unexpected as Beel had grabbed them by their feet and literally threw them out.
“(Y/N) witnessed our defeat...how uber lame,” muttered Leviathan as he rubbed his now aching back.
Wiping away your tears, you let out an amused sigh and went off on your own to explore the boat. You were unaware of Beel calling after you as you walked away.
________________________________________________________________
You thought it would be a good idea to explore the boat since Lord Diavolo had bought it and anything he buys is always luxurious. And it was but...
As you wandered the halls, you suddenly understood what sailors meant by sea legs. Although the boat was mostly steady, there would be an occasional gentle rocking of the boat. And had it been anyone else, it would have been fine but no! It completely unsettled you and your thoughts once again became filled with disturbing scenarios of that all ended in you meeting your end in some extreme way or another.
“Oh why did I think it was okay to go off on my own?,” you thought.
Feeling sick to your stomach, you thought it best to just retire to your room and calm your incessant thoughts. You flopped onto your bed and buried your face into your pillow. You hope this day would end so you could finally get off this nightmare. You tried to refocus your mind on something else, because even with you running through every possibility of drowning in every way possible, you were aware that you were in safe hands. None of the brothers would ever let you meet such an end in this never-ending sea full of wonders and mysteries.
You thought back to earlier and found yourself thinking of Beel once more.
The images from earlier made you kick your legs as your face became hot and flushed. You groaned into your pillow with frustration.
“Fuuuuckkkk!,” you screamed internally, feeling slightly ashamed for thinking about Beelzebub in such a manner. But thinking of him did make the other thoughts fade away to the background. Plus you may have a crush on him, so..was it totally wrong to fantasize about him showing up to your room, body dripping with water and looking at you with lust filled eyes?
....Okay, hold up, that actually is kinda hot.
It was the most prevalent image in your head. It made you wonder if you would have the chance to actually have Beel in your room and let him take you. Or maybe have the courage to be that daring?
You felt a tingling sensation between your legs and rolled on your back, blushing. You dwelled on the thought a little more to the point that it became a fantasy. And you imagined Beelzebub crawling towards you on your bed until his face was a couple inches away from yours. His rough hands were on your thighs, lifting them up so your clothed sex could feel the hardness of his bulge clothed from the thin material of his swim shorts.
The heat within your core began to grow and before you knew it, you were already trying to calm the growing heat with your hand. You were craving for the imaginary touch that only existed in your mind. Rubbing against your clit, the fantasy progressed into Beel removing your clothes and pushing his shorts down to free his hardened member. You imagined him stroking his cock against your sensitive slit that was getting wetter and wetter in reality.
Your breathing became heavy and you brought up a free hand to go under your shirt and bra to twist at your nipples. The fantasy continued as you imagined Beel dipping his fingers inside of you, stretching out your pussy to prepare you for him.
Moans started to escape from your lips as your hands worked on your body to bring you the stimulation and release you desperately searched for. You weren’t aware of it but you were also moaning Beel’s name. Apparently you were being a bit loud, because you failed to hear the knocking at your door and the sound of it opening until...
“(Y/N).”
You snapped out of your fantasy-filled haze when you heard your name. Suffice to say, you were extremely embarrassed to find a blushing Beelzebub in your room, half-eaten snacks in his hands. You quickly covered yourself up with a shout, but it was much too late. You were sure that he had saw everything. He probably even heard you too.
“Waah! I’m so fucking embarrassed! Oh my God,” you cringed, trying so hard to fold in on yourself so you could disappear.
“Ah, (Y/N)! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to barge in like that,” he apologized profusely. He saw your covers move a bit but no sign of you poking your head out. You whined as you stammered out, “It’s fine! I should have locked my door. I didn’t mean for you to see me...like that...so.”
Ahhh, if anything was more worse than drowning in an ocean where your body likely won’t be found, it was definitely having your crush walk in on you masturbating to him. Ok, maybe not that much worse but still! Tears began to well up in your eyes and you fully expected for Beelzebub to walk out as this situation must have been a bit awkward. But instead you felt your bed dip in a bit as another weight was added. A hand was placed on your back and started rubbing in circles. Your lip trembled as your tears fell, because WHY WAS HE SO FREAKING SWEET!?
Yeah, you were definitely crushing on him. This is why he was the only one on the crush list.
Beelzebub could feel you trembling and his face was still red from walking in on you. Though if he had to admit it, seeing you like that really turned him on. And to hear you moan his name so wantonly was like music to his ears. But he still felt bad because it was your private time that he interrupted. All because he wanted to hang out with you since he wanted to do so earlier, but you didn’t hear him calling after you.
But now there was a massive elephant in the room and neither of you knew how to bring it up without it becoming more awkward. Or your in case more embarrassed.
“(Y/N)?”
“Yes, Beel?”
“I’m still sorry for earlier. I wanted to hangout, but do...do you want me help you a bit?”
You shot up like a rocket and turned wide-eyed to face a startled Beelzebub, who was feeling a bit pervy for asking you that question. But to you, he didn’t need to feel like that because this was the moment you were thinking of earlier! You started to laugh at the irony, causing Beel to become confused which you noticed.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry! I’m not laughing at you, Beel!,” you chuckled out. “It was just that earlier I was thinking of what would I do if I had you in my room all to myself.”
At that, the gentle giant smiled at you, understanding why you were laughing. He crawled towards you, his face a few inches from yours. You were smiling but your face grew warm.
“So is it a ‘yes’?,” he asked, though his lips were drawing in close to yours.
“Y-yes-mmph,” his lips had closed in on yours and you felt his hands come up to your shoulders. Sliding off the covers from your body, Beel gently laid you back on the bed. You wrapped your arms around him as he coaxed your mouth open with a bit of prodding from his tongue. You could taste the sweetness of the snacks he had earlier as your tongues became entangled. You gasped when he pulled away.
Beelzebub set his focus on leaving kisses on your neck, starting a trail. He got to your breasts and cupped them in his hands, firmly squeezing them. A squeal escaped from your lips when you felt his wet tongue teasing your nipple. He sucked it into his mouth, pulling before letting it go with a pop.
"Ahhaaa, Beel! Please," you pleaded as he devoured your chest. You couldn't take it with him pulling, twisting, and sucking on your sensitive nubs. Your hands had moved to his forearms and you held a firm grip on them as Beel sucked away.
With a final tug, he left your poor nipples alone, going back to his task of leaving butterfly kisses on your body. Your body trembled with ecstasy but soon jolted from a shock when you felt a wet appendage lapping at your swollen clit.
Once Beel had finished leaving you kisses, he came across your pussy, still wet and glistening from when you were masturbating to him. His eyes darkened as his mind drifted back to that scene of you pleasuring yourself, seeing your delectable juices dripping your core.
He just knew that he had to taste you. To devour such a pretty, pink platter that was meant for him to sample. As soon as his tongue made contact with your clit, he felt you jump but he continued to lap at it, enjoying the taste and fragrance you gave off. You squirmed and your pants started to fill the room. Your toes curled and your feet had a hard time not slipping off your sheets as you encouraged Beel to keep going.
His tongue parted your puffy, pussy lips and he noticed your legs trembling. So he hooked his hands underneath your knees, spreading them further to her better access. He let your legs rest on his shoulders, all the while keeping his mouth on you.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," you chanted over and over as your back arched, wanting to rub your sex over his tongue. You could feel yourself coming undone and on the verge of cumming. Beel's member twitched against the thin fabric of his swim shorts as he could tell your release was imminent, but...
Reluctantly, he pulled away from your pussy. He really wanted you to release all your tasty juices over his cock. He wiped away the mix of his saliva and your own cream from his chin.
You groaned but it turned into a squeak when Beel crawled back on top of you. Your legs were still over his shoulders and so you felt your body being folded in half but it wasn't too uncomfortable. But it aroused you more as you could feel his bulge heavy against your sex. You wanted it inside, for it to stretch your walls as you take every inch Beel gave you. For you to cream all over it so you could lick it off him and he could do it all over again.
Beelzebub's lips pressed against yours and you wasted no time parting your lips so his tongue could share the taste of your pussy. You could feel Beel's hands fumbling to pull down his shorts to let his cock finally breath. His lips never left yours, even as he guided his cock to your hole. You had braced yourself but was pleasantly surprised when he sanked into you with ease, but it still raised a moan out of you as your wall stretched to accommodate him.
Beel broke the kiss to let out a hissing sound as your pussy took him in so smoothly. He could feel you clenching around him, wanting to greedily take in more. But he was fully seated inside you, his balls pressed firmly against the plumpness of your ass.
"Shit...(Y/N), you feel so fucking amazing," he said as he recaptured your lips with his and rocked his hips to get a little friction going. He pulled back until only half of his dick was inside and slammed back into you. He repeated the action a few more times, drawing out moans that ended up getting swallowed up by him.
You pulled away from the kiss to cry out freely as he set a hard, quick pace as his hips connected with yours repeatedly. The slapping sound of your skin colliding overcome the sounds of your moans and cries. Beel couldn't help but groan at the way your pussy tightened around him with every thrust. Your body trembled against his as the heat became overwhelming. Your hands scrambled to grip at something, changing from scratching at Beelzebub's back or balling up your sheets into your fist, as you feared that the pleasure was going to take you away.
The seams were tearing and Beel could feel you were close as your pussy convulsed around him. So he sat up, holding your legs up, and pounded away at you. Your moans turned to screams and chants of Beel's name as his cock wrecked you.
"Beeeeel! I'm cumming, cumming!," you screamed, but it didn't deter him even as your released overflowed on his cock. The consistent clenching of your pussy finally drove him over the edge and his seed coated the inside of your walls, a deep growl erupted from him as he pressed his cock deep inside you.
With the both of you spent for the moment, Beel slipped out of you and collapsed beside you. However, he wrapped his arms around you to bring you closer. You sighed contently, feeling very much satiated as well as Beelzebub.
You felt lips pressing against your forehead and giggled before giving Beel a chaste kiss on the lip.
"That was amazing," you smiled. You saw his cheeks redden and the hug tightens.
"I-I would like to do that again...maybe sometime," spoke the blushing giant as he looked into your eyes.
The tips of your ears turning red as you agreed.
You figured this boat nightmare wasn't too bad as you snuggled up to Beel's chest, wondering if you had the courage to say you like him.
You saved the thought for another day to ponder later.
#obey me!#lexi writes#obey me beelzebub#obey me beelzebub x mc#fem mc#smut#summer of smut#summer of smut challenge#obey me beel#obey me smut
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can you write another part of this?
Request #18
Warning: none.
Honestly, I wasn't expecting anyone to request a continuation for any of the short prompts, but I guess it's not that surprising when I think about it lol
Enjoy! :)
Part 1
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"W-What do you mean?" - Villain questioned, still confused as to how the hell they had ended up here. Weren't they running from someone just a moment ago?
"This has been happening way too often lately, and I'm getting tired of it." - Supervillain answered, slowly stalking towards the smaller criminal. The villain was getting nervous now. Did they do something that upset them? And more than once? What could they have possibly-
Oh.
"I-I'm not sure w-what you're talking about." - Villain stuttered out, still sitting on the bed but now avoiding eye contact. They finally realized what they did, but they weren't about to admit to it. They just couldn't, because if they did... then Supervillain would no doubt figure 'it' out.
"You've been getting into an awful lot of conflicts recently." - the supervillain explained, crossing their arms. That stern look still on their face, the concern having turned into suspicion.
The villain swallowed the lump in their throat and responded, "Well, that's just... regular villain stuff! Everybody gets into fights!"
"Yes..." - Supervillain agreed slowly, and for a moment, Villain thought they had gotten away with it. Their hope dwindled, however, as the bigger criminal grabbed their chin. They were forced to lock eyes, and the villain was grateful for their mask, hiding the blush that snuck onto their face.
The supervillain leaned in closer, a small scowl crossing their features, as they continued, "...but, you've been putting your nose into business that has nothing to do with you."
Supervillain moved to whisper in Villain's ear. Their voice became low, something that was meant to incite fear but only flustered the villain more. "In fact... It was business that involved me. You've been getting into fights with people who were trying to oppose me."
"I- Well- I just-" - Villain tried, but they were shut up by the other's thumb coming to rest on their lips. The feeling made them freeze, unable to utter a word.
As a hint of anger entered Supervillain's voice, they growled out, "Are you trying to get on my good side or something, hmm?"
Shivers assaulted the villain's body at their tone, but they put up no fight as the supervillain pressed their body against them, crawling onto the bed and pinning them against the headboard. Supervillain pulled their head back in front of them and locked their eyes again. "You're being reckless, and it's pissing me off, Villain."
Villain wanted to respond, but their brain was about to short circuit. The supervillain was just so god damn close to them and- holy shit, their lips were right there-
Desperately shaking those thoughts out of their head, the villain did their best to get out of their predicament. Even if they kind of wanted to stay like this forever...
"I'm sorry, o-okay? I was just... um..."
...
Damn, Villain was bad at this.
"You were just what? Trying to help me out in secret? You thought I wouldn't notice you?" - Supervillain questioned but didn't bother with giving them time to answer. Instead, they continued, "Were you just trying to be my mysterious little helper? Mysterious little admirer? Hmm? You got a crush on me or something?"
The supervillain chuckled the last part out, and Villain stiffened like an animal playing dead. They could barely breathe as Supervillain's chuckle began to fade, as they connected the dots and realization slowly overtook their face. "Wait... Do you-?"
"BOSS! WE HAve a... situation...?" - a henchman burst through the door, here to alert Supervillain. They stopped in their tracks, however, at the sight before them. Their boss was pretty much straddling Villain's lap, their faces so close they looked like they were going to kiss. "Um... am I... interrupting something...?"
"No." - Supervillain responded shortly, swiftly getting to their feet. They ignored the embarrassed villain behind them as they approached their lackey. "What's the situation?"
Villain could only watch as the henchman and their crush the supervillain talked. Supervillain gave their minion some orders the villain wasn't paying attention to and then turned towards them. The look they gave the villain was something they had only ever dreamed of before, and it made them shudder. "We'll... finish this later."
And with that, Supervillain left, leaving Villain to suffer from a mix of anticipation, dread, and excitement.
#villain x villain#villain x supervillain#supervillain x villain#writing#writeblr#prompt#writing prompt#request#request prompts#prompt request
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Into The Unknown, Part 1
... I have no self-control do not perceive me
Marinette stared at the pile of bright red, yellow, and green clothes on the ground. It was all she’d done in the five-ish minutes since she’d portaled onto the scene. Just… stared.
It wasn’t like there was much else to do, anyways. Red Robin was currently beating the absolute fuck out of the person that had the audacity to disintegrate his brother right in front of him. It wasn’t like she could even fix it because the witch had been out cold before she had been able to pull Red Robin off to get a hit in so she could use her lucky charm.
So, she stared.
It was weird. She could almost feel a person inside the clothes but… maybe that was the residue or the ashes or whatever gets left behind when you zap a person out of existence? She didn’t really want to check, to be honest. Gross.
Eventually, though, she hesitantly leaned down and brushed her hand over it, trying to find the energy and get rid of it because it was really uncomfortable --.
… oh hell no that pile of clothes did not just fucking giggle at her.
She narrowed her eyes and carefully lifted up the bottom of the shirt, only to yelp and fall back. She scrabbled on the gross Gotham alley ground until her back hit Red Robin’s arm and he was forced to pause or risk hitting a meta (which would not have been good for his health).
“What?” He hissed.
She swallowed thickly. “That’s a child.”
“... what?” Red asked, all the anger bleeding from his tone in his confusion.
“We let Batman’s kid turn into a baby,” she whispered… then, it sunk in more. “We let Batman’s kid turn into a baby.”
He straightened on top of the thing that was really more bloody pulp than person at this point. “What do you mean ‘we let Batman’s kid turn into a baby’?”
But she didn’t really get a chance to answer because the baby chose that exact moment to be sick of being suffocated under all the armor and pushed it off.
Red Robin gulped. Because, yep, that was Robin as a baby. Batman was going to kill them.
Except he wasn’t going to kill them. Because Batman doesn't kill. No, Batman would find something even worse and that would suck.
The baby -- Robin? Should she still call him that mentally? -- giggled at their pain. Like an asshole.
They were so fucked.
~
He’d let B’s favorite kid get turned into a baby. Was there a way to get unadopted? Because if there was it was totally going to happen. Or maybe his dad would just cut him off because he was 19 now and could just get kicked out.
No. Nope! Not going to happen. No. He could fix this.
“Okay. Okay okay okay. We need a plan,” he heard himself saying.
Ladybug scoffed. “We? I was barely even here, this is on you.”
“Leave me alone to deal with this and I swear to god I will tell B that you did it.”
She paled. “You wouldn’t. No way.”
“Yes way. So, help me think of something.”
The baby giggled and started crawling over and both of them averted their eyes because, unfortunately, the child did not get baby clothes to go with his random transformation. Baby Damian didn't seem to care as he reached them and started climbing on Ladybug since she was closest. At least it wasn’t him. He did not want to see his adoptive brother’s… ew.
Ladybug made a gagging sound and then quickly summoned a lucky charm. She kept her face turned away as much as her neck would physically allow as she fumbled her way through swaddling the child in a polka-dotted blanket.
And then her shoulders slumped a little. “Great. Great. This is… great,” she muttered, picking up the bundle o’ baby.
He let himself look down now that it was safe.
“Alright, we need to go to another dimension where time moves faster,” Ladybug said after a few seconds. “And then we wait for him to age… fifteen-ish years. Best way to not make Batman notice.”
“... what about us? We also age.”
“Huh…? Oh. Right. You’re human.” She pulled off the glasses she was wearing and blinked a few times before handing it over. “Congrats on your upgrade. The tiny horse god is named Kaalki. She likes cake.”
“The tiny --?” He let out the world’s manliest screech as his eyes landed on the floating bug horse hybrid thing holy shit no no no no no the sci fi movies didn’t prepare him for this shit.
Kaalki looked a little offended but then her eyes landed on the baby and she gasped. “Aw, baby humans are always so cute.”
“Great, Kaalki, you take it,” said Ladybug.
Kaalki did try, to her credit. It just so happened that the approximately one-year-old baby was a lot bigger than the… whatever she was. Tim was refusing to believe that this was a god. Too many implications. He already had something to have a breakdown over, he didn’t need another thing right now, thank you very much.
Tim rested his head in his hands but he had more things to worry about than the blood that he was accidentally streaking through his hair.
“Okay. Okay. We can go to another dimension and try and raise him. Maybe we can make it have a ratio of one month here for every year there so any differences could be blamed on that.”
“Ya!” Said baby Damian. He probably didn’t actually know what was going on but he sure seemed excited so that was cool.
Ladybug sighed and nodded. “Great. You get food and money and clothes and I’ll take this lady to the cops… and I guess I’ll watch the kid until you get back because your dad cannot know.”
They shook on it.
~
This may be the dumbest idea that she’d ever had, and that was saying something. She didn’t know if she could trust Red Robin on this one, they hardly ever worked together. What if he just left her alone with this kid and let her try and figure this out on her own?
No. He wouldn’t do that. He was the last person known to be with Robin. Robin going missing would be bad for him, too. And, besides, she was pretty sure that he was a duty-driven person based on what she’d heard, she just had to hope that he saw this as his duty, too.
She turned the baby in her arms to get more comfortable as she waited for him to (hopefully) come back.
Part of her wanted to try and find someone from this world to reverse this but she didn’t know any outside of her, Adrien, Alix, and (now) Red Robin. Not on a personal level. Not enough that she knew for sure that they wouldn’t blab to Batman about it.
So, no, this is what she was doing.
But she had things to do. So, she pulled out her yoyo-phone-hybrid-thingy and wedged it against her ear.
“Chaton,” she said the moment he picked up. “You’re alone, right?”
“Uh… yeah?”
“Great. I, Ladybug, relinquish the Miracle Box and name Chat Noir the new guardian.”
“WHAT --?!” He didn’t get to finish as a box dropped on his lap and knocked the wind out of him.
“Just for, like, a year and a half. Sorry. Bye!”
“DON’T JUST ‘BYE’ ME WHAT THE --?!”
She hung up and closed the yoyo, hooking it back to her belt and ignoring it when it started buzzing again.
She looked down at Robin, who was squinting up at her. She returned the squint. Why was this baby so quiet? She didn’t get it. Surely, he should have been crying at this point.
“Do you still… remember things?” She asked, hoping against all hope that maybe he had retained his memories at the very least.
Robin smiled at her, but it was the blank-eyed baby smile that meant he wasn’t really understanding her. She bit down a curse.
Great. So, she’d not only gotten a baby but she’d gotten a fucking weird one. Great.
~
Tim left a note for his family saying that he, Damian, and Ladybug were bored and were going dimension hopping. His family would probably be suspicious but, hey, at least it wouldn’t be his problem for a good fifteen years on his end.
And, yeah, he knew this was probably one of his dumber plans but… it wasn’t the dumbest. And he was always one to commit when it came down to it. One time he had faked being shot and dealt with crutches for an entire year just to convince Vicki Vale that he wasn’t Red Robin. He had no fears that he couldn’t see this through.
Ladybug, though? A total mystery. She did nearly everything on a whim as far as he knew. She hopped from city to city fighting crime for absolutely no reason outside of boredom and made up all of her plans on the fly. No, he was a bit concerned about her ability to keep doing it.
So, he went as quickly as he possibly could. There was no rhyme or reason to what he was grabbing. He was just… putting stuff in there. There was money and three watches to help them move between dimensions, yes, but there was also a fanta orange and a copy of Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy and exactly seven pairs of socks.
… yeah, he had the necessities. Probably.
He nearly got out the door before he realized he was still in his crime-fighting gear and he quickly shucked it all off and tossed it into the tub so the blood wouldn’t track any more than it already had. He did not need to avoid Batman’s wrath only to end up on the receiving end of Alfred’s.
He pulled on the first hoodie and jeans he could grab and looked around to make sure he hadn’t left anything of importance.
Okay. Now he was ready to go.
~
Marinette was awkwardly bouncing the baby when Red Robin finally showed up.
… not that she would have recognized him if she hadn’t felt Kaalki hovering in his pocket. In her eyes, he was just a random white guy wearing shades in the middle of the night.
She glanced up at him and gave him an awkward smile.
“Ready?”
He smiled back and held out two watches. Neither fit baby Robin so she prepared herself to choke out a literal baby holy fuck what even was her life.
“Which dimension should we go to?”
“Preferably one without miraculi,” Marinette said. “I don’t want to know what happens if there’s two of the same god in a dimension.”
He nodded slowly. “Probably best if Batman doesn’t exist, either, he’d probably notice my existence.”
“... so… no heroes at all?”
“Looks like we’re going cold turkey,” Red Robin said in a tone that was probably supposed to be joking but just came out flat.
She pushed herself to her feet and waited as he scrolled through the millions of dimensions.
Finally, he came upon one and she added the coordinates to her and Robin’s watches.
She readied Robin’s watch against his neck and tried to ignore the kid’s sudden squirminess.
“3… 2… 1…”
They were gone in a whirl of blue light.
~~~~~
Next
@nathleigh @peachmuses
#yes i wrote timari parenting dami#for no reason#while in the middle of a completely different fic#but listen#... its cute??#yeah no i have no excuse#i just wanted to write cute things ;-;#into the unkown#maribat#timari#timmari#timinette#shutterbug#tim drake#red robin#marinette dupain cheng#ladybug
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Self-Indulgent TWST Geography
A long post of generalised geography headcanons for the world of TWST complete with continents for my own personal needs. The post divides locations by Continent.
Anyway why is there a homeland whose name is just the definition of a desert.
Continents (and ocean)
Errant - a western continent in Twisted Wonderland.
Mzunguko - the second largest continent in Twisted Wonderland.
Yalmae - the largest continent in Twisted Wonderland.
Abíní - a continent West of Errant.
Tridente Ocean - the largest ocean in Twisted Wonderland.
Errant
Rose Kingdom – a country in the western region of Errant. It isn’t a particularly large country, and traveling from it to its neighbouring countries is possible via buses or car.
Crownsshire – a county in Rose Kingdom
Crowns – the capital of Crownsshire. It is the town Riddle, Trey, and Che’nya live in.
Land of Pyroxene – a large country in Errant. Known for its cold, snowy winters and history with legends pertaining to five of the Great Seven.
Waldburg – province Vil’s family is from. Largely influenced by another country within Errant.
Argent – a province in Land of Pyroxene.
Verre – a city in Argent. Trein and Cater are from here. Félicité Cosmetics originates here.
Miroir – a province in Land of Pyroxene. Has a large outlet mall popular with fashion-lovers and shopaholics. The Ténèbres brand originates here. Enchantée – a town in Miroir. Jack and Vargas live here, whilst Vil and his father move here.
Scharlachrot - a province in Land of Pyroxene. Epel’s Village of Harvest resides here, and is famous for its widespread organic produce.
Isle of Lamentation – island country, its popularised global name is a translation from the isle’s original Nísos Thrínos. It has robust technological advancements and is the homeland of the popular idol group On the Edge, known for having concerts with elaborate imagery and visual effects from some of the best technicians available. Due to legends of the God of the Underworld, dogs are extremely popular on the Isle of Lamentation.
Kapnós – capital of the Isle of Lamentations where the Shroud family resides.
Valley of Thorns – an isolated country small in population, largely consisting of a large mountain range. The closer one is to where its Queen resides, the colder it gets. It is said the Valley of Thorns can go weeks with nothing but moonlight.
Geimhreadh - technically the name of the forest near the Valley of Thorns’ mountain range, where the Queen makes her home at its peak. Its name spread to the residential areas nearby.
Mzunguko
Afterglow Savannah – country in Mzunguko, ‘Afterglow’ acts as a loose translation of its name, Baadaye. It lies in eastern Mzunguko. Famous for its royal guards and leading role in nature conservation.
Kiburi – a county in the east of the Afterglow Savannah.
Mwamba – capital of Kiburi, where the Kingscholar royal family lives.
Maisha – a county in Afterglow Savannah, with its capital sharing the same name.
Jioni – a town in Maisha. Ruggie and his family live here.
Manyoya – county in Afterglow Savannah. Well-known for a famously expansive library and a high population of avian beastfolk.
Uzuri – a city in Manyoya, where Rook is from.
Yalmae
Land of Hot Sands – one of many countries in the continent of Yalmae,. Within the country, it’s referred to as Aldif’. Rich with its magical history and origins of astrology, Aldif’ nurtures Magicians skilled in divination. It has a vivid musical scene as well.
Misbah - governate of Aldif’.
Yatamanaa – capital of Misbah, a largely lucrative city within Aldif’ and city where Kalim and Jamil live.
Abíní
Port of Jubilee - a diverse nation where Sam’s family lives, owning an extensive emporium. A vast amount of cultures reside in Port of Jubilee, many sharing common ancestors and languages with one another.
Nanm - province in Port of Jubilee.
Sekrè - port town in Nanm that Sam is from. His family owns an impressive emporium popular with locals.
Tridente Ocean
Coral Sea - a sea within the Tridente Ocean. Many of coastlines range across countries within Errant, Mzunguko, and Yalmae. Beneath its waters lies a kingdom sharing the same name as the sea.
Name Trivia
Continents (and ocean)
Errant - the continent of Errant has the homelands based off movies such as Alice in Wonderland, Snow White, Hercules, Sleeping Beauty, Beauty and the Beast, and Cinderella. The name stems from certain scenes in the movie marking a particular moment the protagonists feel out of place or stray off the expected course.
Alice in Wonderland: Alice’s misadventures begin when she makes the decision to follow a strange rabbit, straying off the course of simply reading and studying as her sister wished, where the curious and at worst annoying strange creatures and nature of Wonderland take a turn when she meets the Caterpillar, who questions Alice’s place and identity, and the stress of her situation and being unable to return home overwhelms her emotionally.
Snow White - the horrific moment Snow White, in a state of panic, rushes through a dark forest, where her fears envision hidden horrors within the trees and wildlife.
Hercules - after refusing to listen to Phil’s warnings about Megara being in cahoots with Hades, Hercules faces the devastating fact that Megara (reluctantly) deceived him, and loses his superhuman strength and faith in himself.
Sleeping Beauty - shortly after meeting a man she falls for, Aurora becomes devastated and resigned to her fate being betrothed to a complete stranger out of responsibility for her future and country.
Beauty and the Beast - Maurice’s ventures through a mysterious forest consequently leads him to the Beast’s castle in a desperate attempt to escape cold, only to be imprisoned by the Beast for intruding, ultimately putting the story into motion. After Belle makes a deal to swap places with her father and free him, Belle starts off terrified and in over her head despite saving her father’s life.
Cinderella - after the mice’s hard work creating a fitting ballgown for Cinderella to enjoy the ball, her stepsisters ruin the dress and Cinderella’s chances of leaving her oppressive family’s home. Her distress and tears lead her to meeting the Fairy Godmother.
Mzunguko - “circle” in Swahili, the language prominent in Lion King’s names, lyrics, and Rafiki’s dialogue, as well as the official language of Kenya, where much of the movie’s settings take inspiration and blatantly feature. Taken from the iconic “Circle of Life” song.
Tridente Ocean - “trident” in Italian. Yes, I hear you. The author is from Denmark. The statue is in Denmark. The movie references the statue in Denmark. However the surname Ashengrotto and Azul’s mother running a ristorante screams Italian and there’s the overall edgy mafia vibe the Octatrio has going on. I win this one.
Yalmae - “shine” in Arabic (يلمع). I wanted a name that illustrated the vibrant, lively diversity of the continent’s many countries, cultures, flora, and fauna. Something akin to a name that inspires a welcoming feeling.
Abíní - “morning” in Navajo. I wanted a name that inspires energy and enthusiasm, like a sunrise in summer.
Homelands
Rose Kingdom
Crownsshire - just the most painfully English name I could think of. “Crown” refers to, naturally, the crown of the Queen of Hearts. Also decided to make the Rose Kingdom its own, smaller, more limited country, instead of allowing its apparent monarchy to leech off 20+ different countries Crowns - do you have any idea how genuinely shocking it is we don’t actually have a town here named this.
Afterglow Savannah
Baadaye - “afterglow” in Swahili. The official and native name of the Afterglow Savannah. Interestingly, my findings found translations of it meaning “future” as well, which I consider fitting.
Kiburi - “pride” in Swahili, can refer to a ‘pride of lions’ or confidence (often overconfidence).
Mwamba - “rock” in Swahili, alluding to the Pride Rock that Mufasa’s pride resides in.
Maisha - “life” in Swahili.
Jioni - “evening” in Swahili. This refers to where anywhere the sun doesn’t reach, Simba shouldn’t wander, because it’s too dangerous. Originally, I wanted to go with “Kivuri”, which means “shadow”. However when I went to double check that ‘shadowland’ was a thing in Lion King, referring to where the Elephant Graveyard is, it’s actually a song from the Broadway musica called “Shadowland”, sung by Nala (Heather Headley). It both mourns the desolate state of the Pridelands under Scar’s tyranny, and narrates Nala’s resolve to leave and find a way to save her people and their land. The song is absolutely gorgeous, solemn, and powerful, and contributes more than any live-action CGI Disney movie could ever come up with. Its instrumental composition features the melody lei-motif prominent in the animated film (yes, That song. the heartbreaking one). It’s one of my favourites in Lion King alongside “He Lives in You” and “Not One of Us” because I like the ones where the chorus goes off. Please just listen to the Lion King Broadway soundtrack it makes me cry with how gorgeous and heartfelt it is.
Anyway in their money-grubbing ways I hope Disney puts the Broadway on Disney+ so some brave soul takes one for the team to pirate it Manyoya - intended to mean “feather”, but to my understanding it also encompasses “fur”.
Uzuri - “beauty” in Swahili. Nothing too deep here, just something pertaining to Rook.
Land of Hot Sand
Aldif’ - “warmth” in Arabic (الدفء). Meant to allude to a comforting warmth, kind of hinting that the popularisation of “Land of Hot Sand” more or less leaves the official name lost in translation.
Misbah - “lamp/light” in Arabic (مصباح), naturally referencing the magical lamp sought after throughout the movie.
Yatamanaa - “wish” in Arabic (يتمنى). Meant to be bit a bit of a cheeky play on words. The “wish” inside the “lamp”.
Land of Pyroxene
Waldburg - Wald is "forest” in German. References the forest that Snow White runs away into after being warned of the Evil Queen’s intentions.
Argent - “silver” in French. References Cinderella’s silver dress.
Verre - “glass” in French. References Cinderella’s glass slipper.
Miroir - “mirror” in French. References both the Mirror of Snow White and the enchanted mirror Beast gives Belle. Enchantée - “enchanted” in French. Ties into the theme of enchantments, curses, and charms prominent in French fairy tales, and specifically makes me think of the Enchanted Rose from Beauty and the Beast.
Scharlachrot - “scarlet” in German. References the red colour that hides the infamous green of the poison apple’s true nature.
Isle of Lamentation
Nísos Thrínos - Greek for the isle’s name. Kapnós - “smoke” in Greek. References Hades’ iconic appearance surrounded by black smoke.
Valley of Thorns
Geimhreadh - “winter” in Irish. References the winter court of Unseelie fae in Celtic folklore.
Port of Jubilee
Nanm - "soul” in Haiitan Creole. References the importance of determination and drive prominent in Princess and the Frog.
Sekrè - “secret” in Haitian Creole. References Dr Facilier’s ulterior motives.
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Wake Me - Loki x Reader [Oneshot]
[My masterlist, where this and my other fics can be found]
Pairing: Loki / gender neutral reader
Warnings: Angst. But fear not, for fluff awaits!
Author’s Note: I have legitimately no idea if I’ll write more Loki x Reader; I never intended to write any because I don’t know the reader so I can’t characterize the reader but then I had a headcanon.. And then I had an idea...
And then I wrote this and I thought “hmm, I should challenge myself to do a New Thing?” and then this happened. Blame Loki, maybe? He seems to be behind a lot of this.
Is there any demand for a taglist of.. Possible future Loki x Readers? I dunno? Let me know.
This fic is loosely based off a song by the same name, which is also one of my favorite songs! Enjoy. <3
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You didn’t notice it at first.
Not for the first few days… Weeks? You weren’t sure how long it had been happening. How long Loki had been leaving your bed in the middle of the night.
Your apartment was a decent size - more than decent, considering the average size of a New York City apartment. Being a close friend and employee of Tony Stark and Pepper Potts (was it Stark now?) had its perks. The apartment had a bedroom, a bathroom across the short hall, a living room which doubled as your workspace, and a good-sized kitchen. Even had a washer and dryer at the end of the hall, tucked neatly into a little closet that also held a few of your coats. As an added luxury, there was a small - very small - balcony off the living room. Hardly big enough to stand on, it was nevertheless a wonderful spot to sit and watch the sun set over the city. You loved living there, in that cozy space you’d made your own, and eventually welcomed Loki into.
Loki. Not exactly someone you’d intended to end up with. Then again, who intends to fall in love with a god?
Who intends to fall in love at all?
You’d met through friends of friends, and that was about the only mundane thing about your relationship. Said friends of friends were the Avengers for crying out loud, and the moment you saw Thor in person you nearly froze from shock. The moment you saw his brother, however, your heart practically leapt out of your chest and into the hand Loki reluctantly extended, per his brother’s direction.
You took his hand in your own, trying not to tremble as you shook it. You gave your name. He gave his. You parted ways. A mundane interaction, right?
But again, few things about your relationship were mundane.
You would’ve written it off as a simple, regular greeting if Loki hadn’t found you later as you skulked along the edges of Tony’s huge party. You knew the hosts, of course, and some of the other guests - but everything was so big and frightening and new you hardly knew what to do with yourself.
How were you, a regular human, supposed to deal with all… That? Heroic wasn’t a word you’d really use to describe yourself. Let alone super-heroic - that title was reserved for the incredible individuals around you, whose personalities and achievements eclipsed your own. You mulled over the thought, drink still clutched firmly in hand, but untouched.
And that was when Loki commented on the fact you looked “nearly as miserable as he felt.” You couldn’t help but blush a little and laugh at the comment. You quipped something back - something about misery loving company, and Loki’s eyebrows raised. His expression gave little else away, though. It hardly ever did.
It wasn’t until many months after the party, after you and Loki had gotten to know each other better and started dating, that he whispered the truth to you: the idea that anyone would be gladder with him around than with him gone, was astonishing to him. He could hardly believe it.
But when it came to you? He believed you.
You had no reason to lie to him. No need to impress him, or earn his favor, or act cordially for fear of an Asgardian royal. You were safe at that party, and you were safe when you visited him at the Avengers compound - you had no reasonable ulterior motives. Nothing to hide.
And, likewise, he had no reason to actively hide things from you, now that you lived together and you knew about his past, about his parentage.
Or, you thought he had no reason to hide things from you…
So why was he leaving you at night?
The first night you truly noticed it was on a dark, cool night of spring.
You’d left the bedroom window open while you fell asleep, and upon waking up thought to yourself, still under a veil of sleepiness, that you should probably get up and close it. But as your eyes opened and adjusted to the dark, you noticed two things.
First, the window was closed, the curtains completely drawn.
Second, the place next to you, where Loki usually lie, was empty. Completely empty, the bed covers pushed toward you to help keep you warm. Still half-asleep, your hand smoothed over the sheets to his spot - cold. He’d been gone a while.
You squinted to see through the crack in your bedroom door, but couldn’t make out if the bathroom light was on. Maybe he’s in there.. You shrugged to yourself, flipping back over and nuzzling into your pillow. You’d meant to stay awake until he returned, just to be sure he was okay, but sleep quickly washed over you again.
When you woke up the next morning, you realized you definitely should’ve been able to see if the bathroom light was on, had it been on, so Loki couldn’t have been in there. He was never one for midnight snacking, as far as you could tell, so he probably wasn’t in the kitchen.
The more you thought about it, the more it bothered you. You tried to brush it aside - after all, Loki was a very private person, slow to trust or to show much emotion. He was vulnerable with few people... Maybe only one person - you. The trust between you had been hard-won, and you loved every new piece of himself he showed you.
He also enjoyed quiet time, often spent with books. Reading, writing notes, sometimes even napping in the safety of your apartment, his forgotten book on his chest as he lie draped across the couch, his lanky limbs hanging off the edges. You really needed a bigger couch.
Yes, you assured yourself. Loki just needed time alone every now and then. Everyone did, right?
You tried to ignore it, you truly did.
But later, it happened again.
You woke up to an empty bed, a dark room, and the door pulled to. This time you could swear you saw a light coming from the other room, so this time you figured he was in the bathroom and once again you succumbed to sleep.
~~~~
The morning after, you woke up to your regular routine: Get up, get dressed, make coffee for two, eat some sort of breakfast, and get to work. Work didn’t exactly have a set location - that close friendship with the Starks stemmed from having worked with Pepper for years, and now since you worked for Stark Industries, you enjoyed several perks.
Sometimes Pepper brought you in on-site, other times (more often than not, considering the fact you had an ex-villain alien god to worry about… and not everyone was convinced about the ex part) you simply received work on your secure Stark-tech computer and worked remotely. From home, from a cafe, even from the Avengers compound when you visited. (You had a room there, too - as did Loki. Courtesy of Tony.)
So as you sat with your laptop in front of you on your desk, the window cracked to let some air in, you started the day. Coffee in hand, a half-eaten croissant next to you.
Loki stood next to you, sipping his own coffee.
He liked to watch you work. Liked to distract you from work too - he wasn’t the god of mischief for nothing.
“Sleep well?” He broke the silence first.
You took another bite of breakfast. “Yeah. You sleep okay?”
He shifted his weight. “Fine.”
“You sure?”
His hand touched your shoulder, as if to reassure you. “Just fine. How long are you working today?” His fingers smoothed their way from your shoulder to your clavicle and back - slowly, rhythmically.
“I literally just got started,” you muttered a soft laugh, and he chuckled in turn.
“But I like spending time with you.”
“Well I like spending time with you, too. But work is important.”
“Would it be less important if I gave Stark something better to worry about than..” Loki leaned over, scrutinizing the screen, “Interview paperwork?”
You raised your eyebrows at him. “Loki, do not attack my boss, please.”
“I said nothing about attacking him.”
“Loki.”
“Yes, love?” He smiled down at you. You huffed - he had no right to be this charming, nor this cute - but that worry was still gnawing at you. Why had he left last night?
“Are you sure you slept okay?”
He paused a moment, then smiled - but it seemed forced. “Yes. I slept just fine - do you need to talk about something..?”
“You left.. In the middle of the night, I woke up and you were gone.”
He swallowed. “I hadn’t realized you were awake - forgive me.” His hand slid down your shoulder, to your arm - and then away. “It was just a bit of restlessness, darling, you mustn’t worry.” He kissed the top of your head, then straightening up, raised his coffee mug to his lips again. “I’ll leave you to that.. Riveting work of yours… Let me know if you ever need a welcome distraction.”
“You’re always welcome,” you smirked slightly. You weren’t convinced he was only restless but.. Maybe he was. Who knew? Loki was a mystery to many. You’d try to believe him, at least.
“Am I?” He grinned. “Then I’ll be sure to distract you often.” With a small wink, he turned and left.
~~~~
The next time you noticed it, it seemed later in the night. And this time, you heard something too. Crying. Talking - like a whisper, barely audible past the soft sobs.
The door was cracked again, but had swung a bit more open than the times before. That must be the source of the sound...
Resolved to figure out what was going on, you slid out of bed. Tried to stay quiet as you walked to the door and peered out.
There was faint light coming from the living room. A silhouette on the wall showed Loki’s position - in front of the balcony, the street lights casting his shadow. You inched down the hallway, stopping just before you reached the living room.
“...Mother, you would. I just know it. (Y/N) is endlessly beautiful, and intelligent, and… and kind…” Loki was sitting in the floor, his back to you. Dressed in the same clothes he usually wore to bed - loose pants and a comfortable green shirt. His long black hair was messy, and his body shook with sobs.
The door to the balcony was open, allowing a cool night breeze to drift in. An occasional car drove by, or plane flew overhead, but Loki was focused on the stars.
“Just like you. But I, I don’t.. I don’t deserve it. Any of it-” his voice cracked, “And I miss you.”
Your heart broke. You made your way across the living room, quietly, carefully.
“I miss you every day,” Loki continued, shaky hands brushing hair back from his face, then gripping it in agony. “I-I wish we could speak, we could.. See each other.. That you could see me - see us, but... You’re not here.”
“Loki?” you muttered, and he inhaled sharply, turning around.
Now you could clearly see the tears streaming down his face. His mouth was slightly open, but he closed it, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“I- ... Darling, you shouldn’t be up at this hour,” He stood, blinking away his tears. “Go back to bed.”
You stood your ground, but tried to pick your words carefully. He looked so vulnerable, standing there in the dark, still trying to steady himself.
“No, something’s clearly wrong. Loki... How long has this been going on?”
“It doesn’t matter..”
“Yes it does.” You moved closer. He twitched - but let you approach, let you reach up to brush a tear off his cheek. More fell as he pressed his face against your palm, relishing the touch. His brows pressed together, he looked as though he could break at any time.
“Weeks,” he whispered.
“Oh, Loki..” You embraced him. He welcomed it, his arms wrapping around you, clutching you close to his shaking chest. He moved to lower himself and you followed, the both of you slowly sitting on the ground, you tucked against him, his body trembling with sobs.
Tears pricked in the corners of your eyes. What had this long life done to him?
How many nights had he cried alone?
It was several minutes before either of you spoke again. Loki calmed, his nose finding a comfortable place nestled against your hair, and his breath eventually steadied. His grip loosened. The crying slowed.
“I-I’m sorry.. I’m sorry I left you,” He gulped. “This is the only way I can talk to her anymore.”
You pulled away to see his face. Tilted your head. “Her..?”
Loki’s eyes met yours. “Frigga. My mother. She..” He couldn’t bring himself to say the next word.
“I remember.” You nodded slowly.
He’d told you a while ago that his mother had died, after Thor had brought up their parents. But he never said how.
Loki clenched his jaw. “It… It was my fault, it was all my fault-” He settled into another bout of crying.
“Loki, love - that can’t be true. I-I don’t know everything about your life,” You cupped his face, bringing him to look at you. He sniffed, swallowing again. “I don’t. I wasn’t there for all of it. But I know you. And I know you would never, ever harm your mother.”
“But I did, I did- that monster, I told it how to escape - I told it how to reach her. And it did, and she-” He stopped himself, biting the inside of his cheek. His breath grew shaky again as he forced himself to speak. “There was a funeral. I wasn’t allowed to attend - Odin would never allow that. He barely wanted me alive in the first place,” he hissed, his face contorted with rage for a moment, before relaxing again. “I found out after. By then her body had returned to the stars..” Loki turned to the outside again.
Moonlight graced his skin, highlighting the tears still glistening on his cheeks. His eyes searched the heavens, as though begging for a sign - something real, something palpable, something to tell him she was out there.
“Loki, I’m.. I’m so sorry. But it’s not your fault. It’s not.” You spoke as gently yet firmly as you could. Giving a monster - whatever it was - directions (you figured it was to spite the Asgardians who imprisoned him) didn’t equate to murder. He hadn’t intended it to play out that way, after all. But you could understand the guilt behind it.. And you hated the fact he’d carried that burden alone.
He stayed quiet. Pulled you closer, his chin on your shoulder, his eyes still trained on the sky.
“I wish she could meet you.” he confessed, his head leaning against your own. His arms still firm around you, his hands finding yours - your fingers intertwined. “She’d love you.”
“I’d like to meet her, too. But maybe she can see us now.” You moved closer to him, your thumb stroking his hand. You felt Loki smile next to you - it was small, and fragile, but it was there.
“Perhaps she can,” he murmured.
“Maybe she can see how happy you are - you’re happy, aren’t you?” You glanced at him. He kissed your temple, staying cuddled up against you.
“Happier than ever. I.. Thank you, love. Thank you for finding me. I hadn’t the heart to, to ask you to join me… I’d hate to wake you.”
“Loki, you’re important to me. I love you, remember?” You turned, facing him fully, your back to the open door. “Can you promise me something?”
His brow furrowed slightly, but he seemed willing to listen, watching you intently.
“Promise me, if you’re lonely, wake me.”
Tears glistened in his eyes again. He nodded, slowly, and managed a soft smile.
“Yes, my love,” he murmured. “I promise.”
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The Way
I’m writing horror again. I guess it’s that time, you know, that time that has nothing to do with Halloween or the seasons or whatever, that time when it just hits me for some reason. And just like I always do, I’ll say I don’t know why.
Even though I know why, and you know I know why.
Because the truth is always so much weirder and worse and more disquieting than any excuse I could make up for it, and sometimes I just feel the need.
Today I felt the need, and I couldn’t make it go away.
And so I sat down, and words I didn’t want to write were written.
.
8592 words
I would rate this Mature 18+ if it was a fic, strictly because of the subject matter.
Warnings: Death, mostly. Religious trauma, brief descriptions of abuse, mentions of mental illness, domestic violence, grief, familial dysfunction, religious abuse, emotional abuse, medical conditions, brief mentions of drug use/abuse, mild gore in reference to corpse decomposition, psychological unease and mild terror, child abuse (mental/emotional/psychological), brief allusion to physical child abuse, cult references, loss of faith, attempted murder, possible actual murder.
A Note: I love you guys, you’re always so quick and willing to be helpful and offer advice and suggestions and such, and I adore that about you. But on this piece of work I ask that nobody offer any theories about what happened to my brother - medical, criminal, or otherwise - and please no suggestions on things we could do to pursue investigation, that ship has long sailed. It’s been 23 years and he’s a cold case. We spent years trying to sort it out but in the end it’s just something that happened, and we moved on because we had to. There are a lot of open ends, a lot of question marks, a lot of suspicious details that never connected to anything - and we tried, we truly did. If anyone out there knows the truth, they’ve never shown themselves to us. We do have our theories, but my brother was a secretive person living a life none of us knew about, and the people he knew weren’t people we knew. Everyone involved is either dead or moved on or got away with whatever it was they did, and there are only three of us who still care. It’s over.
Until today, I’ve never put these events into words.
It was something I needed to do, finally.
This is PART ONE. There may not be a part two, unless doing this ends up making me feel better.
Please feel free to comment if you wish. As you can see, pretty much nothing triggers me. I just ask that you please refrain from the type of comments noted above.
And thank you.
----------
This is, regrettably, a true story. Nothing has been changed but the names, because the dead don’t like being talked about, and James was just enough of a shit to haunt me for it.
----------
----------
They made up their minds
And they started packing
They left before the sun came up that day
An exit to eternal summer slacking
But where were they going without ever knowing the way
They drank up the wine
And they got to talking
They now had more important things to say
And when the car broke down
They started walking
Where were they going without ever knowing the way
Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold
And it's always summer
They'll never get cold
They'll never get hungry
They'll never get old and gray
You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere
They won't make it home
But they really don't care
They wanted the highway
They're happier there today, today
Their children woke up
And they couldn't find them
They left before the sun came up that day
They just drove off and left it all behind them
But where were they going without ever knowing the way?
Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold
And it's always summer
They'll never get cold
They'll never get hungry
They'll never get old and gray
You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere
They won't make it home
But they really don't care
They wanted the highway
They're happier there today, today
You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere
They won't make it home
But they really don't care
They wanted the highway
They're happier there today, today
- The Way, Fastball, 1998
.
That was the year James died in his sleep.
Or that’s what they say, anyway. Asthma, the likely cause based on his medical history, our first and least disturbing assumption. Undetermined, the official determination based on the hastily scraped-together autopsy, the best that could be done under the circumstances. We tell people he had breathing problems, and they nod their heads and agree because they knew he did, and now he’s been gone so long that nobody asks. Most of the people who ever met him have long moved on or disappeared or died themselves, or just remember him as the enigmatic middle son from the Keithley family that nobody really knew very well. You know, the odd one, the one that showed up at meetings maybe once a year and smiled nervously but didn’t really talk to anyone and always seemed anxious to leave? The one who died under mysterious circumstances? That one.
He left the way he always came in. Quietly, unexpected, without anyone being aware of either his entrance or his exit.
But me and mom know some things, and she’s not talking. She probably never will.
So maybe it’s time I did.
December 1998. I’d gotten married two years previous and moved back to the family land with my new husband. He hated it there, but we had an affordable place to live. It wasn’t bad. He’d tell you otherwise. The land never sat right with him, but I’d lived there too many years to see it. I’d been fifteen when my father uprooted his large family from the city and hauled us out to the great back door to nowhere, and even though I’d left several times to wander elsewhere, I always came back.
I didn’t realize why at the time, at any of the multiple times. But now I know. That place gets you, and it holds you, and unless you’re goddamned devoted to staying gone you will always be pulled back. It took me till I was 49 to funnel the necessary amount of devotion away from the religious dedication I’d had jackbooted into me and turn it toward getting out, but against a great number of overwhelming odds I finally did it.
But this isn’t about that, not yet anyway. This is about my brother James, and how he went to sleep one night and found his own way out.
----------
It was snowing, had been for days, a bit unusual but not unheard of. The part of the state we lived in was notorious for extended ice storms and we knew a bad one was coming, but until it hit we played in the snow like it was a gift and we were deprived children who knew it was all going to be taken away soon. My brothers and I were adults but you wouldn’t know it, watching us sneak around in the woods staging elaborate commando attacks on each other. James was the best of us, a stealth king who could stand in the middle of a room for an hour without a single soul seeing him. Perception bias, he said. Your brain ignores me because I obviously don’t belong, like those puzzles where you circle what’s wrong but it takes you forever to find them.
He crept around in the forest scaring the shit out of people, dropping his long tall self out of trees, appearing from nowhere to administer a well aimed snowball to the face of whoever happened to cross his path and then disappearing just as quickly. We called him a wraith and it wasn’t a good natured jibe. We meant it. He made people nervous. He was the stealthy kind of quiet you associate with danger, and he knew how to do things an average person doesn’t ever have any need to know. It was a quiet cool that we admired him for, because none of the rest of us had it.
The religion we were raised in kept a tight lid on us, but me and James, we never really let it get into our bones. We were the smart ones, in retrospect. I went through the motions by force of habit and a sense of self preservation, doing what was expected and demanded of me, following the rules and making myself a perfect example of a young member of the church so I wouldn’t bring shame on the congregation and my family. But mostly the congregation. It was always more important than anything else. And I had behaving down to an art form, but mostly when people were looking. Usually also when they weren’t.
But sometimes, not quite.
And then I prayed for forgiveness about it later because God was supposed to forgive you if you asked him to, right? The tenet of willful sin being unforgivable never took root with me even though that was what the church conditioned into us through fear and constant repetition. They said it from the stage two nights a week and again on Sunday to hammer it home. Two nights a week and again on Sunday my head silently disagreed. God’s not like that. And then I did the praying for forgiveness thing even though I knew I was right, because I was disagreeing with the church, and the church was God’s channel here on Earth, wasn’t it? I committed a mortal sin at least three times a week on that subject alone, and though the dread of divine punishment was hardwired into me, I never could reconcile the concept of a loving and forgiving God destroying me simply for knowing better.
I’m not sure the comprehension of an overwatching deity ever actually established itself in James’ brain. A moral code, yes. But isn’t that what God is, really? Maybe he understood more about God and forgiveness than the rest of us. But he was considered an unapproved fringe member of the church because he couldn’t suffer people and noise and being looked at and he refused to preach, and he was soft-shunned as a result. Because if you weren’t all in to the point of being willing to die at any moment for your faith, you were as good as faithless.
And faithless meant condemned. And the congregation couldn’t be bothered with condemned people, regardless of their reasons for not having both feet in the water. The first and only option on their list was to put the person out and let them find their own way back once they realized they had nobody left in the world who cared about them.
James escaped that somehow. He was supposed to be shunned whole scale, but he wasn’t trying to convince anyone to leave the faith and he presented no threat to anyone’s strength of belief, and so far as anyone knew he’d committed no grave sins other than disinterest. So the rule that dictated we cast him out was bent enough to allow him to remain living on the family land, though at one point during a fit of overzealous righteousness my mother had tried to have a family meeting to vote on whether or not we were going to let him stay. I refused to vote and when I walked out of the house the meeting fell apart.
I’ve never forgiven her for that. Her son’s life being put to a vote with her presiding over the proceedings, vengeful and unfeeling and devoid of compassion on behalf of God himself. It takes my breath away, the anger, still to this day. The only thing I ever truly learned from my mother about parenting was a long and intensely detailed list of what not to do to my own children, and I suppose I should be grateful for that. It’s a bitter thank-you to have to give, but it’s something.
We knew James as much as he would allow us to, and not an inch further. Which meant the extent of our knowledge of him pretty much stretched to include the singular fact that he was different. What that meant, I still don’t really know - but it was there from the day he was born, that slight off-ness, the oddly off center calibration that you can’t really see so much as sense in a person. I know now he was likely on the autism spectrum and he walked through life seeing and reacting to everything differently than most of us, but that wasn’t a thing back then. You were just weird, or you weren’t. And I’m not convinced that was a bad thing for him, strictly speaking. But in the confines of our religion and our family’s devout and sometimes violent dedication to it, it took its toll almost daily.
He stood out, and he was very much a person who didn’t want to. He wanted to fade into the background, to not be seen, to not be known. And our religion didn’t tolerate that kind of nonsense, because we were commanded to be bold bearers of The Word Of God, and no exceptions were made.
None.
I’m going to stop calling it a religion now. I beg your indulgence as I shift to calling it what it is, because calling it a religion is an insult to actual religions that don’t destroy peoples’ lives with callous indifference and murderous glee.
We were raised in a doomsday death cult. There’s no other name that fits.
And we were trapped in it and its ugly cycle of neverending mental and emotional manipulation and abuse until we were adults, and some of us are still bound to it. My oldest brother worked his way up to the upper levels of oversight in the local congregation and was solidly entrenched in it until his death, which is a story for later. My youngest brother, the last remaining living blood sibling I have, is still deeply in it to this day and will likely never leave it.
I took the hard way out, three years ago, by walking away.
James, though. He took the easy way. He simply closed his eyes, and he was free.
----------
December 22, 1998. Three days before Christmas, though that meant nothing to us. The cult told us Christmas was a filthy demonic pagan ritual that was condemned by God, so to us the season was just a nice chilly time of year with lots of time off from work. We’d had an unusual amount of snow, the most we’d had in years. The roads were impassable and everyone was home except my husband, who worked close enough that his boss at the glass shop came and picked him up that morning with chains on his tires. Lots of windshields had shattered from the sudden violent cold that had struck the previous night and Scott had the only glass shop for sixty miles.
I think it must have been around noon, and likely my mother had sent my dad up the hill to see if James wanted to come down for the lunch she was making. He and his wife had split up against the strict rules of the church after a few years of suffering through an ill advised marriage, an important detail to this story that will come into the tale later, and he was alone up there at the top of the hill a lot. Sometimes he forgot to eat, or he got so busy that he just didn’t bother, so our mother always made something for him because even though he was in his 20′s he was still a kid who needed looking after and her zealous fervor against him had died down with time. I think he let her believe he was helpless because it worked in his favor and there was always lunch waiting for him in her kitchen as a result.
He was different, he wasn’t dumb.
We all lived on the hill back then with the exception of our youngest brother. He’d moved to the city with his new wife not long prior. The locals jokingly called the place a commune, and I guess they weren’t completely wrong. Thirty-eight acres of wooded land far beyond the city limits that we’d painstakingly spent years carving a livable space into, with five houses, all built from the ground up and inhabited by an extended family of well known culties from a well known cult. It’s almost comical, looking back on it, knowing now how they kept an eye on us for years to make sure we weren’t doing anything weird up there.
They should have run us off with pitchforks and burning stakes at the very beginning.
Things might have ended differently for us if they had.
----------
My grandparents lived at one end of the property, an old couple as simple and solid as salted soup, devoutly religious and devoted to the cult and very much cut from the can survive anything and probably will cloth like so many old country folks of their generation. They were waiting out the end of days up there in their little wooden house, expecting the final hour of this old system to come long before their own demise. I liked my grandmother, she had a sweet smile and fell asleep every time granddad started talking about the Bible and she paid me five dollars every Wednesday to drive her into town to get groceries, and years later, when she was dying, she told me she’d had a dream where she met my unborn son. I was four months pregnant and didn’t know yet that I was having a boy. She died before he was born, but to this day, fifteen years later, he tells me he’s sure he met her, he just can’t remember when.
I was scared of my grandfather. Not terrified, but there was nothing grandfatherly to him and I always suspected he never actually liked kids much. He’d once told us a story about the great Fort Worth flood that wiped out most of the city when my mom was a baby, and how he had told my grandmother to let go of my 2-year-old mother while he was struggling to get them across a rushing flooded creek in water up to their shoulders. My grandmother couldn’t swim. We could make another Ruthie, he said. But I couldn’t get another ‘Nita.
He said it proudly, like he was to be admired for his choice. I was young when he told that story, but it settled into me that this was evil.
Even when he was old as dirt and dying of a brain tumor in hospice care, he made me uneasy. I was never close to him. But for some reason, in his final days, he forgot who everyone was except me. I had been living in another state for years and he hadn’t seen me since before the tumor started taking his life. But when I walked into the room he turned his head and looked at me, and he mouthed my name.
He couldn’t speak. I don’t know what he was trying to say, struggling with words that nobody could hear. And I felt bad. I didn’t want to be the last person he recognized. My cousins adored him and had spent the last few years constantly at his side, and they were angry, maybe justifiably, that I was the one he reached for.
I didn’t want that at all.
I don’t believe he was a bad man, but he never spoke of anything except the cult’s interpretation of the Bible, and it was as tiresome as it was terrifying. Granddads are supposed to be fun. Ours quoted doctrine at us in a deep loud commanding voice that you couldn’t interrupt and you couldn’t tune out, and once he got going you had to just settle in and wait for him to run out of zealous steam. And then he would suddenly stop and command grandmother to turn on a John Wayne movie and bring him some ice cream, and it was over until the next time.
I know my mother resented him. She knew grandmother was the one that had refused to let her go, the one that had held onto her even though she almost drowned by the simple act of holding on. She knew her father had been willing to let her wash away and drown. That he thought she was interchangeable with whatever baby they would have next. How she could spend her entire life with that knowledge and not be deeply affected by it was something that never made sense to me, but now, when she’s in her 70′s and I’m in my 50′s, I finally understand. It affected her. She’ll just be damned if she’ll let anyone see it. And she had stood there in that hospice room watching him mouth my name with resentment burning in her eyes, though she would have rather died than let anyone know what it was for. He’d forgotten her weeks ago.
The house in the center of the hill was mom and dad. The homestead. The house we’d all lived in together, that we’d built with our own hands, the first thing that marked that wild overgrown hill as a place where people actually lived. A long path through the woods connected it to the grandparents’ house, and it was the epicenter of everything in our lives. James and I had lived in the upstairs rooms of that house until we both moved out and married our respective mates years later, a reprehensible act on our part that was never okay with my mother and that she never forgave either of us for. She’d wanted us all to stay. We can all live here together until the New System comes, she always said. That’s how the Bible says it’s supposed to be. We can all keep each other safe and on the right path until the end comes, and then we’ll all be here together forever.
A decade later when I sat up on the hill watching that house burn to the ground, there was as much relief as grief billowing into the sky with the black smoke. It was the end of an era, and it was far beyond time for it.
Nobody saw it but me. James was dead, had been for years. Robbie was dead now too. Dad was gone, so was granddad. Me and my youngest brother David were the last two left of the kids, but he had moved to a neighboring city when he got married and he has never seen things the way I see them. We were of different generations, we weren’t raised the same way, and he’d never experienced the abuse I lived with for the first half of my life. And he had dedicated his own life to the cult with all the honesty and lack of guile that I didn’t have when I’d made my own dedication vows at the too-young age of sixteen.
It was the end of an era, but apparently only for me.
James’ house was up the hill, past a clearing where my dad used to keep old cars that he cannibalized for parts. Our oldest brother Robbie, long married with kids of his own, lived at the bottom on the farthest corner of the land. And my house was on the slope to the west, built on the spot where we’d cleared off an old half-fallen homestead from the late 1800′s, dutifully paying no mind to the fact that a grave was nestled into the slope, right where the yellow daffodils grew. The cult told us superstition was tied up with the demons and false religion, so we didn’t have the built-in human instinct that tells most people to stay the hell away from certain things.
We just pretended it wasn’t there, and put no importance on it. It was just an old grave. The soil was good and the garden I planted next to it did well, though those strange daffodils always wound themselves through everything I put in the ground. My husband said something wasn’t right about it, but I didn’t pay any attention to him. He hadn’t been raised as devout as me.
My dad knocked on my door around lunchtime and I opened it. He backed up, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his jacket, the fancy leather coat the dealership had awarded him when he was designated a five-star Chrysler technician and given the state’s first and only license to work on the new Vipers that had recently rolled off the prototype line. It was a cool jacket. Made him look like the old pictures my other grandmother had shown me of him from the early 1960′s, when he was young and very much a product of a fancier era. He’d never stopped greasing his hair back and was still so thin that he and I wore the same size jeans.
I’ve never understood the look on his face when I opened the door. To this day I can’t sort it. It wasn’t a blankness like so many people who’ve seen death wear without awareness. It wasn’t grief. It wasn’t even shock.
He was sorry.
Those were the first words out of his mouth.
I’m sorry.
I stood there, not knowing what he was sorry for. It was cold. I couldn’t push the screen door open very far because of the snow blocking it. And my father was standing at the bottom of the steps James had helped my husband build, his hands shoved down far into his pockets like a penitent child about to get in trouble, telling me he was sorry.
James is dead, he finally said. He’s in his house. I went up there and he’s dead.
I didn’t realize it at the time, but I do now - just now, this very moment in fact, I know that I was the first person he told. He came straight from James’ house to mine and told me my brother was dead.
I don’t know what I said back to him, I just remember sitting down on the top step and feeling the cold bite of the snow through my pajama pants. There’s a vague recollection of putting my face in my hands, and the embarrassing knowledge that I did that simply because I didn’t know what else to do. And dad just stood there, nervously stepping from foot to foot in the snow, because he didn’t know what else to do either.
I think I asked How at some point. He said he didn’t know. He had something in his pocket but to this day I don’t know what it was.
I don’t know if it was important. Something tells me it was. Or maybe it was just the eternally present handkerchief he always kept on him.
I’m sorry, he said again. He seemed to feel like it was his fault somehow. I’m sorry.
What do we do? I asked him. I’ve never felt more blank. What are we supposed to do?
I don’t remember what he said, other than he was going to get my older brother. I remember thinking that was a good idea. Robbie would know what to do. He always did. Brash and blustery and bigmouthed, he got things done while other people stood around debating how to do them. He would get on it, whatever needed doing. He would figure it out.
I went back in the house and dad walked away, headed down the path through the woods that connected my house to Robbie’s, hands still shoved deep in his pockets, the big retro vintage Chrysler emblem on the back of his jacket the last thing I saw before I pulled the screen door shut. I stared down for a minute at the mound of snow it had scooped into my livingroom, still with no clue what I was supposed to do.
No clue at all.
I kicked the snow back outside and shut the door.
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It’s an odd thing, watching the coroner’s van drive away with someone you know inside it. Someone you saw just yesterday. Someone who was alive. Someone who should still be alive but isn’t, somehow. And since there’s really no way to earn a ride in a coroner’s van without dying, there’s an awful unsettling sensation to it that you can’t get away from. The last time I saw James he was laughing that devious little laugh of his, his eyes red and bloodshot from the ever present asthma he’d suffered with his entire life. I don’t count the sight of the coroner’s van leaving the hill via our long steep driveway with his cold corpse tucked into a black zippered bag, because I didn’t see him. I never saw him. I didn’t see him dead in his house and I didn’t see them carry him out, I didn’t see them put him in the van. I didn’t see him later, when it was all over with. And if I try hard enough I can imagine that van empty, with that long black bag tossed crumpled in the back without a body in it, and James somewhere else living his life however the hell he pleases.
I hold onto that. Some days it helps. And some days I think I see him, walking by the side of the road or getting out of a car in the post office parking lot, and it makes me happy thinking he escaped. I see him in every hitchhiker, in every wandering traveler making his way down the interstate, in every tall thin man I glimpse from the corner of my eye as I go about my business in town.
He’s out there.
I hope he’s happy.
The ice storm hit the next day.
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For the next two weeks we were stuck on our hill. Power out, no electricity, no heat, no lights, roads iced over and impassable. We all piled up in mom and dad’s house, quietly grieving James, trying to stay warm. Most of the state lost power for days, including the city 150 miles away where his body had been taken to the state coroner’s office. There was no apparent cause of death, so the state ordered an autopsy.
His body had just been placed into cold storage to wait its turn when the power grid went down. And then, by some unholy stroke of nightmarish luck, the facility’s generators failed.
Nobody could make it in to work because of the ice. By the time someone finally got into the morgue the cold storage had been down for four days.
Six bodies melted, including James.
----------
No viable autopsy could be done, though they tried their best I suppose. The end report was obtained two months later. It was mostly inconclusive due to the long delay and resultant decomposition of tissue. There was apparent scarring on James’ heart, but it was old scarring and had nothing to do with his death. His lungs were scarred as well, but that was no surprise, he’d had severe asthma his entire life. There was no determinable cause of death, no inflicted trauma, no presence of illicit drugs as far as they could tell from the limited toxicology report they managed with what they had to work with.
No reason.
He’d simply died.
It seemed fitting, to me at least, that the end of him be enshrouded in an unsolvable mystery. He was a secretive person, intensely private. He would have loved knowing nobody had a clue what happened to him.
And so we drew our own conclusion as a family. He’d had an asthma attack in his sleep. There had been an inhaler next to his bed, but it was new and still in the box. He simply hadn’t woken up to use it. Dad didn’t participate in the drawing of this conclusion, his input kept stoically to himself, like he knew something the rest of us didn’t.
We pretended not to see it.
He and mom braved the last of the ice a few days later to make the 150 mile drive to see James one last time.
They came back different.
You couldn’t tell it was him, my mother said. He was melted, literally. It was like one of those science fiction movies where they melt you with a laser beam and you turn to goo.
Dad had nothing to say. He went to bed and stayed there until the next day.
You can go see him, mom told me. I’ll go with you if you want to go. But I don’t recommend it.
I decided not to go.
And so I never saw my brother dead. I never saw any proof that he was gone. He just wasn’t there anymore. There was no funeral, he was cremated and his ashes were sent home weeks later, and I went on with my life with the image in my head of James, alive, somewhere else.
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Dad was different from that day on. He’d always been stoic, terse, strict. My childhood had been spent in fear of him, an eternal dread of making him mad and feeling his temper erupt keeping me from showing any hint of a personality during my formative years. The cult had forced him to abide by the violent tenet of Spare the rod, spoil the child and there was never any risk of me being spoiled.
James being gone flipped a switch in him. He was nicer suddenly. Mellow. Kind. After the trauma wore off his humor discovered itself and he was funny. The dour angry demeanor fell off and revealed a man that I was sad never to have known before. He and I became friends. I could sense in his new attitude toward me that he regretted how he’d raised me and respected the way I’d always stood up and been my own person despite it. But my mother was falling off the deep end and for all the newfound easygoingness of my father, she counterbalanced it with an extremism born of the religious fervor of a mother determined to gain enough favor with God to see her dead child again. And she was going to make sure the rest of us did too.
We all had to get good and straight on the path, get completely right and stay that way, or we’d never see James again. He’d be in the New World and we wouldn’t, and how would she explain that to him? She and I worked together in a law office at the time and as she became more unhinged and unpleasant, I reacted by becoming more outgoing and accomplished. Our boss changed my work designation from receptionist to Executive Assistant and started teaching me how to do everything from filing papers at the courthouse to photographing accident scenes. I no longer answered to my mother, the office manager. I answered directly to the boss.
That didn’t go over well. She was a control freak with heavy untreated trauma, and the one person in the world she felt the most obsessive need to control was suddenly no longer under her thumb in a workspace where she considered herself the supreme authority. She countermanded every order the boss gave me and tried to load me up with general office chores that left me no time to do the important assignments he’d given me. I had no choice but to tell her she wasn’t my superior anymore.
She chose that day to have her nervous breakdown over James, jumping out of my car at a red light on the way home and storming angrily through a shopping mall with me trailing frantically along behind her, yelling for security to arrest me while I tried to get her to calm down. I ended up telling her she wasn’t the only person who lost James but that none of the rest of us were allowed to experience our own grief because we were too busy catering to hers.
She sat down on a bench outside the sporting goods store and glared at me with a cold hatred I’ve seen on very few other faces, ever.
I knew it would be you, she hissed at me.
That moment changed our relationship forever. It changed me forever. That was the day I decided my life was my own, that she not only didn’t have authority over me at work, she didn’t have authority over me anywhere else either. She could no longer dictate my actions, my behavior, my thoughts and feelings.
For this she disowned me. It was the first of several disownings over the next few years. I got used to it. We went to work the next day like nothing had happened, and I didn’t do a single thing on the task list she slapped down on my desk. It was a metaphor for the rest of my life, but I didn’t know it yet.
My husband and I moved out of state a couple of months later, away from that hill, away from her increasingly controlling paranoia and bitterness, the first of many small steps toward freedom.
As we were driving away with our trailer full of personal belongings behind us, he said one thing that I tried to argue against, but that somewhere deep inside I knew was probably right.
That land is cursed, he said.
----------
A few weeks before we moved my youngest brother came to town and we went into James’ house together. It was exactly like it had been the day my dad found him. The only thing that stood out as different was the bare mattress on the bed - the men from the coroner had wrapped him up in the sheet he’d been laying on and took it with them, leaving just the naked springform mattress James had bought for Jessica right before her final breakdown and their subsequent separation.
It took me a while to go in the bedroom, but I knew from the moment I walked into the house that I was going to end up there. I needed to see it, the place where James had closed his eyes and left us.
There was a small puddle of dried blood near the foot of the bed, brown and stained into the fabric. James always slept backwards, with his head at the wrong end. The blood had come from his nose.
I touched it. I don’t know why. It was dry.
He was gone.
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David and I laughed a lot that day. James had been funny in a way that was distinctly him, quiet and of few words, but those words had always counted. And as we sorted through his things and talked about him and moved some of his stuff into boxes to be stored away, I felt as much awed respect as befuddlement at what was around me. He’d never been a conformist, which I knew was why the cult had never gotten a firm grasp on him. He was unknowable and therefore unbindable. But his house was proof that he didn’t conform to any human expectations either, and nothing in it made sense unless you’d spent time around him.
There was an engine in the bathtub. I’m not sure what it went to. Another engine, in the beginning stages of disassemblage, rested on a blue tarp in the center of the livingroom floor, obviously the last project he’d been working on. There wasn’t much furniture - his wife had taken most of it when she left and it would have never entered his mind to replace any of it. Jessica’s cookware was in the kitchen cabinets, unused, some of it still in the original boxes, some not even fully unwrapped from their wedding shower years before. Jessica didn’t cook, she microwaved. David asked me if I thought it would be okay for him to take a glass Pyrex measuring cup because he’d broken his. I told him to take it. It had never been used.
I didn’t want anything, but knew I needed to take something. One of my husband’s solo CDs was sitting on the entertainment center and the cover, the cover I’d designed, caught my eye and brought me to the CD player to pop the tray open.
Inside was a CD single of The Way.
It was the only thing I took.
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My husband told me some time later that my dad and older brother had altered the scene before the police arrived. After the phonecall from me his boss had rushed him home and he’d gone up to James’ house without my knowledge. He’d thought it strange that he’d had to step around at least a dozen empty compressed air cans scattered haphazardly around the place as he entered, like they’d been used and tossed aside one after another. There had been several more on the floor around the bed. My father had told him to go back down and see how mom and I were doing, and when he returned to James’ house after the coroner’s departure, the cans were gone. Other than that he said things seemed different, but he couldn’t say quite how. Just not the same.
He told me my dad didn’t call the police until after he and Robbie had been in there at least an hour, alone with the body.
It’s not something we’ve talked about often, because there’s no satisfactory explanation for it that either of us can come up with. My mother says they probably didn’t want the police to assume the cans meant he was huffing compression fluid and accidentally killed himself, because Look at the shame and reproach that would bring on the congregation if anyone thought such a thing! We all knew he used the compressed air to clear the valves on the engines he was working on, all mechanics do, it’s common. Wouldn’t the police have accepted that explanation? Dad was the only one that spoke to them. They wrote down whatever he said, and then they left, and then the coroner came and took James away and that was that. My father, the most upright straight-and-narrow devoutly dedicated man I’ve ever known in my life, misled the police for a reason that he took with him to his own grave.
The only other person in the world who knew the truth about it took it to his grave too.
At the same time.
In the same car.
Four years later, on October 18, 2002.
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The big garbage bag of empty air cans and whatever else that was removed from James’ house that morning had been stashed in my dad’s garage and stayed there until a few weeks after he and Robbie’s joint funeral, when my mother asked my husband’s old boss to come and dispose of it. Scott was a man who knew people who could do things.
The evidence, whatever it was evidence of, vanished.
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The mystery around James never dissolved and eventually no one talked about it anymore, I guess because there was no way we could ever truly find out what happened without him here to tell us. There were a lot of details that we could never find a way to weave together into anything that made sense and a lot of it was probably inconsequential anyway. There was a girlfriend that he’d tried to keep hidden from us, a woman that was quite a bit older than him who wasn’t a member of the cult and therefore needed to be kept a secret. In the end she had convinced him to stop hiding their relationship and he’d bought her a ring. We met her all of twice before he died, and within days of his passing she left town with her brother and never came back, taking whatever she might have known with her.
James’ ex Jessica had sneaked onto the hill and broken into his house to put a dead raccoon in his kitchen sink a few days prior to his death. We were shocked when he told us she trespassed on the land often without anyone knowing, and my mother made my father fix the electric gate down at the road so that it wouldn’t open without one of three clickers in the possession of herself, my father, and me. James would have to come to her house and get hers any time he needed to leave the hill, an arrangement he agreed to because Jessica stole things from his house all the time, she would absolutely take a gate opener if she saw it.
He told us the gate wouldn’t keep her out though, and that she didn’t come in that way anyway. The only way to protect ourselves from her was to lock her up and he doubted even that would do it.
He died less than a week later, and twenty three years later we still don’t know how or why.
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We never felt safe on the hill again. Jessica was deranged in the worst possible way, we’d known it for a while, and James was her obsession. She’d threatened to kill him multiple times and had tried twice. We hadn’t known this, because James, big strong stoic Clint Eastwood type that he was, wasn’t about to tell anyone he was violently abused for years by a skinny little woman that everyone believed was not much more than a meek dormouse with shyness issues and a case of painful awkwardness. But we knew she was evil. We just didn’t have any proof.
The first thing my mother said after the initial emotional breakdown of finding her son dead was Jessica did this, I don’t know how but I know she did it.
I believe she was probably right. But if Jessica was anything she was wily and devious with a strong survival instinct and an uncanny ability to lie convincingly and draw sympathy onto herself. She’d convinced us for years that she was the perfect combination of sweetly harmless and endearingly clueless, but that only lasted until the day she called 911 screaming that James was beating her and then threw herself face first into a tree in their front yard and sat, calmly singing and coloring in a coloring book on the porch with blood running down her forehead, waiting for the police to arrive. The act she put on when they got there was one for the Academy, but the officers didn’t buy it.
James calmly rolled up his sleeves and showed them his scars where she’d burned him and slashed him with a kitchen knife. He pulled up his shirt and pointed out the marks she’d left on him with her teeth and nails. He hooked a finger into his mouth and showed them the empty hole where she’d knocked one of his teeth out with a baseball bat. One of the officers asked him why he hadn’t killed her and buried her somewhere on the land already.
She left in the back of the squad car, and my mother took James to the courthouse to get divorce papers started two days later.
Jessica came to his memorial service when we finally had it, several weeks after his death. She wasn’t invited but we couldn’t keep her from coming. She wore black like a widow and created a dramatic disruption complete with loud wailing and declarations of undying love, and afterward she stood to one side of the room, smirking at us with the kind of icy malice that you only see on the dangerously deranged, and then usually only in the movies. Several people commented in hushed voices, asking why she’d been allowed to come. At one point she started wailing They killed him!!, but everyone with the exception of her mother ignored her.
Her mother, who was still in our congregation, flitted around the room chatting with everyone, sobbing her heart out like it was her own son we’d just memorialized. She was an ER nurse and had been famously fired from her job at the hospital for taking locked-cabinet medications home by the purse load. She claimed she put them in her pocket to use on her shift and forgot to return them to the cabinet before leaving.
Jessica had been staying with her for a while.
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We fed the crowd at mom’s later that afternoon with my husband and his boss guarding the gate, making sure she didn’t try to come into my mother’s house. The police were called preemptively, and because this was a town of 300 with not much of anything else to do, a squad car was dispatched and stationed near the inlet to the main drive.
Jessica showed up not much later, like we knew she would. She drove past the police and parked a few yards down from them in plain sight, just sitting there by the side of the road, far enough away from our property that we couldn’t legally do anything about it. The officers got out and talked to her, warned her not to cause us any problems, and she fed them a woeful tale about being banned from her beloved husband’s memorial service and denied the right to say goodbye to him.
The officers knew there was no body at that service to say goodbye to. They also knew her.
My husband came up the hill and told us she was down at the road and that Scott was blocking the driveway with his truck to keep her out. I told my mother it was time to file a restraining order against her. She was living in fear and Jessica was known to be trespassing on our property frequently. No, she told me with tears in her eyes but not a sign of distress on her face. It was a look I knew, because my mother rarely showed emotion unless she was angry and the rest of the time it was this cold detachment. That would bring reproach on the congregation because everyone knows what we are. I can’t do that. I won’t let her win that way. I won’t let her cause us to bring shame on God’s name.
God’s name. I took it in vain that day.
More than once.
I was leaving in a few weeks, moving a thousand miles away. My husband and I weren’t going to be there to help her keep an eye out, and thirty eight acres of heavily wooded land is impossible to protect and easy to sneak onto from a hundred different directions, James had shown us proof of that.
God will protect us as long as we do the right thing and leave it to him, she said. He knows what she is.
I think it was just a coincidence that nothing terrible happened in the following weeks, because my faith was getting tenuous and a lot of prayers were going unanswered. But Jessica quietly disappeared back to her own world after a couple of infuriating weeks of putting herself in our paths every chance she got, and not long after that my husband and I moved away, and as we left the driveway for what we thought would be the last time he sighed and shook his head with the exasperation of a man about to say I told you so.
“That land is cursed,” he said.
I tried to disagree, though I don’t know why.
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Less than a mile up the road we passed a man walking. He was tall and thin and covered in the dust of a long journey with a ratty backpack strapped to his back, and as we passed him I caught his reflection in the side mirror.
It was James, I knew it in my heart every bit as strongly as I knew it couldn’t be.
He was walking away from the hill, toward the west. The way we were going. And I swear on whatever holy relic you wish to place under my hand that he raised his head and met eyes with me in the mirror, and he smiled.
.
Anyone can see the road that they walk on is paved in gold
And it's always summer
They'll never get cold
They'll never get hungry
They'll never get old and gray
You can see their shadows wandering off somewhere
They won't make it home
But they really don't care
They wanted the highway
They're happier there today
.
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BISTRO | DOYOUNG DRABBLE
genre: fluff, suggestive, mature
word count: 1,6k
mixologist!Doyoung, girlboss!Reader
author: SIN
warnings: mentions of alcohol, Doyoung being hot that is all.
After many failed attempts of blind dates you decide to head to a new bistro on your own and strike up a conversation with their extremely attractive bartender.
A/N: I watched 127s new video today and I couldn’t get over how good Doyoung looked and him opening that bottle with his pretty hands was just *microwave noises* also there’s never enough DY content so I’m here to provide 🙏🏽
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You frequented a little street that was situated just outside your apartment block that hosted some of the best rooftop bars and restaurants. When days dragged on and the company had a busy evening, you treated yourself to a little cocktail and always chose a seat that had the best view of the city.
You hated going alone to bars as a young woman though, despite having the title of being a ceo and a self made entrepreneur. Potential suitors would either be too intimidated to talk to you or when they found out about your title would flex their own achievements to belittle you. Time and time again these blind dates and chat ups became exhausting and so you realized going alone in your work attire meant most power hungry men around these parts would avoid you.
You walked up a set of marble steps leading up to the new rooftop bistro hoping it wasn’t a reservation only type of deal.
“Table for…?” The hostess looked behind you and you quickly shot up a finger, “just one please.” The hostess nodded but instead of leading you to one of the many free tables she politely gestured to the bar seating.
“Im really sorry but single customers are usually seated here but if it’s a problem I can ask my manager-“
“That won’t be a problem, I don’t plan on staying long anyway” you assured her and watched her quickly bow before heading back to her station.
“Won’t be staying long ? But you are yet to experience our services” you heard a soft voice sing and a tall, well proportioned man behind the bar grinned as you took your seat. You were enamored by his charming good looks, he looked so friendly yet so mysterious at the same time.
“I’m all alone so I highly doubt I’ll be in any deep conversation” you smiled shyly at the man placing your coat on the seat next to you.
“Well I certainly don’t mind keeping you company, I’m Doyoung and you are ?” The man held out his hand and you shook it gently, loving the coldness of his touch, “I’m y/n, it’s a pleasure.”
Doyoung’s wide grin returned this time showing a gummy smile that made your heart do a somersault. It’s been a while since you were physically attracted to someone so you had to savor this moment. You watched him serve a customer at the other end of the bar, attentively listening to their order and quickly getting to work on their drink. Doyoung rolled up his sleeves and began mixing up a concoction while keeping up conversation with the elderly businessman so effortlessly. You could understand why the bistro hired him, he was a natural.
“So what can I get you dear ?” Doyoung returned to your corner and rested his hands on the marble countertop. You blushed a little hearing the little pet name but quickly collected yourself and pointed at the menu,
“I’ll have the Lemon drop Martini please” you handed Doyoung the menu and he nodded, “coming right up.”
Doyoung began mixing your drink but the way he looked at you made you a bit self conscious. You watched him squint at your twirling thumbs and eventually chuckle lightly.
“You seem nervous, are you sure you’re not waiting for someone?”
You shook your head, “seriously I’m not but you’re looking at me weird and I was just wondering…why?”
Doyoung’s chuckle made you a little more suspicious but all he did was place your drink in front of you and fold his arms across his chest. “You don’t look like the type of person to be intimidated, especially by a bartender” he raised a brow.
“I just don’t usually drink on my own, I’m still adjusting to it” you shrugged and took a sip of your drink which was surprisingly one of the best cocktails you’ve had in a while. “Oh my God this is so good!” You praised and Doyoung clasped his hands together with gratitude, “thank you my dear and that drink is on me.”
You looked up at him strangely after finishing another sip, “wait why ?” You questioned while Doyoung began cleaning up his workspace.
“Looks like you need it, plus I think you’re gorgeous and this has been the longest most invested conversation I’ll be having today so why not ?” He replied nonchalantly, flinging lemon peels into the recycling.
“We’ve spoken for like five minutes…” you murmured.
“Who said the conversation stops here ?” Doyoung leaned against your corner, a bottle of water in hand and you watched him gulp down the liquid in one go. It may be bare minimum but it was quite possibly the most attractive view you had ever come across. From his veiny hand squeezing the bottle to a few droplets escaping his lips and running down to his jaw line.
Doyoung tossed the plastic aside and cocked his head at your gaping expression before laughing.
“Y/n are you checking me out ?”
You quickly snapped out of your daydream and shook your head, “no! I was just spacing out, not really focused on anything at all” you lied terribly which Doyoung found adorable. Here you are a strong businesswoman who people feared was fumbling over her own words because she was checking him out. It was truly something.
“It’s okay if you are, I’ve been doing the same” he winked cheekily before tending to another customer. You couldn’t believe what was going on but he was clearly on a different level than anyone else you’ve met in the last few months. Hell no one even had you stumbling over your sentences like this since grade school.
Doyoung began fixing another drink but this time he shot you more than one glance. He comically flexed his muscles as he popped open a bottle of wine, biting down on his lip when the cork came out. You giggled at his antics but deep down you felt a flutter of excitement, wondering what he was going do next.
The bar began to empty and Doyoung made sure to keep you sticking around until it was just you, him and the hostess left. “Isn’t your manager going to be mad that you’re allowing a customer to stick around this late ?” You raised your eyebrow and Doyoung smiled, shaking his head.
“Actually-“ he began before the hostess Interrupted him.
“Everything’s all locked and the place is cleaned out sir, I’ll be leaving now” she bowed and waved at you sweetly before throwing on her coat and heading outside.
“Sir ?” You echoed her words and Doyoung removed his apron and leaned down in front of you, “I’m the owner of this bistro my dear” he smiled and you nearly choked on the piece of lemon you were chewing on.
“You’re the bartender and the owner ?” Your eyes widened and Doyoung just grinned, “Is it surprising ? I just wanted to be closer to my customers and continue my passion of mixology.”
“Wow” you awed still not noticing that Doyoung was inching closer to you as the small chat continued. “That’s really admirable, I tend to lock myself away in my office maybe that’s why everyone thinks I’m horrible” you pouted and rested your chin in the palm of your hand.
“You’re not horrible I’m sure, and besides all employees feel some type of way about their boss, I’m sure mine do too” Doyoung shrugged reaching over to lightly stroke your arm.
“You ? No you’re perfect” you halted when you realized what had come out of your mouth and immediately tried to backtrack, “I mean not perfect but like if you were my boss I wouldn’t be complaining.”
That sounded even weirder than the first part.
Doyoung laughed and yet again showed off that adorable gummy smile before leaning in until he was now inches away from your face.
“You have been the best company honestly y/n and I’m sad to see it already come to an end” he sighed and took your hand in his, “I want to ask you two questions, one would be I obviously want to meet you again this time on an actual date. The second would be that I give you something I’ve been wanting to do since you first introduced yourself.”
“Yes”
“Yes to which part?” Doyoung quizzed.
“Both” you shrugged and laced his fingers with yours. Doyoung chuckled lightly and slowly ran a finger down your cheek before leaning in and capturing your lips with his. The kiss was soft and subtle, his lips were so delicious that it made a shiver run down your spine. Doyoung deepened the kiss by holding onto the back of your neck and placed his thumb on your jaw, tilting your head up to better the angle. You were engulfed in his flowery scent, wanting more but also trying to savor the subtly of the kiss. Doyoung surprised you by slipping his tongue in your mouth for a few seconds, smirking into the kiss when you allowed him to do so and finally pulled away.
“Mmm quite addictive” he hummed and licked his lips.
“The kiss….or me ?” You knitted your brows together.
“Yes” Doyoung winked.
.
#Doyoung drabble#nct drabble#nct 127 Drabble#kim Doyoung fic#kim dongyoung#doyoung au#doyoung fluff#nct 127 scenarios#nct au#nct scenarios#nct blurb#doyoung x reader
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The one where you’re both idiots
Part 8 of The one where Bucky has a cute neigbour series!
Pairing: Bucky Barnes X Reader (f)
Summary | Reader and Bucky become friends after he saves her from a creep in their apartment building. Each chapter explores a different point in their friendship - very slow burn!
Warnings | 18+ only, Smut in later chapters (this is a slow burn), swearing, unprotected sex, oral sex, (later chapters)
This is my favourite chapter so far as we’ll start seeing the events of The Falcon and The Winter Soldier impact the story more.
Chapter 8 | Chapter 7 | Chapter 6 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 4 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 1 | Masterlist
“How was your session with the world’s worst therapist?” You asked as you started unpacking your groceries. You’d run into Bucky on your way home from picking up a few things for your evening meal and had invited him inside with the offer of a home cooked meal.
Taking the milk from you, he helped put your items away as he pondered his response. “Same as always, she asks about the nightmares, I lie to her and she starts writing on that damned notepad.” Taking a tomato from the bag, he snuck one into his mouth and put the rest away, giving him a second to think before continuing. He’d been at your apartment that many times by now he knew where everything lived.
Hoisting himself up onto the kitchen countertop, he sat in his usual spot as he watched you busy around, pulling your utensils out ready to cook. “She also brought up how alone I am.” Despite his efforts, his voice broke slightly, something that you didn’t fail to notice.
“Well that’s a load of bull” You scoffed as you turned to face him, opening your arms wide. “You’ve got me!”
He smiled back at you, his face lightening up. “That I do doll, that I do.”
Satisfied, you turned your back on him once again and began washing the vegetables.
“I had lunch with Yori,” He continued.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah... I’ve also got a… got a date tomorrow” Your hands froze as you felt your heart break, your stomach twisting into knots. A second later you composed yourself and continued with the task at hand, rubbing your hands over the mushrooms repeatedly.
“Oh.” You remarked, not trusting your voice to say anything further.
“Yeah, Yori kind of set it up. I tried to explain there was a bit of a dance to this sort of thing but he went ahead with it anyway.” Bucky had missed your reaction when he’d told you about the date and proceeded to pick up one of your kitchen knives, twirling it between his fingers as a distraction.
Those seconds were all you needed to compose yourself as you shut off the water and began chopping the veg up, mentally preparing your response in your head. “Well it’s good to get out there, when was the last time you had a date?”
“1942 Stark Expo” He replied with no hesitation. You turned on your heel and gestured towards the cupboard above Bucky's head. With a smile, instead of moving aside, he spread his legs for you to step into. For a second, his smile made you forget what he’d just told you and you were back to it just being you and him, no mystery woman who you feared would take him from you.
“Lazy shit.” You muttered as you stepped between his open legs swinging the cupboard door open and reaching up for a can.
For Bucky, he was enjoying the view. Your top had risen and he had a perfect view of your stomach, begging to be kissed.
As you placed the can on the counter beside him and searched for the opener something suddenly dawned on you. “Does that mean you’ve not gotten laid since 1942?” Your eyes met his and he chuckled in response.
Picking up the can, he jabbed his knife into it and expertly cut into the lid, opening it with ease. Handing it back to you he shot you another smile.
“Believe it or not, courting women in the 1940’s was a bit different. Girls didn’t fuck outside of marriage as they do now, and if they did it was a rarity. But, that didn’t mean both of you couldn’t get off if you put other things to use.” He smirked back at you as your jaw dropped, mouth hanging open at his honesty. Not quite knowing what to do with that information you turned back to the stove, your cheeks flushed from not just the heat.
“Well… I’m sure your date tomorrow will be a welcome relief.”
“Eh… She's a nice girl and all but I don’t see it going anywhere. Beer?”
“Oh, um yes please.” A few moments later you heard your fridge open and close and the sound of bottle lids going into the trash. Leaving your beer to the side, he resumed his previous position and continued watching you cook.
“When was the last time you saw any action?” Bucky wasn’t sure why he asked in all honesty, he’d rather not know as just picturing you with anyone else drove him mad.
“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You laughed. “No but seriously I think it’s been two years now?” Taking a swig of your beer you leant against the counter and faced him. “Oh god, it’s been seven. I forgot about the blip. Holy shit.” Grabbing your beer again, you took a few more gulps, enjoying the liquid running down your throat.
Despite not really wanting to know the answer, Bucky found himself slightly pleased you’d not been with anyone in a while for purely selfish reasons.
The rest of the evening was spent eating good food and watching TV, something which Bucky didn’t take for granted. He’d only told his therapist part of the truth. When he was alone with you, enjoying each other's company, talking about nothing and everything, he felt calm - content.
The following day Bucky didn't hear from Y/N at all and his date went as he expected. The girl was nice, charming even but he didn’t feel a connection. He felt bad for lying about his gloves and even worse when she brushed off his comment around his age. Yori was the last straw and he had to get out of there. The guilt was overwhelming, suffocating and heavy. He’d rushed over to Yori’s place with the intention of confessing his sins but something held him back. It wasn’t the first time he’d hesitated, something about him just made him stop every time. Maybe it was the fact that Yori was a friend, someone who seemed to understand his odd quirks, put up with his grumpiness and still wanted to be around him. Then again, maybe he only did that as he got a free meal out of it.
He found himself back at his apartment building, banging on Y/N’s door, praying you were home. But he was met with silence.
He spent the rest of the night watching TV, drinking as many beers as he could before he eventually passed out, either out of boredom or tiredness, the mental battering he’d taken finally taking its toll.
It wasn’t until the following evening he finally saw you. The sound of bags dropping to the floor as you muttered explicits under your breath whilst searching for your keys was undeniably you.
Without a second thought, he opened his door, eager to see you.
“Hey doll”
Turning your heel, you faced him. “Oh hey Buck”
“Lost your key again?” He remarked, smirking.
“As usual” You muttered, finally finding them amongst the junk in your purse.
“I was worried about you y’know.” Your head snapped up, eyes meeting his piercing blues as he stared back at you. “You didn’t come home last night, it’s not very…. You. Who is he?”
A laugh escaped your lips before you could stop it. “She is called Lauri and I just ended up staying over.” You tried to make yourself sound as convincing as possible, knowing deep down you hadn’t wanted to overhear any late night activities if his date had in fact gone well.
“Oh. Oh!” His eyes went wide when he thought he’d realised something but couldn’t have been further from the truth. “Well, I hope she’s treating you right.”
And he truly meant it. Despite pining after you these past few months, your happiness was his priority, regardless of how desperately he wanted to be the one fulfilling that for you.
You slowly opened your door with your back to him, trying to suppress a grin. “Way off the mark there Buck, although I’m pretty sure she would show me a great time, it’s not like that. We’re just friends.”
The small sigh of relief that left his lips as he processed what you said, making you pause for a moment. Surely he wasn’t happy that you - ? No, impossible.
“Fair enough.” He replied, coughing to hide a slight choke.
“Do you want to come in?” You asked, opening your door wide for him to enter. With a gentle smile he nodded, closing his own door behind him he walked into your apartment. You tried your best to not notice the way his t-shirt hugged his body in all the best ways, tightening around his broad shoulders before delving down to his biceps, the metal of his arm reflecting the light from the hallway. You said a silent prayer before following him in, urging your eyes to stop flitting back to his body and the way his jeans fitted around his tight- no Y/N, no.
You followed him further into your small apartment as he settled on the couch whilst you put your bag into your bedroom. Pulling the door, you gave yourself some privacy as you pulled some loungewear from your drawers before sliding your top off over your head. “How did your date go?” You asked. You’d prepared it over and over again in your head, testing your tone and delivery to avoid him picking up on the nervousness you felt asking the question.
“Disaster, I let half way through.”
Your eyes unintentionally lit up as you unfastened your bra, throwing it into the laundry basket in the corner of your room. “Jesus Buck, what did she do?”
You heard a shuffle coming from your living room, Bucky no doubt playing with the thread coming off your couch as he usually did when he was deep in thought. “It just didn’t feel natural y’know? I wasn’t comfortable with her, I couldn’t be myself, and then she brought up Yori and I-” He couldn’t quite finish his sentence and grunted as he struggled to find the words. Not needing to hear any more, you finished getting changed into your clothes and went back into the living room, plonking yourself down next to him.
“Well first off, not cool leaving half way through. But… this is New York so I'm pretty sure she’ll have been on worse dates.” You joked, trying to lighten the mood. Bringing your sock clad feet up onto the couch, you stretched your leg out and prodded the man beside you, prompting him to turn and face you. “You’ll tell him whenever you’re ready. For now though, focus on the positive. You went on a date with a girl…. Regardless of how short said date was” You covered your mouth as you giggled, his eyes rollg only forcing more laughs from you. Taking enough of your teasing, Bucky took action and tossed one of your many cushions towards you, landing squarely in your face knocking you back.
“Dick!” you squealed.
“Brat”
#bucky#bucky barnes#bucky x female reader#bucky barnes x reader#bucky barnes x you#bucky fanfic#bucky barnes x y/n#bucky x y/n#tfawts
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My Soulmates 1
Genre:Soulmate AU, fluff,angst, eventual smut
Pairing: Idol Jimin x Lawyer Reader x Idol Jungkook
Warnings: some swearing (Y/N has a trash mouth sometimes)
A/N: I’m so excited to bring you my story. I hope you all enjoy this first chapter.
Please read the teaser and prologue first if you haven’t already.
*********************************************************************
October 7, 2018 4:36pm
The boys had been practicing since 8am that morning with limited breaks, and were tired and hungry. They were all going to dinner and begin making their way to the elevator, laughing and joking with each other. Namjoon was deep in thought when the doors of the elevator opened and a woman came out barreling right into the midst of the group. Her head was down, and she seemed absorbed in something on the iPad she held in her hands when she must have realized what she had done. Namjoon heard her gasp and reach out towards Jimin and Jungkook and thought she might be trying to steady herself as they were reaching out to her as well. He couldn’t believe it when they all began collapsing on the floor, the other boys trying to catch them. He noticed that the three were still grasping onto each other, and a red ring began to encircle their ring fingers and travel up their arms. The other boys were staring at this as well and they looked at each other shaking their heads. All of them mumbled the same thing
...”Oh Shit!”
You felt warm and cocooned for some reason. It was so cozy and you didn’t want to wake up. Wait, when did I go home? Your thoughts were hazy and you were trying to figure out where you were. You tried to stretch and found yourself bumping into something hard. As you started groping around you realized that this was not your pillow at all but felt like a chest. A mans chest. You have never moved so fast as you just did sitting yourself up. “What the hell...!” You look and see you are on a bed with not one but two boys cuddled up around you. Fear immediately sets in as you look around the room and see sleeping figures on another bed and couch.
“What the fuck...!” You said out loud quickly slapping both your hand over your mouth so as not to awaken the men in the room. You are in bed with, and surrounded by BTS. They are the worlds most famous boy band. They are the Nations Treasures. THEY ARE YOUR CLIENTS!!! Your mind explodes right then and there. You think to yourself ’What Tumblr, A03, Wattpad fanfic did I just wake up in.’
‘OH MY GOD IM IN A COMA!!!! That has to be it. There cannot be any other explanation. I’m in a coma and I transported into some sucky ass wannabe Hallmark Movie’.
All you can think of is that you have some sort of brain tumor and have fallen into a life altering, dream fugue-like state and all your teenage and young adult fantasies are blending together therefore you have conjured up some poly bias delusional weirdness in yor muddled brain. This isn’t real...this isn’t real... this isn’t real....... You pinch yourself and...oh shit that hurt. You struggle to get off the bed which isn’t easy by any means when two pairs of arms AND legs keep trying to pull you back down. You debate screaming bloody murder when you hear someone speak.
“You’re awake”. You turned your head and saw someone sitting up rubbing his eyes looking at you. You recognized the leader of said boy band Namjoon from the many many posters around BigHit.
“I am” your voice sounding more calm than you felt. “Can you tell me where I am and why I’m here with all of you like some weird slumber party?” You we’re holding on the the last shreds of professionalism that you could before screaming to the high heavens.
“You don’t remember finding your soulmates” he asked?
“Excuse me, my what now?” You cocked your head like you didn’t hear him right. “What on earth are you going on about? Soulmate, I don’t have a soulmate.”
“Soulmates” he corrected. By now some of the other members were starting to wake up.
“I AM in a COMA”. You were starting to babble incoherently in a mix of Korean and English with some well placed Spanish swear words your mother used to use when you were little and she was mad. You we’re starting to panic and began trying to climb off the bed all the while the two boys on your bed were snoozing away like nothing was happening. You managed to fall off of the bed and skittered backwards like a crab til your back hit the wall. You slapped your cheeks willing yourself to wake up.
Namjoon looked next to him and asked “Jin can you call Yuna? I think she may be able to help out with...” he looked at you realizing he didn’t know your name. Jin got up and walked towards the window to call someone.
“Y/N. Sona Y/N.” I...I..I’m a temporary lawyer working at BigHit on some of your international contracts. I’d like to say nice to meet you but maybe when there’s a less murdery vibe and location.” You were quickly getting your bearings together and began to gather your composure. “Now can you please tell me why I’m here being cuddled to death by those thing one and thing two over there” you point towards the bed. Several giggles and laughs were heard at this. You on the other hand were not sure what was so funny.
A deep voice in the corner answered this time. “Well thing one and two as you called them, or as we like to call them Jimin and Jungkook are your soulmates “ he said matter-of-factly like it was everyday normal. “I’m Taehyung, you can call me Tae or Tae-Tae to piss them off if you want.” His big boxy grin made him look like a mischievous child You couldn’t help but give him a wary smile. Someone else, you think it was J-Hope came towards you and thrust forward a hand. You cautiously took it and he helped you up from the floor. You began dusting off your skirt and straightening your blouse internally thanking the almighty upstairs that you were still clothed while eying all of them suspiciously. “I’m Hoseok, but you can call me Hobi if you want.”
Jin turned around after hanging up and offered you the only chair in the room. You quickly shuffled over sitting down and tried to ask again why you were here. In a bedroom, on a bed with your soulmates and their band mates all in the same room. “ Can someone please just tell me what happened?” Your voice staring to crack as you were close to tears. “This just feels too extrodinary to believe. You keep saying I have soulmates, as in plural. I didn’t even know that was possible.” It was then that you looked at your left hand and saw the red string tatoo. “WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK IS HAPPENING TO ME....Did I have a stroke? How...what...why...” your words became so jumbled you weren’t making any sense and you were pretty sure a panic attack was just a moment away from tackling your neurotic ass into submission. Jin kneeled in front of you telling you to breathe. “ In through the nose....out through the mouth Y/N. You can do it just breathe in and out, in and out...that’s it, you got it, in...out.” You sat there holding his hands while Tae began rubbing your back in circles as they were trying their best to calm you down. Jin explained to you that he also has a soulmate named Yuna and she is ready to come talk to you about what being attached to an idol can be like.
Across the room you heard a groggy voice “Uugghhhh....get off me Jungkookah. Why are we in bed? What happened” could be heard from the bed you just left. Jimin was sitting up while shoving Jungkook off of him and staring around the room. Jungkook fell off the bed. He jumped up and was getting ready to tackle his hyung who knocked him down when his eyes landed on you. He was confused as to why a woman, a very pretty woman, but a woman nonetheless was sitting in their studio bedroom at BigHit, surrounded by four of his hyungs. “Um, hello” he said quietly making Jimin look in the same direction. Eyes got wide when he also said a quiet hello and then proceeded to ask Namjoon “ What’s going on. Who is she and why are we all in here. I thought we were going to dinner?”
“See, I’m not the only one confused” you exclaimed louder and much squeakier than you meant. “Apparently we are soulmates” you say while gesturing to the both of them and yourself. “Surprise “ you say throwing up jazz hands and beginning to laugh at the outrageous looks on both of their faces.
“Who, who is your soulmate?” They both say at the same time.
Namjoon looks at you knowing you are barely holding on at the moment and answers for you. “All three of you are soulmates”.
They stare at each other then at you then at the group and both start laughing. “Ok ok, good joke hyung, stop playing around. Did you knock us out and this is a mystery mission? “ “Are we on a run BTS episode we didn’t know was being filmed?” They took turns asking like this was a prank or something.
When they see no one other than you are deadly serious they stop and start to freak out as well. “ARE YOU SERIOUS?” They look at each other only to both shout out that they couldn’t be soulmates. Why is it just happening now after knowing each other all these years. Brothers yes, soulmates no. NOPE. NO WAY, WHAT THE FUCK.
You get up and walk over to them. You grab both of their left hands and show them the tattoos. You peek inside your shirt and confirm you have the soulmates date above your heart, and tell them to check their chests as well. You strangely feel calm being around the two of them and less like a victim of some K-Pop Serial Killer drama that you stepped into, and you realize they also both settle down while you’re holding onto them.
Namjoon gets up and begins to explain that though it’s rare, there are known cases of multiple soulmates. They are harder to find because all of the mates must be together for their souls to connect. Once they do connect though the bond is stronger than a normal soulmates bond and can come with difficulties due to the relationship aspect of it. Prejudice often follows a poly soulmate connection due to the narrow mindedness of society and can often be looked down on. He tells the three of you that you should tell management right away so they can have a plan in place. Fans aren’t always supportive of their bias’s soulmates, and Y/N having two of the most popular idols in Korea as hers are going to come with challenges. Especially with you being a foreigner.
You three look at each other and back at Namjoon, silently agreeing to these terms. He also suggests you three need time together alone to get to know about each other because you all three had different lives leading up to today, and it would be best to figure out where you all should go from here. Other people’s feelings and relationships are going to be affected by what has happened and you all needed to be prepared for any backlash.
“Ok, now that this is all settled can we please get some dinner?” You hear from the other bed where apparently Yoongi has been napping throughout all the mental breakdowns.
To be continued...
Taglist: @mrcleanheichou @itsminniekat @dreamescapeswriting @seaoffangirling @4evahevah @sonderkook @bisexualmess007 @chxustuff @aviwasabi21 @skyys-universe @ally22042000 @ramblingsofawolfgirl
#jimin#jungkook#bts jimin#bts jungguk#bts#jikook#jeon jungkook#park jimin#jungkook x reader#jimin x reader#poly bts x reader#poly bts#bts imagine#bts x soulmate#bts x reader#jikook are my soulmates#bts soulmate au#bts soulmates#jimin soulmate au#jungkook soulmate au
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