#hint: it had to be in 2 colors for me to tolerate it
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The Lovers Part 2
Knight! Pedro Pascal x Princess! F! Reader
Part 1
Synopsis: Y/N insert, mentions of blood and war, fantasy settings, contract marriage, age gap, fake marriage
Genre: fluff, angst
Warnings: Y/N insert, fantasy settings, contract marriage, age gap, fake marriage, hand kissing/holding?, anger, anxiety
Gif credits to owners!
This was a bad idea. You were sure this was a bad idea. How did he talk you into this? Glancing over to your left, your eyes met Sir Pascal's, a hint of amusement gleamed behind them. He was having fun, while you were a heap of anxiety.
"Are you sure this is a good idea?" You needed some sort of conformation.
"I'm always one hundred percent sure of everything." He said with a shrug.
You rolled you eyes and peered forward. No matter how attractive Sir Pascal was, his personality was a bit exhausting. You hoped you could get used to it or at least tolerate it.
"I think you should do all the talking." You were losing your confidence, the closer you got to your father's office. Last night Sir Pascal walked you to your room, your legs still shaky. He let you lean on him for support. Any other time you would've found the act improper but you needed him in that moment. You ushered you inside with a quiet goodnight and you both agreed to tell your father in the morning.
Now here you were outside of your father's office with Sir Pascal, your color draining from your face. He took a deep breath and looked over at you.
"It would probably be better coming from you. You can do it."
You sighed, "I know, it's just I've never really defied him and..."
He leaned forward, resting his forehead on yours.
"Your father loves you, he wouldn't be so regretful about the marriage if he didn't. It'll be fine."
You nodded, raising your head back up to the door. Raising your hand to knock, you sighed.
A come in was heard from the inside. You gripped the door knob with sweaty palms and walked inside. You glanced behind you to see Sir Pascal not following you. Your eyes pleaded him.
"Go ahead, I'll be right outside." He whispered while squeezing your other hand in reassurance.
When the door closed behind you, your father finally looked up from his paperwork, eyeing you from the tops of his glasses.
"Oh, my dear, there you are. We were all worried when you disappeared from the party last night. Listen, I'm sorry I didn't tell you sooner, it was just.... I wasn't sure how to tell you." His look was apologetic. You wrung your hands nervously.
"Father... I can't go through with the marriage." You tried to sound confident, but you knew it was in vain. You had learnt to have a sort of air to your way of speaking, but whenever it came to your father you never could keep it up.
"Y/N, I'm sorry but it isn't up to you and its not up for discussion. The deal has already been made and-"
You cut him off, "No! I can't go through with it because I'm already married." There it was, you had said it. No going back now.
"You what?" You could hear the anger in the back of his voice.
You cleared your throat, "When the Corenth regiment first came to town, a specific high ranking officer caught my eye. We had a chance meeting." That was putting it lightly. "We quickly fell for each other and began sneaking around. He was a first for me, for a lot of things." You cleared your throat again, taking a pause. "Not long after he proposed and I was so blinded by it all that I said yes. The next day we were married in secret with a few of the other knights as witnesses."
You paused again. This was the story you and Sir Pascal had come up with. Short and sweet. Didn't get too into detail but also laid everything out perfectly. You hoped your father believed you.
"I know what my duties are and I know I shouldn't have done what I had done. I know you are going to be mad but my heart told me it was the right thing to do."
Your father stood from his desk and walked around it, making his way over to you.
"Y/N..." It was so quiet you barely didn't catch it. Your stare that was stuck to the floor slowly lifted up to your father's face.
"Yes, I am mad and I wish you would've told me sooner. But, I can see the look you have. You're in love and I can't ask you to throw that love away. I'm sure since he is a high ranking official that we can work out another deal with Corenth. But I have to meet your husband first."
Husband. That word was still so foreign. Plus there was still the matter of actually marrying Sir Pascal.
You couldn't believe your father had believed you. Part of you thought he would see right through you and laugh you away, walking you down the aisle to the Prince of Corenth within the next hour.
You nodded, "He's actually outside right now, I had a feeling you would want to talk to him."
Your father let out a laugh as you walked to the door and opened it, ushering Sir Pascal inside. You needed to learn his first name. Sir Pascal bowed to your father.
"So, this is my daughter's new husband. Sir..." He looked to the knight, urging his name from him.
"Sir Pedro Pascal of Corenth, your grace." He bowed again.
"Pedro..." You breathed out. The two men glanced over at you. You smiled and shook your head lightly, acting like you didn't say anything.
"Well, don't be afraid, son, you can stand a little closer to your wife." Your father laughed, while leaning against his desk. You hadn't noticed the distance between you two, until your father pointed it out.
"I didn't want to do anything against your wishes, your grace." Sir Pascal said with a confident smile. Inching closer to you, he reached one hand down and grasped your own. You and your father looked down at the small gesture. An aura of love flashed behind your father's eyes.
"Oh, your mother is going to be so angry with you. You know she's going to want to throw you a real wedding, too." You nodded, knowing both of these things already.
"Why don't you go and find her and Sir Pascal can stay here with me. I would like to have a talk...man to man." You nodded once again and glanced over at Sir Pascal. He gave you a reassuring look. Rising your hand to his lips, he ghosted a kiss there, letting it fall back down to your side. Your cheeks flushed.
"I'll come find you in a bit, my love." Sir Pascal's words sent a shock wave through you. Quickly you recovered and left your father's office.
You were about to walk down the hallway to find your mother when you had the idea to eavesdrop at the door. You were never one for eavesdropping, of course you would hear a few rumors when they were passed around the castle. But you never went looking for gossip. Although today, something told you to listen in on the two men.
It was hard to hear through the thick door, but as you pressed your ear to it, you could make out a few words. Something about "princess", "knight", and "marriage" coming from your father. Sir Pascal's deep voice was harder to hear, but you heard something about "love" then he must have made a joke because your father laughed. Sighing, you gave up on trying to listen in and made your way through the palace to find your mother. Dreading how she would react to the news.
---- Later That Night ----
Your mother did not take the news well. She was furious with you, lecturing you once again about being reckless and immature. You stood there and took it all in, knowing that you couldn't say anything to calm her down. She needed time. Eventually, your father made his way over to his queen and laid a hand on her shoulder. This instantly calmed her down and she turned to him.
"Dear, this child...how could she be so..." All of your mother's anger seemed to drain from her when she met your father's eyes. He had this way of always calming her down with one look. When you were younger you thought it was because he was the king but as you grew older you knew it was pure love.
Something about seeing the look now brought a pain to your heart. You used to want a love like that, but now the pain was in knowing you would never get it.
"He's a very nice man and she's so in love, I can see it." Your mother's eyes softened even more at your father's words. You had both decided it was best for Sir Pascal to not be here when you told your mother. She would need time to calm down before meeting him.
"I need to go to my chambers, I don't want to be bothered anymore tonight." She said in a rush and left the office. You and your father shared a look and he gave you a little nod. You bowed and left as well.
As soon as you made it out the door a voice spoke to your left.
"It didn't go too well did it?" You turned to see Sir Pascal leaning against the wall a little ways down the hall. Making your way over to him, you shrugged.
"She's always been a bit high-strung, I knew she would be harder to convince."
"Are you okay?" Something about the genuine concern in his voice threw you off guard. You nodded, despondently.
"Hey, wanna see something?" He pleaded you. Your head tilted in curiosity and he grabbed your hand, dragging you through the palace and towards the library.
He pushed you inside and closed the double doors behind you, locking them. You furrowed your brows at the action.
"So we aren't disturbed." He answered your silent question and ran through the aisles of the library before you could respond. He was scanning one of the rows as you slowly caught up. As you rounded the corner, he yelled out a "Found it!"
"Look!" He shoved the book into your hands. You looked down at and read the cover.
"Beauty and the Beast?" Still confused, you looked up at him. He was looking back at you expectantly.
"You wanted to show me a children's storybook?"
His face dropped a bit, but he recovered quickly, responding "Not just a children's storybook! Our blueprint!"
"Our blueprint?" You couldn't hide the shock from your voice.
"Yes, a story of love prevailing through anything. He is a complete beast who has no promise and no hope. But she is the essence of hope, the essence of beauty. You are my essence." Your shock was building with every word that came out of his mouth. Yet, his words made you blush.
"As a knight I don't have many goals but to get up in the ranks. I am never home so I've never had the opportunity to love or to have someone love me. I have no family, a few friends but no one I can bare my soul to." He paused and grabbed your hands.
"Look, I know you think that I was just giving you a way out of your situation but I needed you as much as you needed me. I will give you everything, all I ask is for you to be a friend, a confidant."
Another pause, you took the opportunity to test out his first name.
"Pedro..." The words clung to your breath. His caught in his throat.
"I-" A indiscernible look washed over him.
He coughed lightly, "I would never ask you to feel the feelings I do. I would never ask you to pretend with me. All I want is your promise that you will not let the situation, or any mistakes I may make, to stop you from letting yourself love. Whether that love is for me or anyone else."
You nodded, speechless.
"Although I really do hope your love could be mine."
Taglist:
@mandy-eminem-moxley77 @kittenlittle24
#pedro pascal#fanfiction#pedro pascal fluff#fanfic#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal imagine#the last of us#games of thrones#oberyn martell#knight x princess#princess reader
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When the dragons fly(book 2)
Aelon comes back in a good mood, but then he fights for his life when Ennard decides to show his true colors. Luckily, you get there just in time and teach Ennard a harsh lesson.
Chapter 6
Warnings: violence, use of real weapons, harassment, cursing, threats of being cut, a knife held against a throat, slander, reader beating the life out of Ennard, blood being spilled, banishment, and mentions of starvation.
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Aelon strolled out of the path that led to the river, carrying his broken dummy and the training swords. He felt happy as he couldn't stop smiling and nearly hopped on his steps like a happy rabbit. He dropped his things at the porch of his house and began putting them back in their places till Eweniel walked up to him. "Aelon, where have you been? I haven't seen you for the rest of the day?" Eweniel questioned.
"Sorry, I was with a friend," Aelon grinned, eager to tell about his dueling session with Maedhros, but then he saw Helena rushing toward them. Her eyes held fear as she kept looking behind her like she was being chased by something. She even stumbled on her feet as she hurried toward them.
Aelon could sense something amiss and waited until she finally reached him and Eweniel. "Helena. What's wrong? What are you running from?" he asked as she glanced around anxiously.
"I am. Sorry, but can I hide in your house?" Helena quickly asked.
"Sure... but why?" Aelon asked, confused.
"Well..." Helena began but then jolted when someone suddenly yelled her name. “Helena!” Ennard showed up, marching toward them with a furious expression. Aelon gripped the training sword in his hand, feeling fearful and cautious as the man approached like a charging bull.
"Why do you keep running away from me?!" Ennard angrily demanded as he stood before her.
"Because you won't leave me alone! When will you get it in your head that I'm not interested in courting you or with you in general," Helena snapped at him, trying to avoid raising her voice. Aelon could tell she was trying to hold back her anger. He had seen her angry with her brother and father when they got careless, but never to this extent.
"Oh! So after all these nice things I've done for you! You tell me you're not interested!" Ennard said like he had been offended.
"Tell me! What's so unpleasant about me that you don't even want to look at me?!" he demanded again.
"Everything! Literally everything!" Helena nearly cried.
"All you do is stare at me. You say vulgar things about people and keep giving these dead animals as gifts, especially when we don't ask for them! I'm serious, like stop it! Even my father starts to find you disturbing!" she yelled, her voice nearly breaking with frustration and despair.
"Ew!" Eweniel cringed.
"I would never want someone like you! What do I have to do to make you stop bothering me?!" Helena yelled stressfully, gaining attention from other villagers.
"Yeah! So, get the hint already, even if she went on a date with you. You wouldn't probably even treat her right," Eweniel commented.
"You talk like you're better than anyone else," she added.
"Shut up, brat!" Ennard snapped at her.
"Hey! Don't talk to her like that!" Aelon said, feeling anger rising within him again.
"Even the children can see it!" Helena rolled her eyes.
"You know what?" Ennard snapped.
"I'm done with you. Bitching in everything!" He pointed at Eweniel.
"I'm done with you, you purple-eyed freak!" he spat at Aelon.
"And I'm done with you rejecting my advantages!" he pointed at Helena.
"I have served under your father for the past eleven years! Following his orders left and right! I believe I have earned my reward for tolerating him! " Ennard forcefully grasped her wrist. “Right now!” he began to pull violently.
"Let go of me!" Helena pulled back, panic rising within her eyes.
"Hey! Get off her!" Eweniel yelled.
"Get lost!" Ennard backhanded her hard in the face. Eweniel shrieked as she fell to the ground from the force of the slap, which gained more attention from the other villagers.
"Ewe!" Aelon yelled worriedly before seeing Ennard pull Helena away, the older female desperately hitting the man with her fist.
"Let go, you bastard!" Helena screamed.
Aelon didn’t know what to do, but he then raised his training sword above his head and hit Ennard hard in the back. Ennard yelled from the pain, giving Helena a chance to tug her hand out of his grip and back away. Ennard turned toward Aelon with fury in his eyes.
"So, you wanna play a little hero now, freak?!" Ennard pulled out a hunting knife.
"No! Ennard, stop it!" Helena yelled as her family came running to her. People began to come to see what was happening.
Aelon watched in fear as Ennard twirled the knife in his hand. He quickly ducked as Ennard tried to hit him with the knife and blocked when the older man tried to hit him from the side.
Aelon backed away, his hands shaking as he was now against Ennard, who held a real deadly weapon in his hands.
Ennard charged, making the villagers gasp in fear.
Aelon managed to block the attack, but then Ennard grabbed onto his wooden stick, grinning maniacally.
"How about I give you another cut on the cheek?" he asked as they struggled for control.
Aelon then saw a chance to strike after being reminded of his duel with Maedhros. He pushed the top of his training sword hard into Ennard's guts, making the man stumble back and groan from the pain.
Aelon quickly hit Ennard in the back of his knee, making the man kneel before striking him in the back of his neck. Ennard fell against the ground like a tree trunk.
"Yeah! Aelon, that was awesome!" Eweniel cheered with a reddened cheek before her mother turned her around to see the mark. "Ewe! What happened? Who did this to you?!" her mother asked in horror as the village chief and Helena's father finally arrived at the scene.
"Ennard hit me! He was going to do something bad to Helena, then Aelon kicked his ass!" Eweniel pointed at groaning Ennard.
"What? You dare to hit my daughter?!" Eweniel's mother angrily glared at the man.
As Aelon was looking toward Eweniel and her mother, Ennard suddenly grabbed him by his hair, pushing the knife against his neck. Aelon stood frozen as he felt the sharp, cold steel against his throat.
"I'm gonna cut you, you little ---!"
"You're gonna do what, Ennard?" you suddenly pushed through the crowd, glaring at him while carrying the basket under your arm.
Ennard stared back at you as you walked closer, looking into his eyes.
"Let him go," you ordered with a controlled tone.
"I do not take orders from you!" he barked at you. "Let him go---and maybe— this can still end peacefully," you said calmly.
You two engaged in a tense staring contest. Ennard glared at you, holding the knife against Aelon’s throat, but you kept a calm composure. He tried to appear threatening, but you gave no reaction, simply staring into his eyes with a controlled frown. With a growl, Ennard released Aelon, allowing the little boy to run to you for safety.
Aelon hid behind you, tears falling from his eyes. You broke off your eye contact with Ennard to look down on your little brother, staring at him with a soft expression while stroking his hair.
"Are you hurt?"
Aelon shook his head, sniffing his runny nose, no doubt frightened from having a knife held dangerously against his neck.
You returned your glare toward Ennard.
"Ennard, you dare to harm my daughter and Aelon?!" Helena's father yelled, furious after Helena told him what had happened. "I always knew you were a strange man, but this is unforgivable!" he nearly charged at the said man.
Ennard pointed his knife at him, halting the man from coming closer.
"You're trash. You're all trash!" Ennard declared, staring at you and all the villagers.
"Eleven years serving as your dog, and you refused to pick me as the next head of the Watchmen," Ennard started. "It should have been me!" he screamed, "Since I couldn't have that. I figured I could have your daughter for myself," he spat angrily at Helena’s father.
“It’s what I deserved!” he yelled.
"Ennard. You have always been a troubled man, but now that you have threatened to harm a child. Your actions are punishable by banishment," the chief said.
"Banishment?" Ennard started laughing.
"You dare to banish me after wronging me like this?" he glared at Aelon.
"You dare to banish me and not this purple-eyed freak. I mean, look at it! Does that thing even look human?!" he questioned while pointing his knife at Aelon.
Aelon released a quiet gasp, gripping your hand tighter. You could feel him shaking and trying to hold back his tears, but they fell freely as the grazed man continued berating him in front of the whole village.
You glanced at Ennard, having decided what to do next. Pulling your hand away from Aelon’s grasp, he looked at you as you handed him the basket.
"Aelon. Can you hold this for me?" you asked.
"Uh... okay,'' Aelon grabbed the basket and watched you began walking toward Ennard. You tightened the bandages on your injured arm before reaching Helena’s father.
"You little piece of --" Helena's father growled under his breath till you stopped him. "Mr. Hadar. Please, allow me," you said and stepped forward.
You picked up Aelon's training sword as Ennard glared at you.
"Ennard, since you always had doubts about me. How about we clear them up and settle this once and for all since violence seems to be the only language you understand?" you asked as you stood in front of him.
Ennard laughed maniacally.
"Fine by me, but do you really think I'm afraid of you?" he spat.
"No, but you will be afraid of what I am about to do to you," you stated.
Ennard growled at your threat, throwing away the knife and pulling out his sword.
Aelon gasped, holding onto the basket tightly.
Ennard prepared himself.
"You're not going to fetch that pretty sword of yours?" he asked.
"I'm only going to teach you a harsh lesson. If I pick up a sword -- you would die," you said, unfazed by Ennard’s intimidation, "And besides... your blood is not worthy to stain its steel,"
Ennard only seemed more enraged by your statement and charged at you with a sword raised above his head.
You stepped aside and struck him in the elbows, making him nearly lose the sword and hold his elbow in pain. He looked at you angrily as you pointed the wooden stick at him while walking around him calmly.
He threw his sword around, trying to hit you, but you only walked back, the steel not even grazing you. Not that he even made an effort to hit you with focus. It was random.
You only blocked him once and hit him straight in the face, making him step back.
Enraged even further, Ennard charged at you. You set your weapon to a side as you waited for him. You then swiped your hand to grab his wrist that held the sword, then grabbed the back of his neck with your other hand. You spin him around to control his momentum before sending him running face-first into a tree. You walked back to pick up your weapon.
Eweniel giggled at the sight while Aelon was staring with wonder. You maintained such a calm expression, and Ennard failed to even land a single hit on you. It looked like you were disciplining a wild beast.
Aelon then felt something move inside the basket in his hands.
Ennard screamed at you, making you raise the training sword in defense when he threw his sword at you. However, his sword was sharp enough to cut the stick in half. You quickly backed away before the blade could hit you and held on to the two pieces of the training sword.
Aelon gasped in fear, his concentration back in the duel.
Ennard laughed while pointing his sword at you.
"Ha! What are you gonna do now? Oh, such a great warrior!" he mocked. "When I'm done with you. I'm going to --"
You didn't give him a chance to finish as you used the two pieces to strike Ennard and disarm him from the sword. Ennard looked back at you in shock as you held his sword, then threw it away.
He charged at you, but you only hit him in the face and his behind, making him fall forward while holding his bleeding nose.
Infuriated, he charged at you again, but swiftly, you began battering him with the two sticks, not giving him a chance to lay a finger on you. You wielded the sticks like wielding two blades.
Stubbornly, Ennard tried using his fists, but you were too quick for him, and all your next strikes hit him harder than the last one.
Aelon and the villagers watched how the man’s resolve began to stagger and his movement sluggish. You continued the dance of beating till you had enough and finally struck him hard enough to send him flying to the ground.
Ennard coughed blood out of his mouth and then stared at you in fear as you stood above him, looking down at him with a cold expression.
"Please..." he began to beg as you spun the broken stick in your hand. Holding up the sharper end of the stick like a stake, you then struck down on Ennard.
The chief and the villagers yelled, thinking you had killed the man, but then they saw you had struck the wooden stake into the ground beside Ennard's head, leaving him alive yet frightened.
Grabbing his hair, you forced Ennard to look deep into your eye. "Next time, you dare to do something like this. I won't be so merciful," you said quietly before releasing him and walking away.
Ennard glared after you, bleeding from his mouth and nose. In anger, he grabbed onto the wooden stake beside his head, trying to pull it out, only to find it pushed deep into the earth that even his strength was not enough. He stared at the stick with fear in his eyes.
"Thank you, (Name), like this, I do not think he will give much trouble once we kick him out," Hadar said with a satisfied look as you walked past him.
"Do whatever you wish to him. I think I have proven myself enough for the day," you said as you approached Aelon.
The villagers stared at you, some bearing fear and respect in their eyes as they turned their attention upon Ennard while you kept your eyes on Aelon, who looked at you with amazement.
You smiled at him softly. "Ready to go inside? It's been a long day,"
Aelon looked left and right before grabbing your hand and pulling you closer. "(Name)... what's inside the basket?" he asked.
Your smile became wider.
"I’ll show you," You motioned him to follow. Aelon followed you inside your home while carrying the sealed basket, curious to see what was inside.
Inside the safety of your home, Aelon followed you to the kitchen, where you prompted him to set the basket down on the table. He set the basket down and then watched as you grabbed onto the basket’s cover and revealed what was beneath it.
Aelon's eyes widened along with his mouth as he saw three wingless baby dragons looking back at him.
"Dragons!" he loudly said, startling the three dragons inside the basket.
"Quiet down..." you hushed, "They're sensitive to loud noises, so be gentle,"
"Oh," Aelon slapped his mouth shut. "Sorry," he uttered as he stared at the little dragons, who cautiously returned his gaze.
All of their eyes were golden. The biggest of the three had dark red scales and buffed its chest, trying to intimidate Aelon. The second one had green scales with some yellow on its belly. The third one was similarly red to the biggest but had white under its belly, and Aelon could see smoke coming out of its nostrils.
Aelon couldn't help but feel excited and slightly concerned when he noticed how thin they were. They were so thin he could see their ribs.
"Where did you find them?" Aelon asked as you brought a plate of meat you had cut into pieces.
"I found them in an abandoned nest, not too far from the road we use to get to the town," you explained while giving a small meat piece to the dragons, who began to tumble upon each other to get the meat first. "I searched and tried to wait for a parent, but there was no sight of either of them, " you added. The biggest of the three snatched the meat from your hand, trying to devour it in one bite. You gave more pieces to the other two before they would try to fight their sibling for the meat piece.
"And taken their state. They haven't eaten well in a long time, mostly surviving on rats and whatever insects happened to wander into the nest," you explained as the other two began ravenously eating their share of the food. “It’s honestly a surprise they hadn’t tried eating each other yet,”
"Oh, you poor things," Aelon said as he tried to feed one of them with a piece of meat.
“I… spent the whole day trying to gain their trust, and luckily, they warmed up to me quickly. I can’t imagine what would have happened if I had come too late,” you looked at Aelon, thinking about how Ennard nearly sliced his throat open.
"Ennard was gonna do something bad to Helena," Aelon said. "I couldn't just stand there and watch,"
You smiled. "It was brave of you... and apparently, you managed to beat him before I got there,"
"I did," Aelon giggled. "Though I did get help from Nelyo," he added.
"Nelyo?" you questioned with a raised brow.
"Yeah, the tall elf from the town. He came for a visit and helped me train," Aelon explained.
"Oh? Well, that's wonderful. Pity thought. I would have loved to be here to greet him," you said.
"Don't worry. Nelyo promised to come for another visit. He even said he could teach me how to ride a horse," Aelon said, then focused on the dragon that dared to come for the piece of meat in his fingers.
Aelon watched as the smallest of the three came near him. It sniffed the meat piece before snatching it from his fingers and swallowing it with one gulp. Aelon giggled as the little creature sniffed his fingers for more.
“You must be starving,” Aelon said, attempting to give it a gentle pet. The little dragon looked at him with confusion when he touched its head but then started purring as Aelon began softly scratching its head.
"Can we keep them?" Aelon asked.
"Well, I was not planning to throw them out to survive on their own again," you chuckled.
"What about Baleria and Falconer?"
"We'll come to that once they're well fed. I'm sure they will accept a few more members to our family," you said.
“Oh! What are their names going to be?!” Aelon asked excitedly, making you laugh and shake your head.
"Let’s come to that later. They need to be comfortable with us first before we can start with the naming,” you said as you both continued feeding the little dragons. The day's trifles momentarily forgotten as you two welcomed three new members to your family.
Taglist: @natchayaphorn @kimnamnu@thatrandomidiot182 @springfountain
#silmarillion x reader#silmarillion#tolkien#silm fic#middle earth x reader#when the dragons fly#hotd x reader#hotd#middle earth#silmarillion imagines#various x reader#targaryen reader#silmarillion x targaryen reader#maedhros x reader
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Traitor
Pairing: Yasuhiro "Mucho" Muto x Original Character, various pairings will be added as the story goes
Genre: Angst, crack, possible smut
Warnings: substance abuse, drugs, violence, not canon compliant, suggestive, language, blood, mental issues
Synopsis: There was a prince, his princess and his loyal paw. Loyalty is such a wide term, especially if come to love. After all, you can't be loyal to the one and same person your whole life. It's not about surviving, it's about living. | More or less canonical travel through events from Tokyo Revengers from the quite different side. A lot of crack, angst, domestic fluff from Haitanis Household. Based on an OC as the main character.
2. Zero to hundred and crash
25/10/2010, Monday
"This time only with pure intentions" Sora raised both of her hands in a peaceful manner.
"What is exactly that intention?" Hanma asked, crossing his hands on his chest. He was sitting on an old, worn armchair, on his right side Chonbo and Chome, on his left Choji had taken a place. Sora didn't feel anywhere near comfortable under him as the armchair was placed above three stairs and if it wasn't enough, surrounded by over a hundred completely strange men. The only thing that had given her a feeling of relative safety was the fact that Reaper introduced her as Haitani.
"We want to take part in Toman's great fall." She quickly explained.
"We?"
"Me and my broken heart." Sora theatrically sighed, waiting for Hanma's reaction.
Shuji Hanma was an unpredictable case. He might look dumb. He might sound dumb. He might pretend to be dumb. But he wasn't dumb at all. Actually, out of all leading delinquents in Kantou, he might be the smartest one. Or, at least, one of the smartest ones.
That's why he got the hint immediately.
"You gotta know I'm not taking stray cats in here."
"I'm not a stray cat."
Tension between Kabukichou's infamous Reaper and Yakuza's princess was so powerful that nobody dared to breathe too loud.
"Fact, you're a spoiled banana girl who thinks this is another way to entertain herself. How can you prove you're useful?"
"How do you want me to prove my usefulness?"
That was a good question. Hanma didn't know how to deal with a girl since the delinquents circle was quite masculine. However, he had to admit, at least to himself, that the Haitani name would empower Valhalla even more. Even if it was Haitani's pet.
"Every single one of those gathered here" Hanma waved his hand around "had become famous by being an unstoppable, fearless and merciless warrior. You gotta prove your power, I won't tolerate any of my subordinates bringing me shame in a fight." Hanma clearly stated. He looked around. "Eenie, meenie… you." He pointed his finger on one of Valhalla's fighters, standing in the third or fourth row of the crowd. "Test miss Haitani."
The boy Hanma pointed to stepped in front of the gathering. He wasn't anything special, just an average man at his age. Valhalla's members made a bit more space, expecting what was coming. So was expecting Sora, turning to her soon-to-be opponent. She smiled slightly and waved at him.
"No weapons, Haitani" Hanma pointed out. Sora reacted immediately, grabbing the backpack she was carrying, taking her beloved machete out and dropping it on the floor in the colorful gesture.
After this, everything happened quickly. She rushed towards her opponent, throwing the first shoot. This was quite an even fight, considering the amount of exchanged hits.
Sora wouldn't say it was going very good since she had been served powerful hits in her stomach and one in her jaw. Valhalla's warrior wasn't holding back just because he was fighting a girl, which Sora quite appreciated.
In the end, she managed to pull him to the ground and catch his leg in a hold that Rindou once taught her. If the boy wanted to finish that fight without a broken leg, he had to surrender.
Haitani let go of him and stood back on her feet, turning her face to Hanma and his captains.
"And? Impre…" Sora opened her mouth but sudden, blunt pain on the top of her head didn't let her finish. She groaned and grabbed the aching place, feeling a metallic taste of blood in her mouth. Turning around to spot an aggressor, she noticed her former opponent, standing with a metal pipe in his hand. Everyone around them frozed.
"What the fuck did you just do?" Sora spat out. Immediately, the whole world became red in her eyes and she didn't fully realize that he was saying something about not losing to a girl. She looked around and spotted her abandoned weapon laying on the ground. "You're a fucking goner."
She threw herself at him with the machete, and he did not remain debted. Although she was dizzying from the impact, she managed to hurt her opponent. The blood was poured, both her and his. Sora was not entirely sure, but he seemed to cut her eyebrow. It had to be true, because the blood began to drip into her eyes and limit the field of view.
Choji wasn't very enjoying the spectacle, but he knew he couldn't do anything as long as Hanma didn't tell him to. He had been looking at his leader every now and then but Hanma seemed to be completely invested in a whole fight. After a while that felt like eternity, Hanma spoke up.
"It's enough, you're gonna kill each other!" He yelled out, sick smirk still on his face, but none of the fighters really heard him. He patted Chonbo's arm and told him and Chome to get them apart. Choji rushed right behind them but Hanma held him back. "Not you." Masked boy looked up at him and frowned. There was something about him and Sora that Valhalla's leader didn't like. Probably the fact he even brought her here.
Chonbo grabbed Sora's wrist when she was about to pull another slash on her opponent. "It's good, Haitani" He said, letting her know she shouldn't try and keep fighting. On the opposite side, his brother pushed the other man away and kicked him in the ribcage, when he was trying to get to Sora. "Are you fucking deaf? Hanma said "no weapons", you damn moron" He spat out, turning around and going back to his place on the platform.
Sora had to admit she was very grateful Hanma stopped the fight. She didn't see much anymore, the whole world seemed to be red out of anger, her head felt dizzy and she felt like she was going to pass out. Even though she managed to hurt the guy several times, he was quite a good fighter too and she got many solid hits on her head, back and stomach. At least she was sure he's going to remember her with a couple of scars she for sure caused.
She assured Chonbo she had given up so he let go of her wrist. Turning around, she made a really drastic picture – all bloody and panting, looking up at Hanma with a blunt smirk. "Impressed?"
"Not really, I've seen better. You're interesting though, welcome in Valhalla" He said officially and clapped his hands. "I'm tired of you all, dismissed" He waved his people off. "You" he pointed out to the man he chose to test Sora before, "Come here." It didn't surprise anyone when he approached Hanma, all startled, and got a solid hit on his jaw. "Try to ignore my commands one more time and I'll drive your head over with my bike. Understood?" The man nodded rapidly and got himself out of the hideout as fast as possible. The hall deserted very soon and Sora turned to the exit too.
"Stay, Haitani, you're a mess" Hanma called out. "Choji, patch your bitch up, she's bleeding" He turned to his captain and jumped off of the platform, heading to the back room.
"She's not my bitch. Are you my bitch?" He sighed and asked, while leading her behind Hanma.
"I'm not your bitch." She shook her head and immediately regretted it.
"See? She's not my bitch." Choji shrugged the whole thing off.
Turned out there was a small back room in Valhalla's hideout. Previously, when the Arcade was still working, it surely was a Staff Room.
Choji pointed out at the chair and Sora simply sat down. He handed her some band aids and sanitizer. Her head was hurting way too much to argue.
“Why did you establish Valhalla?” She asked curiously.
“I’m bored.” He answered bluntly, pulling a beer out of the small, barely working fridge. “Now, what are you really here for?”
“I told you.”
“You put up some show, I don’t know what you were talking about.”
“For real. I wanna take someone from Toman down.” Sora said, sighing when she cleaned up an especially ugly wound.
“Who?” Hanma asked, raising one of his eyebrows.
“You’ll see when I succeed.” She answered simply and fished her phone out of the pocket. “Gotta go.”
When she got up from her seat, Choji followed her.
“I’ll drive her home and come back.” He muttered, pulling the hood over his head.
They left the Arcade and headed to Choji’s bike.
“Hurts?” He asked.
“Like hell.” Sora sighed, taking a place behind him.
When she arrived home, she tried her best to avoid meeting her brothers.
“Sora?” She almost reached her room unbothered when Rindou’s head appeared at the door of the bathroom.
“Yeah?” Sora muttered, not turning around to face him.
“Ran called you a couple of times.” Rin said, walking out of the bathroom. Sora frozed with her hand on the doorknob.
“I was with friends.” She explained. “I’m literally over 20, I don’t have to tell you where I am.”
“Turn around.” The middle Haitani said coldly. Sora had nothing better to do than doing as told. “Why are you all beaten up?” He asked, his jaw tightened.
Sora turned her head to look at the wall and avoid her brother’s piercing gaze.
“So you really went to Valhalla?” He asked after a long several seconds. Rindou Haitani was never dumb, he usually connected the dots well. “Fuck, didn’t we tell you you don’t have to follow Izana’s orders?!” He raised his voice.
Sora sighed as Rin’s voice sent a wave of pain through her head. “I’m not following his orders. I do this for myself.”
“For yourself? How is getting your ass beaten doing something for yourself?”
“Izana promised me a high position in his ranks.”
Rindou scoffed. “You’re not joining Tenjiku. You’ve got everything, me and Ran are working our asses off so you don’t have to be involved in shit like that. What more do you want?!”
Sora and her brothers barely fought. But this time his words sent her off the edge.
“I don’t want to be dependent on father’s or Ren’s mercy anymore!” Sora growled. “I don’t want to depend on your protection my whole life. I’ll become powerful myself, no matter what you’re saying.” She said boldly looking straight into Rindou’s eyes.
He looked like he was about to leash off but he collected himself after all. “Enough. We’ll talk about it when Ran comes home.” He spat out and headed to his room.
Sora shook her head. Before going to bed, she quickly showered and cleaned up her wounds again. It didn’t look too bad, not too well either.
Sleep had come to her faster than she expected. She would’ve probably slept till the late morning if not for her phone buzzing like crazy. She looked at the bright device.
[Yasuhiro<3] 01:30AM: Can you come out?
Sora frowned and even if she wanted to ignore him after the days he had gone without talking to her, she got up from bed and pulled some hoodie and sweatpants over. As she had already experience in sneaking out of the house, she walked out in the freezing air unseen.
Looking back over her shoulder every now and then, she followed the path that led to the playground she would often meet with Mucho. As expected, he was already sitting on the bench under a huge tree with his arms crossed.
“What the hell happened?” He asked, when Sora came into the light of the street lamp.
“I fought for the spot in Valhalla.” She said, trying her best to sound unbothered by his presence.
“Did you win?”
“Kinda yes, kinda no. But they got me in.” She sighed and took a seat next to him.
The silence fell over between them for a few minutes.
“I wanted to talk.” Mucho said eventually.
Sora looked over at him, feeling her stomach twist. Things like that never sounded good.
“We can’t keep seeing each other anymore.” It was clear that the conversation wasn’t easy for him at all.
“Are you breaking up with me?” Sora said, her voice stern.
“Don’t be mad at me, okay? I never wanted it to turn out this way.”
“What the fuck are you talking about?” She growled. Her eyes widened when she got the specific thought. “Are you seeing someone else?”
“Hell, no. This is nothing like that.” He sighed and ran his fingers through his hair.
“Then explain.”
It took Mucho another couple of minutes to speak up again.
“This is wrong. I feel like I’m betraying Ran and Rindou.” He muttered, looking at his feet.
Sora rapidly got up from the bench and turned to him. “Are you serious? You’re dumping me because of my brothers?!”
“You heard Ran the other day! I can’t afford to lose their trust!” Mucho lost his usual cool.
“But you can afford to lose me?” She asked, feeling her throat tighten.
“Please, Sora. Just think about it.” He said, shaking his head. “Do you think I’m that dumb to believe we have any future together? There will come the day when your family demands from you to marry someone as prestigious as you yourself. And by that time Ran and Rindou will find out about us.” He explained, trying to compose himself. “S-62 is everything I’ve got. This is the only family I have.”
“You can’t be serious.” Sora said as she frozed in her spot. She looked at him with wide eyes, her brain didn’t seem to proceed with the whole explanation yet. “What about you stop being a bitch and man the fuck up?!”
Mucho scoffed and got up as well, he started pacing back and forth. Her last sentence apparently hit the spot. “It must be so easy for you since you’ll never take responsibility for your actions. You will never understand things like that because you have never had to fight for your spot in this world!” He raised his voice. “And don’t try to act like you know anything about us. Our world isn’t for spoiled daddy’s girls like you.” He didn’t quite mean to say this but he knew he had to hurt her as much as possible so she gives up on him.
“I’m not spoiled…” Sora tried to disagree before he cut her off in the middle of the sentence.
“Yeah? So why did Ran and Rindou go to juvie and you didn’t? Because daddy backed you up. Because they took your fault on themselves. How do you even live with that?” He hissed, bending slightly over to look her in the eyes.
Sora was looking at him for a couple of minutes. He couldn’t handle her hurt gaze, so he turned around and kept on pacing back and forth.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that this way.” Mucho muttered under his breath.
“I can say you meant every single word.” She scoffed. “You’ve been dying to tell me that the whole time we know each other, haven’t you? Why did you even date me in the first place if I’m that bad?” Sora muttered with an audible hurt in her voice.
“It’s not like that. I do like you, but… But it doesn’t matter.”
“You know what? First I wanted to make up a lie that I am seeing someone else, but I couldn’t bring myself to do this. Now I know I should have cause you don’t understand thing straight.” He said quietly.
Sora let herself think his words through.
“Go to hell, Mucho.” She said without any emotion in her voice. Then she turned back and walked away, not waiting for him to speak up.
She could feel tears rolling down her cheeks. She didn’t even notice them forming in the corners of her eyes, but they were there already when she was looking at Mucho and he felt like a shit for that.
“Stop playing with things you can’t handle before you trip over your own pride and ruin your life.” Mucho said with a sigh. The conversation didn’t turn out the way he planned, he didn’t mean to lose his calm attitude he was known for.
“See you on Halloween.” She spat out before leaving completely.
26/10/2010, Tuesday
As soon as Sora came back from her final exam, she dressed in loose pants and an oversized shirt and buried herself under the covers.
Last night was a total disaster. After she came back from the confrontation with Mucho, she couldn’t sleep. She was aware of how important the incoming exam was, yet she couldn’t bring herself to sleep nor to study. She spent hours before exam on dull staring at the wall and analyzing every single word Mucho had said. And she still didn’t understand his reasoning.
Sora was switching like a rollercoaster between pure anger and trying to understand what he meant. There were also waves of sadness when she remembered all good things about them. How happy they were when it lasted.
It took her several minutes of fidgeting in bed to realize she wasn’t gonna fall asleep that easily. She was in fact exhausted but the storm in her head wouldn’t go away. As she sat up, she reached to only help for things like that she knew. She pulled a red pill out of her bedside table and swallowed it without a drop of water.
After a while, the pill apparently started working as she began feeling calmer and sleepier.
And when Sora finally laid her head on the pillow peacefully, she could swear only around five minutes passed by before her sweet princess nap was disturbed by someone aggressively yanking her arms.
“Sora, Sora, the fuck!” Ran shouted. It had been already two minutes since he entered his sister's room and tried to wake her up, unsuccessfully. “Wake the hell up!” He shook her shoulders once again, apparently panicked.
“God, Ran” Sora mumbled, sitting up and gently pushing her brother away. “I just came back from the exam, I’m exha…” She grabbed her phone and realized it was way more than five minutes. “Oh.”
“Jesus fucking Christ” Ran spat out, clapping back on the bed, miraculously avoiding to crash on Sora’s legs. “I thought you had taken some shit again.” He explained. “You’re gonna be the death of me” He muttered to himself, looking like a tired father of a teenager.
“Nope, just couldn’t sleep last night.” Sora lied smoothly. She leaned back against the headrest and stretched. “Have you just come back? Where have you been since last night?” She questioned, urging to change the topic.
“Taking care of something for Izana. Nothing important.” Ran shrugged the thing off. His face suddenly wore a serious expression. “Rindou told me you had a disagreement yesterday.” He said, eyeing closely her bruised face.
“Well, yeah. I’m not changing my mind though.” She nodded softly. She still could feel the bruises and cuts all over her body aching. “I need to be someone by myself.” She stated, Mucho’s words still hanging on the back of her head.
Ran looked bluntly at her for a few seconds. Then surprisingly… Chuckled.
“I knew this day would come sooner or later. Couldn’t keep you away from this by being overprotective, I guess.” He shook his head slightly. “I could’ve seen those… urges in you since a long time. But I thought I could hold you back. After all, you can’t fight genes, can you? You’re just like us all”. Ran continued with a deep sigh.
“What do you mean?” Sora frowned.
“Go for it if you want. But don’t die, okay? I couldn’t handle burying Rindou or you.” Ran said with an almost invisible shade on his face. “But you have to know that even if we’re coming to watch the fight, we won’t be able to help you if anything happens. That’s the rules of this world. I hope I taught you enough about fighting.”
Sora nodded gently and sighed. “I’m sorry, Ran. I’ve been selfish and didn’t quite consider what you and Rin were doing for me.”
“Well, finally.” Rindou said, standing at the door. He was quiet for the whole conversation and Sora didn’t even notice. “This wasn’t very educating of you, Ran.”
The older Haitani shrugged with a soft smile on his face. “I told you, Haitani genes are way too strong.” He stated. “Izana and guys are coming over on Thursday, if you’d like to spill anything about Valhalla. Take a rest now, I ain’t gonna ask you about the exam, we bet you slayed.”
Ran stood up and headed to the door.
“Boys..?” Sora started. Part of her wanted to apologize for the things that happened years ago. Apologize for not standing up to her own sins. But the words stuck in her throat. “I love you” She muttered instead when they turned to her with a hum.
“I love you two too.” They both said at the same second.
28/10/2010, Thursday
“You look terrible, Haitani.” Shion Madarame chuckled as soon as Sora walked in the living room, where the S-62 gathered. “Almost as if Ran was beating you at home.”
“I’ll heal up soon, you’re looking like a wet rat on a daily basis.” Sora scoffed, pushing herself between Ran and Kakucho on the couch.
“Let him live, he’s seeing a girl.” Mochi said with a smirk on his face.
“He’s seeing what?”
“A girl.”
“Like a delusion? Have you had your meds?”
“No, like a person.”
“Breathing creature? No way.”
“Enough, go to the point.” Izana cut them off, slightly irritated.
“So as I said, the fight is happening on Halloween.” Sora started the explanation.
“You think Hanemiya can really put Mikey down?” Kakucho asked, looking at Sora and Mucho.
“No way.” Mucho muttered.
“I wouldn’t be that sure. Hanemiya is… Unhinged. He should’ve been in the psych ward, not in juvie. And I’m not even joking. All he’s talking about is how it’s all Mikey’s fault.” Sora stated, looking down at the floor.
“How is Mikey’s fault he killed his brother?” Shion chuckled. Izana frowned for a second.
“How many people have Valhalla?” Izana turned his eyes to Sora.
“Around 350, I asked yesterday. We had the final gathering before the fight. 300 ex-members of Moebius and 50 Hanma gathered already under Valhalla.”
“And Toman?” He asked Mucho.
“More than 100.”
“So let me get this straight. Toman has Mikey, Draken, Mitsuya and so on. Valhalla has Hanma and Kazutora.” Kakucho concluded.
“And Baji.” Sora added.
“Huh?”
“Baji used to be Toman’s founding member. They disagreed with Mikey over something and he claimed to leave for Valhalla. So far I know, Hanemiya and Baji were childhood friends and he follows him now.” Mucho said, nodding slightly.
“Wait for a second.” Izana suddenly cut Mucho off. “Is your boy from Moebius or Valhalla?” He asked Sora.
“Moebius. He used to be Kisaki’s right hand when he temporarily led Moebius.”
“Who?”
“Tetta Kisaki. He’s now Toman’s captain.”
“Didn’t it occur odd to you that he followed Hanma to Valhalla and not Kisaki to Toman?” Izana raised one of his eyebrows.
“It’s indeed weird.” Mucho said, apparently thinking the thing through. “I’ve already noticed Kisaki is a shady motherfucker.”
“Something doesn’t add up, ya know?” Rindou muttered, speaking up for the first time in the whole conversation.
“Well.” Izana smirked. “Let’s keep an eye on Kisaki and Hanma. They could be useful after all.”
#tokyo revengers#tokyo rev#tr#original character#ran haitani#rindou haitani#rin haitani#sanzu haruchiyo#sanzu akashi#haruchiyo sanzu#angst#crack#yasuhiro muto#mucho#izana kurokawa#shion madarame#hanma shuji#shuji hanma#choji ahane#chonbo#chome#valhalla#walhalla#tokyo manji gang#tr smut#tr angst#tr crack
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Under the Royal Eyes
Fandom: Obey Me
Genre: Romance, Horror
Pairing: Diavolo x GN!MC x Barbatos
Chapter: 2 Of ?
Summary: Even something as pure as love can become a twisted perversion.
You guys left enough feed back and love, here is chapter two! Adult content. Read at your own risk.
It confused you. How the man who had drowned you just ten minutes prior could be so... attentive. So gentle and careful. Making sure your hair was clean, exercising caution as not to pull or break a single strand. His fingers being delicate against your skin and not lingering or wandering, when he had forced his finger inside of your entrance earlier. He had been so rough when he face fucked you against your will until you passed out, and even then the monster continued to seek his own pleasure and cum in your throat and on your face. He had been slow, methodical in making sure he wiped your face and neck clean. Almost... tender?
How could this be the same man?
"Since today is my day to bathe you, I also get to pick your outfit. Would you like something warmer, or cooler to wear?"
You had an answer, you were just afraid of what it would get you... so instead you settled for an answer that couldn't possibly get you into trouble. "Whatever you think is best." Your voice was shaky.
"What colors would you like to wear, Darling? Name it, and it's yours."
"Whatever color you think would suit me best." You felt like a doll. They already used you and played with you as they pleased, what was an outfit compared to that?
Muscular arms wrapped around you, holding you tightly. His chin resting on your left shoulder. "What color would you like?"
"Any color you choose is fine." You reassured him, not moving a muscle. You weren't looking to be drowned again.
A warm kiss to the back of your left shoulder made you shudder. "I would like to apologize. It seems we've pushed you too far, too quickly."
"No shit? What part gave you that idea? The part where you almost drowned me? You say you care, but all you care about is yourself." You removed his arms from yourself and slid to the other side of the tub. If he wanted to drowned you for your outburst, he would have to wade into his extravagant tub to do it. You hadn't ment to explode, but the kiss and his half ass apology... it just set you off.
"Say your sorry and that you love me, or I'll repeat my earlier punishment." His eyes held no malice. No anger. Not even his voice... did... did he truly think he was disciplining you? Not hurting you, and being extreme? "Darling, please don't be difficult."
You shook your head. "No! How can you apologize for going too far and threaten me to do it again?"
"Your fits won't be tolerated. You will act properly. I am just apologizing for showing you too much love too soon. We don't wish you to be scared with our physical affection."
"Maybe you should have thought about that before you forced yourself on me!" Diavolo had to have lost his mind. He wasn't sorry for what he did, he was just sorry you didn't accept it.
"Darling." His voice now holding a warning tone. "Apologize and say that you love me. I'll give you until the count of three."
"You want me to apologize for what you did to me?"
"No. You are apologizing for your fit. Get back over here and let me finish, tell me what you want for clothes, or else you will be punished. You have until the count of three."
"One." Apologize? No! He didn't deserve it. He should apologize for everything he's done!
"Two." You could hear your heart in your ears again. Last time he had held you under until your lungs burned.
"Darling." His voice was firm, no hint of anger, but it held danger. All of your alarm bells in your mind screaming for you to run. But run where? You had nowhere to go... Your mouth started to move. Searching for the words he wanted. Words that would keep you alive.
He must have seen you were trying. He hadn't said three yet as you continued to try and find the words. "I..." You didn't want to say it. You weren't sorry at all. Everything you had said was true. Every word. His head tilting to the side, he raised his eyebrows at you. He waited for maybe another thirty seconds before he stood up from his knees.
Fear had rendered you immobile. He stepped into the bath with his shoes and black slacks still on, making a line straight to you. You couldn't watch, eyes slipping closed.
In one swift motion, he sat himself in the tub with you and pulled you by the arm over to him, an arm holding you across your upper chest, up out of the water, your hips against his thigh. Three quick, strong smacks to your bare wet ass rang out as you yelled in surprise. You had expected to be forced under the water.
Then the realization hit you. He had taken you over his knee and spanked you like a child.
Setting you down again in the tub on your freshly spanked bottom he held your chin in his fingers. "I hate that you made me do that, Darling, but have you learned your lesson? Or will I need to spank you again?"
Opening your eyes while you cried in frustration, you couldn't help but slam your hands in the water, splashing him in the process. You hadn't ment to. His large hand released your chin and grabbed you the same way again, three more quick, hard smack to your rear, this time on the other cheek.
It was degrading. Being spanked like a child.
"Must we go another round?" You hated it. His voice held so much patience. "All you need to say is that you are sorry, and that you love me."
"What's the point?" You tried to control your tears. "When it will all just be lies anyway?"
He adjusted you so you were now sitting in his lap, arms wound around your torso as his chin rested on top of your head. "Saying sorry, even if you aren't, is the kind thing to do. I can't force you to feel remorse, but an apology must be vocalized. I've told you before Darling, I'll wait as long as it takes for your words to be true." You could feel his words reverberate through your back that was to his chest.
"Why?"
"Oh, my Sweet. A demons love is long and endearing. Once tempted by love, we must have it. As is our way. Your predicament is not special in that case."
So taking people against there will and holding them was normal here? No. No it wasn't. You had never even heard of it. Lucifer had warned you to not romantically involve yourself with demons. He had told you if one took interest, to tell him or his brothers right away. You had always thought it was more because you were a human...
A human who wouldn't understand the twisted courting of said demons.
Even in the warm bath you felt so cold. Courting. Wanting to 'show you how much they cared for you.' Punishments were just them course correcting your actions and feelings, trying to make you reciprocate and act how they desired.
"Courting. Your courting me." Your voice was small as Lord Diavolo placed a kiss to the top of your head.
"Yes, My love. Barbatos and I wish to be with you. To keep you until the end of your days, and even after." He began to slowly rock himself and you side to side. Softly making little waves. "A demons commitment is long. Much longer than humans can offer eachother. So once your human body fades, we can give you another body. A stronger one. Would you like to help Barbatos and I shape it?"
You froze in his arms. Hearing they had another body should be a comfort, instead it terrified you. It ment they could use you as brutally as they wanted and it wouldn't matter. They could replace your flesh with more and continue to hurt you past your natural lifetime.
"My Darling," He whispered softly, "it is only for when your body naturally fails, we do not wish to place you in it any sooner." A chuckle shaking your form. "We enjoy your human flesh. It is one of the reasons we've come so attached to you. A stronger body after this one fails you is for our own selfish gain. We've come to know we don't wish to lose you. We also have discussed that we want you to love us within your full capacity. We are willing to wait for that. Although we both know we will fall to physical temptation with you. You will learn to take us, in time. One day you will be ready, begging us to fulfill your sexual desires the only ways that we can. We can train you and ready you for that now."
He was insane. That was the only answer. Him and Barbatos both.
"What I apologized for earlier was that we have obviously started your training to quickly, too rashly. We must start slowly. Humans are much more...particular... when it comes to sins of the flesh. So we will start slow."
You weren't sure what to do. They only held remorse that you weren't more accepting of their physical attentions. From the sounds of it, they would continue regardless if you liked it or not. Maybe you could tune it out. Become numb and zone out while they forced this on you. Forced their physical needs to be met with your body.
"The brothers will find out. They'll stop you." You weren't sure why you said it. It had just tumbled out in your shocked state.
"Will they?" He laughed. "They are no fools. If anything, I would think them jealous, especially Leviathan, that they went a more...natural course with your affections instead of doing it the way they should have. They are demons now. I believe that since they were angels before they managed to fight past those darker thoughts for your sake and take a more... human approach. Look where that got them. A day late and a Grimm short." Placing a soft kiss to your exposed neck, Diavolo couldn't help the hum in his chest. "I do believe they will be very jealous, but they know how it works in my kingdom. They know they could not win against me, so I've no fear of them taking you. Even if you begged. I cannot fault them if you were somehow able to command them. I know how pacts work. It wouldn't be by their choice, besides Darling, would you wish me to take out my frustrations on them?"
Was...was that a threat? That he would be willing to hurt the brothers, even knowing if they did help it would be under command? Your body began to shake.
"So you understand?" His lips pressing another kiss to your neck. "I will have them dealt with. They will suffer for your choices, if the time arises."
Your breathing increased. You didn't want them harmed. Or worse yet, killed... and he just admitted he would do so with not a care in the world if you forced his hand to do it.
"Do you understand?" He asked softly. "Barbatos and I will do what is necessary to protect you, to keep you here with us, Beloved." He gave you a few seconds to process before repeating his question, "Do you understand what it means, Darling?"
All you could offer was a nod. His hum as he placed another kiss to your neck revealing just how smitten with all of it he actually was.
"Can you apologize now? Say that you love me? Remember, even if it is lies, it is only kind to do so." He gently reminded you.
You felt so hopeless now. No matter who you told, they would do nothing. This was the Devildom way, and even those that didn't agree with the ways would be silenced by Diavolo and Barbatos. There truly wasn't any hope, nothing to look forward to, other than this life and after of being used against your will.
"I'm sorry." You felt so numb, "I love you." You offered in a small whisper in an effort to circumvent more punishment. What you had been told was enough.
"I love you as well, Darling."
The rest of your bath passed without incident. You were too lost in your own thoughts to put up any kind of fight. Did the Celestial realm know of what they were doing?
"Yes, and seeing the effect you had on Simeon, they have willing given you too me and allowed the program to continue." He smiled brightly as you stood in your towel while he continued to search through the wardrobe for what he was looking for.
You must have asked it outloud. Diavolo couldn't read minds.
The Celestial realm had stripped said angel of his angelic status, demoted him to a human for stealing Lucifers ring from Micheals collection... The Ring of Light, bestowed to Lucifer by his own father. The same ring he had lost during his fall fighting for liliths love of a human, for her right to live when Heaven wanted her gone. The same ring that rested on your finger so you wouldn't have to kill yourself to stop the destruction your magic was causing at the time. There was no way you could have killed Lucifer. He was completely ready to die for you. By your hand. When you had turned the blade on yourself the look of sheer panic and fear had brought you to tears. He hadn't needed to mourn you, you would much rather hurt yourself than him. Simeon's intervention had saved your life. Placing the ring on your finger before you could plunge the blade into your chest to fix the mess you had caused.
The angel had been punished for saving you.
You were just a problem to the Celestial realm. Like Lilith was. The only difference being that they spared you and only demoted Simeon, probably to avoid another senerio such as the fall of more angels from Heaven.
"Micheal was very pleased to know I would be keeping you and that your reach would go no further on his kind. I even sweetend the deal by telling him I would deal with his problem of Simeon. He couldn't reinstate him after what he did. Plus, he holds desire for you. I couldn't have him poking around, so I've taken care of it." He shrugged as he continued to trifle through outfit after outfit. "Barbatos is solving his problems as well. There is no one in the three realms who can take you from us now."
No... he... he couldn't possibly mean what you thought he did...
Lord Diavolo continued so nonchalantly. Maybe you were missing something. You had to be... but he had also admitted he would hurt the brothers, even if you forced them to act against his wishes.
You felt your stomach twist. He very well could have... you were to afraid to ask. If the answer...
Diavolo had glanced back at you, dropping the outfit in hand and moving to embrace you suddenly. "Sweetheart, you need not mourn the fallen angel and the sorcerer. They would only wish our seperation." His deep voice shushing you as he softly rubbed your back.
You broke down in his arms. It was true.
He had killed Simeon, and Barbatos was dealing with a way to kill Solomon.
"Oh, my Love, please don't cry. I know you don't understand it now. One day, you will."
How? How would you ever understand this?
"If it offers any comfort, after he confessed his lustful intentions, I ended him quickly. He did not suffer long." His deep baritone voice trying to comfort you as you mourned the death of your friend. The friend he had killed for his sick, twisted fantasy of love.
Solomon would be dead too.
The sorcerer was good, but he would be against Barbatos. The butler was cunning. Pact or not, he would see Solomon done away with.
They were gone. Dead, because they were your friends who they couldn't control. Your only hope for ever getting out of all of this.
Your friends were dead, and it was all your fault for even meeting them.
Fate was cruel. It didn't have to be this way...
A soft kiss to your cheek brought you from your thoughts. Pulling away from his lips you continued to cry. Punishment be damned.
"Although you don't see it now, you are very kind. Mourning them so thoroughly when they don't deserve it. When they would have taken you from us. I'll allow you to mourn in private until Barbatos arrives back. Perhaps then you will be a bit calmer. Please pick an outfit before you exit." His hand wiping away some tears. You pulled away from his touch again, from the same hands that had killed Simeon.
Diavolo kept his word. Leaving you in peace. You hadn't stopped crying. It had been hours. It hurt, how deeply you mourned the two men you had been acquainted with. Would you mourn him and Barbatos in such a manner?
Perhaps not, at least not yet.
Your soft sobbing carried through the door he had left cracked open. You would cry more when Barbatos returned most likely. One day, you would forgive them. He just wished it would be sooner rather than later.
You sat on the floor, back against the wall. Towel loosely hanging on your body. Dead. All you could be thankful about was that Luke was still accepted into the Celestial realm. That Diavolo hadn't killed him too. Raphael was still loyal to Michael. He had seen how Simeon suffered his demotion. He had been cold towards you since then. Keeping his distance. It had probably kept him alive. Miphistolese was loyal to Diavolo. Thirteen... Diavolo could buy her off with promise of materials for traps and whatever else she desired. You had only just started to get to know her.
Lucifer was oath bound. He gave his freedom as sacrifice in a deal with the devil. All of it to try and rectify her life that had fallen apart because she fell in love. The moment Lord Diavolo had given Lilith human life had sealed the fallen angels fate.
He wouldn't do anything to risk his brothers lives. He went as far as keeping Belphie locked up to keep him from being put down. The remaining brothers, even if they hated it, and couldn't accept the idea, they would fall in line. Lord Diavolo would probably threaten your life, telling them that he would do something to you to keep them in check. They wouldn't call his bluff, just as you couldn't risk calling his against them. He held the power to complete it if he saw fit. Besides, demons were no strangers to torture. If the threat of killing you was called, that one wouldn't be.
"All of it according to plan." Barbatos assured Diavolo quietly. "I've even checked the timeline. He appears absolutely nowhere."
"Excellent work." Diavolo let out a sigh as he sat down on the couch. Tension from Barbatos's departure eased. Solomon was dealt with. "I have informed Mc while you were away. Of Simeons death, and Solomons. I left them to mourn privately. They stopped crying about an hour ago. I believe they are just thinking now. I don't wish to rush them."
The butler nodded. "I expect they are deeply hurt. Humans mourn very fiercely when those they care about perish. I do believe if Mc acts out for the rest of the day, we should only comfort. Punishments will only drive them further from the end goal. Humans act...oddly when faced with loss." He frowned.
Getting up and getting dressed seemed like such a challenge. Being found in just a towel wouldn't help you. It would most likely only stir the demons desires and make them take you again.
You can't even kill yourself.
They had a body they could put you in. Even if your soul should ascended, Micheal would send you down. Back to them. You had no way out from this. This was life now. A fancy closet full of clothes. The best food of the realms. Two handsome demons... it was more than most ever got. You hated all of it though. You missed your newly dead friends. You missed the brothers. You missed knowing you wouldn't be forced into sexual situations. You missed freedom.
"Good evening, Mc." Your heart sank. Barbatos. Solomon was dead.
"Did he suffer?" All you could do was hope Solomons last moments weren't fucking terrible.
"A bit. Yes." The butler answered truthfully as he grabbed under garments and an outfit.
You went through the motions of him dressing you. It wasn't worth the fight. He would do what ever he wanted with you. You couldn't stop him. He grabbed your hand and slowly lead you from the closet.
"How did you do it?"
"You needn't concern yourself with how, Mc." Barbatos answered softly, waiting for you to sit on the opposite end if the couch from Diavolo.
"I deserve to know how you murdered my friends!" You shouted, fist balled tightly.
Barbatos and Diavolo exchanged glances, Diavolo shaking his head and shrugging.
He let out a sigh. "Very well. Would you also like to hear how Mi'lord dealt with Simeon?"
Turning away from them you held your arms around yourself. You were the only one who could comfort yourself now. "Yes."
"I tore his throat out." Lord Diavolos voice was flat. "He wouldn't rescind his love for you. I was tired of hearing him say how much he cared for you. I pulled his heart out of his chest once he was dead. It held all of his love for you. I would not let it remain inside of him."
Your knees had given out. Every breath a struggle. Hands shaking uncontrollably as you held yourself. Silent tears sliding down your face.
"I had a friend poison Solomon. I could not do it myself. It went against my pact." Barbatos informed. "It took twenty-four seconds for him to succumb. Another fifty-eight seconds until his heart stopped pounding. My friend then took all measures to ensure he would not revive again. While Solomon had longevity, he was not completely immune or immortal as he thought. A simple mix of certain ingredients did what I needed it to do for my part."
"Am I supposed to be flattered you murdered my friends?" Your voice was so broken. "You desecrated their bodies...you..." poor Simeon. Betrayed by Michael and Diavolo. His only sin being that he cared about you. Throat torn out and hole in his chest where Lord Diavolo had literally ripped his heart out. He was insane.
Barbatos had always seemed so close to Solomon... they knew things about eachother that no one else in the world knew. Even Asmodeus.
They had both been turned on by people they trusted. The royal pair using that trust to murder them.
Would that be your end as well? Dying at their hands, only to be brought back to suffer again? There really was no way out of this, was there?
A soft hand on your back made you jump. Crawling away from it you did your best to push the persistent hand away. Black polish and tan hands still holding your arm. The same hands that tore out Simeons throat.
Being brought to your feet by your arm you continued to try and break free, only to be sat in his lap. Strong arms around you, warms hands stroking your back in such a loving manner...
You broke down in his arms. Nowhere else to run. He held you as you cried. Mourned your friends again. He never said a word as he held you to his chest, head on his shoulder. Just continued to rub your back.
The butler sat beside Lord Diavolo, softly running a gloved thumb over your ankle. Trying his best to soothe you as well.
They were insane. Abusers and liars, betrayers... and now the only ones to hold you through your pain that they inflicted. Warm hands never leaving your body for long, doing what they could to calm you.
All of it for their sick, twisted fantasy of love.
The outpouring of love for this is through the roof. At this point in time, it's just easier to let me know if you want untagged. If you don't see your name below and would like tagged, let me know. ❤
Tag list: @luciferwifu @my-perfect-machine @archangel1206 @tigress1 @trendyharold @welcometodemonschoolfan @littlelias-stuff @downbadsad @my-simp-land @itsmeninerz @bunna-does-stuff @pinkmilkshakeharmony @obeymediasimp @dont-ask-me-pls @moonymoons-blog @aviyanna @fugeycreeper @madieg02 @too-much-stresss @pearlofabyss @lloydlovebot @night-snows00
#diavolo#barbatos#obey me diavolo#obey me barbatos#obey me! diavolo#obey me! barbatos#obey me lord diavolo#obey me! lord diavolo#diavolo x reader#diavolo x mc#lord diavolo x reader#lord diavolo x mc#yandere#yandere diavolo#yandere barbatos#dark obey me#dark obey me!#dark
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Summer Daisies
CHILD!AlastorxCHILD!reader
TW: racial tensions, lynching, abuse (mentioned)
Pt 2: https://www.tumblr.com/darling-dovey/751031849745367040/summer-daisies-childalastor-x-childreader-tw
This series is the prologue of the Autumn Leaves series. Introducing Alastor and Adelaide to each other and following their relationship as it began when they were children. It’ll mostly be used for context and general imagines.
Autumn Leaves series: https://www.tumblr.com/darling-dovey/751032891967930368/autumn-leaves-alastor-x-reader-check-out-summer
I still remember those Louisiana summers. The days were a sweltering heat, the air sticking to you uncomfortably, you always felt damp. Like a hot breath of air trapped in a bottle, fogging up the glass….But those Louisiana summer nights made living there worth it. The staggering Sun letting off enough to feel a smidge of relief, the breeze cooling you off slightly so you could enjoy the sounds the swamp or watch the fireflies play with the stars. Those nights felt like heaven, playing out in the marshy land with my siblings. Hoots and hollers heard across the yard.
But for others…. the heat only added to its likeness of hell.
“Children, inside!” My mother yelled. Standing quickly from her rocker. Dropping her book. I could see her eyes scanning the tree lines and I looked over my shoulder to try and see what had spooked her. A large hand wrapped around my arm no sooner than I saw some lights in the woods and I was yanked back.
I cried out in surprise until I saw the severe expression of my father. He shushed me before pulling me behind him back to the safety of the house. Once there he released my arm before storming inside, muttering to himself. I blinked back tears before looking at mama confused. “What-whats going on?” I asked her, rubbing my arm.
She looked at me sadly before ushering me inside to follow the rest of my siblings. “None of that darling…” she murmured softly.
I wouldn’t find out until years later that the lights I’d seen were likely a lynching party. Another colored or sympathetic soul to make an example of. For a child, there wasn’t an explanation for these atrocities, it was better to keep those actions hidden until they were old enough to understand. Pats on the head and firm words of “go to bed.” The only answer youthful, reddened cheeks got.
Just another day of hushed words and whispers traded, curiosity shining as your small ears listened. Conversations shifting if your blonde locks flashed in the doorway.
But…there were hints. Clues to those words. Hidden in actions or half said words. Mother pulling back my hair in a braid as we talked over children who would or wouldn’t be attending my school. Her sorrow over loosing a friend, still alive but separated by circumstance. Fathers drunken grumbles of a civil war which had claimed his brother. His own father, your pawpaw, declining after, the despair of losing a son breaking the proud man.
“Do not tell you father.” “Do not tell your mother about this.” Both voices echoing in your ears before they pushed you off to play again.
However, while children may be ignorant on the ways of the world. They unfortunately aren’t stupid. Telling them how something works will only make them question why, and in my idyllic youth, such questions weren’t tolerated. Subtlety got answers. Silence made them sing and soon enough you learned.
The 1900’s south, a war ravaged countryside, a pitiful reconstruction attempt, had chosen their favorite colors and like your school mates, cherished their own and ridiculed others. God used as an excuse to favor and consider one while conveniently ignoring and condemning another.
But like any other creature. A dog is still a good dog no matter the shade of its fur. The hard work or love a man had for his family no better or worse than another’s based on a tan.
Your blue eyes watched, analyzed a mother kissing her sons cheeks as she sent him off to school, and your own mind compared the same scene with your mother and brother. No discernible difference could be found, both mothers and sons living and loving naturally.
I was the worst thing my parents could ask for. Curious, too vocal for a girl. A sweet southern summer upended because their hushed whispers could not stifle my voice in church that Sunday. As I asked the revered preacher how God could love only half his children.
That night, I learned the truest lesson my father had ever taught me. Wounds don’t heal as quickly in sticky summer heats, the belt will fly true regardless of how much he drinks, and dreaming always results in waking up.
But even as the summer cooled off into the oncoming autumn, as my back healed as school approached. The pride shining in my mothers eyes never waned, but neither did her lips impart her wisdom.
You were wandering through the woods, the laughs and shouts of your siblings far behind you as you hiked your dress to crawl over another moss ridden log.
Your back ached, the lines of your punishment burning as sweat dripped down your back. But, you’d seen the group out here last night. Their flashlights looking like oversized fireflies last night bobbing through the trees. Just a little further you hoped, as you crept through the underbrush.
You yelp when you feel something wrap around your ankle, pitching forward as your feel it tighten and pull back until you’re dragged into a prickle bush. You open your mouth to scream when a hand slams over it. Muffling you.
“Hush. They’re still out there.” A voice said from behind you in the scratchy high pitched sound of a boy.
You snarl before biting down causing a small yelp to sound from behind you before you feel him smack you in the head.
His whisper angry as you finally turn and see him. His eyes angry, “Why did you do that?” He asked, holding his bleeding hand.
“I-“ his hand shoots to cover your mouth again and you’re about to bite when you hear it.
Footsteps approaching your hiding spot, causing both of you to hunker down, eyes wide as you watched them walk past slowly.
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Into the Cold Void Again
Kiss fans are true expressionists and they come in all the colors of the rainbow. The anniversary of Psycho Circus this year demonstrated this quite well once again. The frames of everyone's own parameters were practically spread everywhere and consequently the likes and dislikes shot in all directions. With this album pretty much everything is in it, from obsessive idolization to allergic reactions and abysmal rejection. Reason enough to dedicate myself to at least one of its titles today, but more on that in a moment.
I'd like to remind myself beforehand how Psycho Circus was released 25 years ago. Of course, I was in possession of a CD copy on the day of the release, read all available reviews weeks before the release, and as a great friend of the Revenge/Carnival of Souls line-up, I didn't really ride the great wave of euphoria of the 1996 reunion. Accordingly, I set my expectations for Psycho Circus relatively low, at least as a precaution, despite anticipation (0). And that was the sticking point for me at that time. These rather low expectations could hardly be exceeded at that time, and only in cases of individual songs (1).
But, that was a very long time ago. In the meantime I even like Psycho Circus as far as possible, and as often as I get the chance, I call it the Crazy Nights of the masked Kiss (2). And with that, I should slowly face Into the Void (3), though using a small but nice loophole, in the form of a hint of a self-quote. That little standout interlude somewhere in the middle or after the solo, and who wouldn't have recognized it, of course it's our dear old and ever reliable friend Cold Gin.
Side Notes:
(0) Because, after all, I am a Kiss fan. I can't get out of my skin that quickly in that respect.
(1) Like Within, for example, which remains one of my absolute favorite Gene songs to this day. And of course, I will be more than happy to talk about this song in the not too distant future.
(2) I also had a hard time with Crazy Nights for years, probably even decades, but very similar to Psycho Circus this has turned into a single pleasure. They are simply two good Kiss albums with good Kiss songs. Nothing more. And nothing less. The rest just depends on taste, tolerances and the degree of commitment of the respective bean-counting, and I know quite well with bean-counting.
(3) Probably the one song on Psycho Circus I've been most disappointed with, but even that has subsided over time. It used to be the chorus that I always found repulsive, which for me was mostly due to its downright mediocrity and uninspiredness. But the song itself is even a good one, and Ace's vocals are top notch. For me, the opening riff and to some extent the verses definitely stand out most positively. The chorus, however, to add a little resonance to my dislike, could have been written in the middle of the night on the toilet, but even that doesn't necessarily make Into the Void a bad song, because you can have one or two good ideas on the john. These simply don't always have to please everyone.
Into the Void is highlighted, Cold Gin starts from the beginning. Have fun with both:
Into the Void (1998)
youtube
Cold Gin (1974)
youtube
#Kiss#Ace Frehley#Gene Simmons#Debut#Album#1974#Into The Void#Karl Cochran#Psycho Circus#Cold Gin#1998#25th Anniversary#Revenge#Carnival of Souls#Head#Reunion#1996#Crazy Nights#1987#1992#1997#Roland Rockover#Youtube#Within
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15 Questions OC Edition- Ionah
Right, so I got asked by @druidx to do this for Ionag aaaaages ago, but procrastinated on it. I finally have the spoons to do it, so here goes.
No tags for anyone since I'm pretty sure most of my taglist have done this so often that they don't have anyone left to do it for. Tags are merely for the people that will be interested in seeing these answers
Tags (again just for interest): @asher-orion-writes, @homesteadchronicles, @warriorbookworm, @mariahwritesstuff, @writeblrsupport, @ashirisu, @thesorcerersapprentice, @blind-the-winds
A dark cavern within the deepest recesses of The Pit. The cavern is damp with only the barest hint of light. Chained up in one corner is a nominally dwarven woman with obsidian skin that is barely highlighted by the light given off by the flames of her green-yellow beard and hair. Eyes of the same colour glance up at the shadowy figure of the Interviewer.
Interviewer: Nice place.
Ionah: Eh, it's not any worse than the other parts of this plane. What can I do for you?
Interviewer: I just have some question to ask you, if you'll oblige.
Ionah: Oh is that all? No favours you want, nothing in exchange?
Interviewers: I'm not nearly that stupid. I'm fully aware that making a deal with you is a very bad idea.
Ionah: *sigh* It was worth a shot. Well, get on with it.
1. Are you named after anyone?
Not that I'm aware of. My parents were never the type to answer silly, wee questions like this when I was a child. I did sneak a peek at the old family tree once, so I think it's a name that used to be quite common and my folks decided it sounded nice.
2. When was the last time you cried?
*scoffs* Most likely when I was a wee bairn. I don't really recall having ever cried over anything in my fully concious life.
Interviewer: Not even following the death of your husband?
Ionah: Why waste tears on the man that made my life a misery? Quite frankly if he hadn't followed dear old King Nargond to his death, I probably would've offed him myself. At least he did the dignity of saving me the trouble.
3. Do you have kids?
*growls* I did. An ungrateful little sod of a son who had all these fanciful ideas about how the world was a good and just place. I tried my best to let him know the truth of the world from the minute he could talk, you know. Better that he grew up knowing how callous and cruel the world is than finding out the hard way. Pity my late husband disagreed with that and filled his head with notions of honour and loyalty *gags*.
4. Do you use sarcasm?
Folk seemed to think I was always being saracastic for some reason. I never liked that. I always telt folk my truth, but they'd rather think I was bein' ironic or sarcastic than face up to the truth; that I despised the vast majority of them.
5. What's the first thing you notice about people?
What's there to notice? If you really want an answer though; whatever it is that makes it easy to manipulate them. For some, it's noticing the body language of those that are insecure. For others, it the way they talk about themselves or others. Yet others have little ticks that give away the way they really feel about someone or something. I could go on, but I get the distinct feeling you want this over with sooner rather than later *tight smile*
6. What's your eye color?
Are ye blind, or what? In mortal life they were blue-grey. Not the most common of colours. Most folk seemed to think that meant I was partially blind or something. I was always quick to disabuse them of that notion.
7. Scary movies or happy endings?
I'm guessing these movie things are similar to stage plays? *Interviewer confirms they are*. Neither then. I have no idea what it means to be frightened and happy endings disgust me. I'll tolerate a well-written tragedy though.
8. Any special talents?
*smiles widely and produces a sickly green flame in one hand* I'm a woman of many different talents. I realised I was a sorcerer at around the age of 25. I kept it hidden, because my people don't look kindly upon that kind of untamed and wild arcane magic. I developed my skills in secret and learned of ways to gain more power until, eventually, I discovered how to strip the gods of their power and deny them the ability for them to grant it to their clerics. I probably should have diversified a bit, stripped the power from Throff first before going after Moradin, the benefits of hindsight.
9. Where were you born?
Fangthane. My parents' house.
10. What are your hobbies?
*rolls eyes* Those who have time for things like hobbies are indolent folk who are too rich and/or politically powerful for their own good. Hobbies are a waste of time that can be spent gaining more power and prestige and buttering up the people who are useful in helping one attain more.
11. Have you any pets?
Animals are filthy, disgusting creatures that should only be kept if they're useful, otherwise they all might as well burn. I never once saw the point of keeping something that tracks in dirt and attracts pests for something like... *spits out word* companionship.
12. What sports do you play/have played?
See my answer with regard to hobbies. Sport is a waste of time.
13. How tall are you?
I might as well indulge you for this one since I can't exactly stand up. I'm four foot seven.
14. Favorite subject in school?
I hated school. The teachers had power over me and I rebelled against it at every opportunity. I only took in the lessons that were useful to me personally and ignored all else.
15. Dream job?
*cackles* Job? Why would I have need of a job? That's work for folk too poor and/or lazy to make the right connections in life. Dreams, like hobbies and sports, are a waste of time and energy. Dreams are for folk that can't tell fantasy from reality and those too young to know better. If you want to attain anything, you need to work for it and accept that dreams are made to be shattered and broken.
Interviewer: That was.... most enlightening. Thank you for your time.
Ionah: I'm glad I could be of use to you. Now are you sure there's nothing you want in exchange?
Interviewer: *already creating portal* Quite sure. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have other places to be.
Ionah: Ah well, when you get back to the material plane, tell Yoruk that his mummy misses him dearly and to tell him to come visit some time.
The Interviewer doesn't reply and steps through their portal, not noticing the stray ember that has attached itself to their figure. Left alone to her own devices again, Ionah smiles widely as the shadows engulf her once more.
#writeblr tag games#15 questions tag game#aquadestinyswriting#titan fighting fantasy#ionah copperheart#this was too much fun to do#Ionah is such a bitch
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Computer was beating my behind today
The Raptor: Full body design
Yay, I finnaly drew my ml oc after two fan fics of vauge descriptions that contradict each other because I couldn't think of an outfit. And yes, drawing hands killed me. Yes, he is barefoot in the first picture and I didn't draw feet because I didn't want to die again.
Timothy Césaire's backstory (again):
Alya's cousin from New York City, Timothy Césaire used to be a normal, not so mild-manner middle school student who's only concern was getting good grades and dealing with bullies. But his life would change permanently after getting an intership at Hill incorporated; the cover for Majestia's laboratory. As fate would have it, Timothy's job for his first day to observe a resurrected, radioactive Velociraptor. However, one of the scientists left it's cage open on accident, which lead to the creature escaping it's enclosure and biting Timothy. Eventually, Timothy realized that the event had given him a superpower, the ability to move so fast that the world around him slowed down. This motivated him to create the persona of The Raptor, a new super hero who would help the helpless. At first, the United Heroez tolerated his presence and even encouraged him to join him. But everything changed when the Raptor stole from Audrey Bourgeois; He left a calling card in her house that claimed she had stolen designs from unpaid interns and that he would make her pay. Even with all the money and power in NYC, Audrey was powerless to stop the Raptor from stealing thousands of dollars worth in money... and secretly giving it to the poor. From that point onward, The Raptor was officially known as as a super villain. But it wasn't the end for Timothy. Its just the begginng of the end for the powerful in New York.
Wanna know some fun facts about Tim?
Design backstory
I'll start with Tim's civilian outfit, it's just a color swapped version of Alya's outfit.
Now that that's out of the way:
My original idea (that I never drew) of the Raptor's design was going to be something like tuxedo mask with a hoodie and long feathers on his arms instead of a cape.
Then Argos stole his look
So when I wrote Funk Up The Night, I thought up a different outfit that would look waaay different from Felix; something like what a Victorian era working class person would wear to contrast Timothy from the 2(+ Felix) super villains dressed like aristocrats. The design would have baggy clothing with a newsboys hat instead of a hood and a tattered blue neck tie that would be like the main attention grabber of the design.
I ended up keeping the the neck tie part for this one, but I swapped the cap out for a visor (that can go through Timothy's hair without destroying it lol)
Anyway, I wanted to do base this design off of something from Martinican culture as I headcanon Alya (& Tim) as being born from there and moving to France (/U.S.).
It was there that I encountered the Neg Gwo Siwo, a Martinican carnival character covered in black that's a symbol of rebellion against oppression.
What a coincidence that I already imagined Timothy as having a mostly dark design!
So I used dark blue skin to blend in with Tim's black clothes (actually a really dark shade of green).
I added some gold bands with hints of red and green
And done!
I made a good design with bad anatomy because I don't understand arms lol
#miraculous ladybug#miraculous ladybug oc#ml oc#timothy cesaire#alya sugar#nino salt#felix salt#black characters#character design#martinique#ml fanfic
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Name: Nightshade Libya
Romaji: Libya Nightshade
Quote: “Even the most insane people need some comfort in their life”
V/A: Akame (Akame Ga Kill but in a more soft tone[English])
Daki From demon Slayer(Japanese)
Gender: female
Sexuality: Pansexual
Age: 19
Birthday: February 14th
Zodiac Sign: Aquarius
Eye color: it’s a mixture of dark blue and sky blue with a hint of sparkle in them.
Hair Color: navy blue but she is thinking of dying the ends.
Height: 5’4
Weight: 90 lbs
Race: Undead vessel
Homeland: Chicago
Family: She rather not say..
School Status and Fun Facts
Dorm: Sapphire Lake Manor
School Year: 2nd year
Class: 2-B
Student Number: No.8
Occupation: DJ, hostess at a host club, babysitter
Club: Light music club(In her dorm; They have a gaming club along with the Tea Club [It is like a gossip group So if you like spilling the tea, this group is good for you])
Best Subject: Flying
Favorite Color: Pastel and Dark colors
Favorite Food: Depends on her mood but it’s usually sweets or home cooked food
Least Favorite Food: Night don’t like Lilia’s cooking and…liver as well.
Likes: Night like reading, she also like spilling the tea at the Tea Club, she sometimes like school, the night sky, walks in woods or rain, her stuffed bunny, music.
Dislikes: Heat, Vil, Crowley, loud noises, people interrupted her reading time, She don’t like Rook at all. She also can’t stand Azul nor Leona
Hobbies: Reading, singing, making handmade gifts
Talents: She is empathetic and if she is distracted enough, you will see her eye colors began to swirl around(it’s rare for that to happen)
Nicknames: Nini(Tsukii and Jeanne) Little BunBun(Jamil, Ace and Jack)
Other Nicknames: Silent girl(Epel), Miss Bookworm(Leona) Odd girl(Vil)
Appearance and Personality
Appearance: Night have navy blue hair(I know her hair is a lighter than navy blue but trust me..her hair is navy blue) her eyes are dark blue and sky blue but she always covered her sky blue. Night appears to be petite which she is but she had lot of strength when it came to fighting. She always carried her stuffed bunny around her at all times. Her glasses and her one eye hairstyle is her signature.
Personality: Night is…timid. Even if you knew her, she is always timid. A girl with a few words,an outcast of the NRC. But when she in her dorm as a house warden, she is the most stern and yet laid back house warden. (Which often leads people to think that Night is a combination of both Riddle Rosehearts and Leona Kingscholar). She had a no bs tolerance and she will make sure her voice is heard. She always value safety, privacy and wellbeing so she is very determined to keep it the way it is. After time has passed; Night is still timid but she actually expressed her emotions more, actually start to say what’s on her mind. Anger her and she will become your nightmares. She can be spiteful..only if you deserve it.
𝑻𝒓𝒊𝒗𝒊𝒂
-Night is the middle youngest of the staff of Sapphire Lake Dorm.
- She had a twin sister name Dawn Libya who is completely the opposite of Night..tho they are eerily similar.
-Doll’s wrath and Bloodlust is Night’s UM and she had a very good reason why she never used that UM often.
-Due to her being a house warden, she is mostly look down upon but she never minded it.
-She always had Tsukii and Jeanne accompanied her on NRC. Even in house warden meetings.
-She is not the type of get angry but she don’t have a filter when she’s angry.
-She actually made three Pomefiore students cry once due to the volume of her voice
-She is very well respected by her dorm but feared to those who like to anger people.
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TMA Retrospective
At last, it is time for me to sit down and pen my opinions about TMA. Now, I’ll start by going over the timeline of my listening as you’ll see why it might have colored my opinions the way they did later; then I’ll try to segue into opinions about last 10 eps of S4 and all of S5 and how that compares to my opinions about the rest of the series, particularly MAG 001 through MAG 111; and if I don’t get too deep into the weeds or get wrapped up in the series summary I’ll try to touch on my feelings on the evolution of Jon and Martin’s relationship.
Warning, this will probably end up being my longest post about the whole thing, so here’s a read more to make sure I’m not cluttering your dash with a post the size of that one “color of the sky” post lmao.
To start out, I’m gonna briefly go over the order of events to give some context, as it really altered my opinions of S5 versus if I had gone in blind I think.
A few months back I heard about TMA through the Hermitcraft people and binged the first 111 episodes in less than a week. I had been hearing some spoilers at this point, and I was also beginning to look into fanfiction for the series which led to me accidentally spoiling 160 for myself. At that point I wasn’t sure I liked where the series was going and started reading time travel fix it fics and basically spoiled myself to the rest of the series. then over the next couple of months I sporadically listened to 112-150 and “reminded” myself why I enjoyed the series so much. The hangups I had weren’t panning out in the way I had dreaded, but S4 was honestly pretty heavy listening and it was a struggle. However about 2 weeks ago or so (around the 13th I believe) Rusty Quill started dropping hints about their announcement for the 30th (later today and I am still intrigued). I decided that since I was watching Soul Eater on a schedule, why don’t I see if I can’t set up the remaining episodes of TMA on one too? And thus my 3 eps a day was set in stone and I steadily listened to 150-200 over the course of the last week and a half to two weeks in preparation for the TMA 2 announcement.
So as you might imagine, “giving up” on the series a little over half way through because you spoiled yourself so well you knew all the major story beats of the first 4 seasons would definitely cause some interesting effects when listening to the rest of the series “for the first time”.
To dig into the meat and potatoes of my thoughts, I think I’ll start with subversion of my expectations. After all, I thought I knew what would happen ahead of time but honestly I really only knew the major story beats and over arching themes from S1-4. S5 was mostly still a mystery beyond: Jon and Martin walking through an apocalypse to get to London and eventually ends with Martin stabbing Jon in a bid to release the Fears to the multiverse. So yes, I knew kinda what to expect, and I knew S5 would be bleak after what a friend told me about what he had listened to through around ep 190; but I wasn’t quite prepared for how... blunt? the messaging was? The different domain metaphors were generally very transparent and admittedly it did bother me at times, but for the most part it was rather tolerable. Also, some of those big reveals in S5 about the Web and Jon’s part in it’s plan were still very impactful despite knowing about those concepts ahead of time. I’m still reeling with the implications from eps 196-200 for the earlier parts of the series, and it doesn’t help I’m participating in the a-mag-a-day relisten of TMA.
Something I’m realizing as I was listening to the end of the series and the beginning of the series at the same time, is just how different the podcast became? Personally, I loved S1. I loved the self contained nature of the statements, the personality of S1 Jon, the implied background office drama that was never spooky enough to get on the tapes. Not that I didn’t also love that the Statements were a puzzle, clues to help you guess that there was a wider world out there, that these things that went bump in the night still had it out for the Archivist. Nor did I dislike the broadening in scope that came with the end of season 1 and lead in to season 2. I noticed the voice actor change for Sasha right away, but I thought it was something meta: like they needed to get a different voice actor for S2 because the one for S1 could only be there for one season. Or even that I was misremembering. However when the reveal came that it was the not-them, my mind was blown.
I will say, that perhaps I preferred S1-3 to S4+5 in that S1-3 were far less bleak. Which is a silly thing to find preference in, seeing as it is a horror podcast and that’s how horror works. I dunno, I just enjoyed the S1 archival crew, what little we saw of them, more than the later iterations of the group. Although Jon and Daisy did have a nice dynamic in S4, I will admit. But I think too (and again with the ridiculous preferences of mine), the stakes seemed more realistic in S1-3? Don’t get me wrong, Jonny did a fantastic job of working up to “hellish nightmare apocalypse whose only solutions are either extinction of humanity or spreading said apocalypse across the unknowable multiverse” from “guy at a ‘normal’ archival job reads spooky campfire stories for his paycheck”. But when Jon was still human (and admittedly still fairly ignorant) the stakes seemed within the realm of something like Lovecraft: unknowable horror terrors from beyond operate through their agents of chaos on earth and we need to keep them from being awakened by their acolytes through their heinous rituals. You still had (to some extent) “good guys” and “bad guys”. Jon was slowly turning into something, but he hadn’t Become yet, and no one else in the Archives other than Melanie were on a similar trajectory.
Some (or a lot, it’s rather hard to tell actually) of my qualms with S4-5, I think, would be from how the show tries to evolve Jon and Martin’s relationship. By having a 6 month gap, there’s a lot of things that happen off screen, and a lot of character regression/development that went with it. So, Jon and Martin’s relationship in S1-3 is on a relatively stead uphill trend. Sure, S2 Jon is paranoid and distances himself from literally everyone, but hilariously enough once he gets past it after finding out about Martin’s CV he allows himself to trust Martin again. And outside of that (admittedly) rather large set back he goes from being a pompous dick to actually making an earnest effort to be Martin’s friend; even going on lunch dates in the lead up to the Unknowing. Martin, of course, struggles with a crush for much of S2-3 and possibly as early as S1 as he’s constantly trying to prove himself to Jon which leads to his getting trapped by worms in his apartment for almost 2 weeks. They both are heading towards the first soft somethings off screen for a short bit there near the end of S3.
But then S4 happens and Jon’s in a coma for 6 months. And then Martin’s mother dies, Martin himself falls into a deep depression, and Peter brings him into the Lonely. S4 is definitely good for Martin’s character development in the long run, seeing as it eventually broke him out of his shell, and it did allow Martin the isolation to get some much needed “self reflection” time to develop him more as a character in his own right, seeing as his character normally tries to stay in the background as much as possible.
However, part of what was sacrificed for this was all relationship progress between Jon and Martin up until this point. Martin leaves Jon after Jon “left” and stays gone after Jon “comes back”. They never see each other and the few times they do Martin is explicitly antagonistic, pulling a bit of a role reversal card to their relationship in S1. They are back to square one for almost the entire season till Jon pulls Martin out of the Lonely and it’s implied that Jon and Martin basically rekindle their entire relationship after mutually pining for over a year in the course of about 3 weeks. Then the apocalypse happens, there is no hope, and even a healthy relationship would be strained to the max. But, and here’s the bit that keeps putting me off kilter, they aren’t in a healthy relationship.
Between Jon’s being borderline omniscient and omnipotent (and thus the obvious power gap there), and Martin struggling to trust Jon on top of Jon being incapable of communication until about episode 190; we have a recipe for disaster. All of the personal faults that are still lingering from before the apocalypse and would normally be relatively simple relationship hurdles are exacerbated and used as weapons during it. They didn’t have time to get to the point in their relationship where it could be remotely healthy and while I disagree with Martin that they never would have worked out if given a chance under different circumstances, I do agree that what they have at that moment in time was born from trauma and just connecting with anyone who would think they were human and worth loving.
But to drag it back to a point, this is where the: I took a hug break from the podcast and read a bunch of fanfiction came in. As I’m sure you’re aware, those of you who read TMA fanfiction, particularly JMart on AO3, would probably agree that Jon and Martin a generally depicted as being a relatively healthy couple, particularly in the apocalypse. Even the clips from S5 of them having their silly moments are picked usually because it’s the one silly moment in that episode or couple episodes. Being as I hadn’t listened to that part of the show previously, I was still on: Martin pining and Jon finally warming up phase of their relationship, and generally assumed that eventually the pining on both sides would eventually give way to them actually dating (even if only mentioned in passing off tape). Of course, silly me, even after I knew that wasn’t quite the case, I was unprepared for how exactly their relationship unfolded during the course of S5. I think where the rub lied with me was that I was introduced to the OOC version of their relationship before the in character version, and it frankly caught me wrong footed enough that it was a perpetual bother.
That, and spinning back around to why I enjoyed S1-3 better than S4-5 was because there wasn’t really a sub-genre to the horror? Or if there was it was Mystery: Who’s the worm woman trying to get into the archives? Who killed Gertrude Robinson? Why is Sasha acting weird? What’s the Unknowning? What are the Fears? Are there other Rituals? What is Jon turning into? ect. Versus, S4-5 which suddenly transitioned to “supernatural office drama, pining edition” and “JMart couple counseling, Apocalypse edition”. We went from Horror/Mystery to Horror/Romance in the course of one coma and while don’t get me wrong I do appreciate Romance as a genre, even in Horror (see current Dracula Daily obsession), there is a way to pull off sudden sub-genre change but I don’t think I liked how it was done in TMA. Alas I’m not good enough at literary criticism to say how it might have been done better, and perhaps it couldn’t have and it just wasn’t quite my cup of tea, but I just found I enjoyed the intrigue of S1-3 better than the bleak existential musing of S4-5.
I kinda want to talk about the Web and how it was used throughout the series, but I feel like that would be better in a different post when I either have more thoughts about it or more to say that wasn’t already somewhat covered in my ep 200 post from yesterday.
And with that, I think I’ve covered most everything I wanted to cover. You’ll still see me posting with some frequency about the “A MAG A Day” posts and I’ll cover different themes and minutiae there that would have been out of place or I didn’t think to cover here. If you have any thoughts on this feel free to leave a message in the replies and reblogs as I’d be curious what y’all agree or disagree with in here.
#tma#the magnus archives liveblog#the magnus archives#jonathan sims#martin blackwood#tma retrospective#jonmartin#jon sims#martin#s1 archives crew#this turned out a bit shorter than expected#but still the longest commentary out of all of them for sure
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Pirate Chains - Volume 1 - Strong Tides
*Warning Adult Content*
Chapter 12 - Aftermath - Part 2
Ace
"Now, remind me why you punched me?"
"You... you wouldn't tell me anything. You let go of the others and kept me."
"If I recall, that's my call to make."
"Well... you sold Regina. She was the first ship I purchased after I busted my ass at work. She's so important and you sold her."
"Really. Well, congratulations. You have a keen eye. She's a very nice piece, Agenor's cheerful mood was met with nothing but glares from Nyx.
"Dragging the second ship behind us is out of the question. One cannonball and she'd be fish food. Selling her would be the best option, don't you agree?" Agenor suggested and Nyx's reaction was immediate.
"Sell my most precious ship? I spent a fortune on her."
Agenor raised an eyebrow and smirked.
"Aye, but don't worry. I got your fortune back."
"That's my money," Nyx retorted and Agenor let out a boisterous laugh.
"Hah. I suppose you forgot the color of the flag that flies above this ship."
"Whatever..."Nyx grumbled in response.
Agenor couldn't help but chuckle at the pouty expression on Nyx's face. He found himself thinking that Nyx was the cutest and most dazzling person he had ever met. He marveled at how Nyx could calm his stormy emotions in an instant, turning his fury into tranquility as smoothly as the sea changes from tumultuous waves to placid waters. And those eyes and lips... they had a power over him that could ignite a volcano just by their gaze and those soft, luscious lips.
But he couldn't believe that Nyx had actually punched him. It had been so long since he had taken a straight punch like that. For once, he had let his guard down with someone who wasn't part of his crew. Suddenly, Agenor remembered what Nyx had said. He gripped Nyx's neck, lifting his head so they could look each other in the eye. His tone became serious.
"Nyx, there are many things I've put up with from you. But there's one thing I won't tolerate again. You are never to say that you hate me. Do you understand? I can't predict what I might do if you do."
Nyx was taken aback. He had never expected this to be a limit. After a moment, he nodded. He realized how much Agenor had done for him, even helping with his stepfather's problem and delivering a letter to his mother. He had pushed Agenor too far.
"I may have gone too far," Nyx confessed with a hint of regret.
Agenor's heart leapt in his chest as he rushed to press his lips against Nyx's, kissing him with eagerness and passion. Their tongues met, dancing together in a fiery tango of desire. Agenor felt a sense of triumph as he sensed no rejection from Nyx. But, like any greedy person, he wanted more. Perhaps he could tease Nyx a little, exact some revenge for playing with his emotions. Agenor reluctantly pulled back from the kiss and a playful smirk appeared on his face.
"Now, how should I punish you for throwing your fist around like that? Any suggestions, Nyx?"
Nyx's apologetic expression faltered slightly at the mention of punishment.
"I already said I was sorry. I meant it."
"I know," Agenor replied, his tone softening slightly. "But you still need to be held accountable for your actions. Any ideas?"
Nyx's mind raced with horrifying possibilities as he remembered something Maren had once told him. His expression turned fearful and uncertain as he asked...
"Are you planning to cut off my fingers or... my limbs?"
Agenor's eyes widened in disbelief at Nyx's question. Then he laughed.
"Lord. So earlier I was going to kill you or sell you as a slave and now cut your limbs."
He continued laughing then added...
"That last one has actually happened before so, I won't hold that one against you. You really are something Nyx."
He smirked again in an amused way, and teasingly threatened...
"Not a bad idea though. In order to make sure you got your lesson this time, maybe I should cut one of those beautiful fingers as a souvenir..."
Agenor reached his hand aiming to hold Nyx's fingers. Nyx, terrified at the prospect of losing a limb, took a step back and quickly apologized.
"Agenor, I'm truly sorry," he said, his voice shaking.
Agenor teased him with a sly smile and prompted...
"And?"
Struggling to find the right words, Nyx pursed his lips and continued...
"And thank you for sending that letter to my family."
Agenor was taken aback by Nyx's gratitude, even though he knew the apology was forced. Despite himself, he felt a genuine sense of appreciation and a rare smile crossed his face. Nyx braced himself for Agenor's response but to his surprise, Agenor leaned in and kissed him. Nyx recoiled in fear, worried that he had angered the devil again. He swallowed hard and mustered the courage to ask...
"So, do you forgive me? Is there no punishment?"
Agenor's absentminded nod was followed by an intense gaze, as he studied the shape and color of Nyx's lips, now glistening with his own saliva.
"Aye, all is forgiven," he murmured, before their lips met once more.
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7/16/23
Guess who caught up on sleep? I'll give you a hint. It was me. I did.
I mean... kinda. It's likely gonna take me a few days to fully recover from the insomnia shitstorm that has been this week. But jamming some whittled shims into my upstairs neighbors' floorboards actually seemed to make a substantial difference. The sound is not gone, but majorly lessened. Instead of a series of cracks and pops, it's just one muted creak.
I didn't get to sleep until about 4:30... dawn was just starting to break. And I took my tincture, it's a pretty low-dose CBD/THC tincture by today's "go to the moon or don't fucking smoke" standards, and I took the smallest recommended dose possible because my tolerance is 100% gone by now... But I do credit that for helping too. I woke up, no surprise, to thump thump thump... but not the creak. And, yes surprise, it was past 10AM. I had trouble believing it. I put in my headphones, because... in a moment of clarity... I remembered that the only sound that got through the headphones was the creak, not the thumps. So... right back to sleep, after tossing and turning for a good 25 minutes... but I got there. And I got another couple hours of sleep. It worked out pretty well.
Today... I've just been on full recovery, honestly. I'm still out of it. I'm still kinda stalled out. So much that it was actually a nice day and... I didn't go skating. I didn't go for a walk at that farm nearby. I didn't go for a walk in town even. I just struggled to time it right, and by the time I got out of the shower, it was 8:30 and it was too dark. Another problem with sleep deprivation... your sense of time gets all fucked... so you can just be spacing out or zoning in on something and then suddenly 2 hours have gone by. Well, at least with me that happens.
So yeah... I decided to not beat myself up over that. I did prototypes for my grip tape art, quick sketches in my sketchbook so that I have something for visual reference. And I gathered reference photos, that was fun. And towards the end of the night, I had a (I hope) smart idea to use my old broken compass point to carve guide lines into the grip tape of my trick board instead of relying on the colored pencil. I'm just going to improvise the mandala, why the fuck not. And then I'll add the bird heads after.
I made a nice dinner tonight. I batch-cooked fried rice and it came out really good. I'm not used to doing that. I usually cook a whole big batch of fried rice and just eat it all. This time, I cooked 4 servings and just took one serving from it and had some soup too. It was a bit more cook time... which ate up a big chunk of my night and I couldn't paint because of it. But I have food prepped for later this week too, which is good.
So yeah, that's... that. Low key day. And... tomorrow is supposed to be all thunderstorms. So... fuck. So much for exercise tomorrow. Going on a week of no exercise now. -_- Welp, as long as I can keep the sleep consistent (fingers crossed) I can get the exercise plan started again.
I've been struggling a bit with career stuff. Just... self-esteem-wise. Direction-in-life-wise. I think it's because of the instagram post. I sometimes feel like it just does more damage than good. But yeah, I've been staving off that demon for most of the day. Which sucks because I have so many cool projects on my plate right now - too many, honestly - and yet... when that demon enters the room... they all look pointless. They all look stupid, or unoriginal, or above my ability level and "I'm just gonna fuck it up, I have to be super careful". You know... anxiety. Some days it's easy to just laugh at it and move on. Some days it sounds super fucking convincing. "yeah... I should just avoid painting a realistic bird... despite over 10 years of experience... because I might fuck it up and it might not look exactly like the reference photo that no one will ever even see... and even if I do fuck it up, I could just... fix it... but no... I should just not even start painting it." It's hard for me to believe now, after the fact, that it even sounds convincing. It sounds silly. But in the moment? When it's your voice saying that shit? Yeah, it's a tough one, man.
What's been helping me a lot is doing this abstract work. In fact, most of my creative expressions have taken this avenue as a way of bypassing anxiety and insecurity... and getting the creative juices flowing. The Zen/Jazz approach. There is no wrong. This is just a document of what occurred, there is no "right" or "wrong". And this idea is one that I have employed in writing, in music improvisation, in drawing, in painting. I really need to reconnect regularly with it. And I really think I have found out how. Through Zen.
I want to study more. All that I know about these practices has been pretty much self-taught through exploration. But I stumbled across some stuff in passing that I want to research, practice and share. Specifically, let's refer to the ensō, which is a common symbol associated with Zen. It's a circle painted in ink with a brush in one stroke. The intention is to represent - god, this is actually hard to put into words - it's like a fingerprint, I guess. I just thought of it similar to the language from the movie Arrival, but... not as complex, I guess? It's a display of imperfection, a unique one-of-a-kind imprint of the artist's pure expression for a short snapshot of time.
A lot of my... presented art... has been the complete opposite of that. It has been comprised of meticulously drawn and blended pieces. Recreating reference down the the feather or pore, like a photocopier. Or doing my best to work and blend colors into a smooth mush. And now? Now I'm drawing bubbles in ink on paper. No sketch. No "correct shapes". Organic. Every shape different and unique, with its own personality. And that style of work set me free. Mental-health-wise, that is.
I still make my realism art. I have plans to do several pieces. But like... where my art was originally born was doodling in pen in the margins of my notebooks in school. In pen. And drawing on my arms and legs and pants in pen. No sketches, no prototypes, no re-do's. I would draw half-sleeves on my left arm regularly, and just wash them off at the end of the day. Wonder why I got into tattooing? XD
I guess I'm kinda telling this because... I dug up my old black jeans today. I haven't worn them in a while. They have faded patchy color spots where I used to have a Mr. Mime drawn in full color on the pant leg. I used DecoPens and it came out in the wash, unfortunately. But I guess it really reminded me that I used to just grab a pen and just go nuts for fucking hours, and just fill that entire pant leg with a patchwork of drawings and zentangles and designs and quotes and shit. No one else was doing shit like that around me, and I didn't even notice. I was just compelled to do it. And I genuinely didn't care if it was "good". I just... made it. Because that's what I do. That's what I was compelled to do. Why does a dog chase a tennis ball? It just does, it's just what dog do. And what I do is draw stuff on things. Apparently.
So... right now... those black jeans are sitting on the floor next to my skateboard... which has guidelines carved into it. And it's really making me... --- it's putting me in a strange dilemma. Do I embrace the freestyle spirit from my past? And just... start painting and see what happens? Do I use reference? How true to reference do I stay?
I can feel the two worlds of my artistic self colliding and trying very hard to... fuse. To just pick up the permanent inks and just start drawing on my clothing. But yet... to sketch, and make sure my proportions are right, and maaaaybe take a few steps before-hand... hmm... maybe sketch first... ooo or I can do the whole piece on paper first and then do it in ink and then put the sketch under the pants and put all of it on my light table and... See? So... I start with "I should just pick up the pen and embrace the imperfections", and then I end up with "I should carefully precisely draw this 3 times - in pencil, in pen and then inked on the clothing". And those are like... polar opposite practices! So... where do I go with that?
My answer today? Because I was ping-ponging on that all night... My answer was to do very basic guidelines for the skateboard. Just 16 symmetry lines and 6 rings radiating from the middle at random intervals. The rest of the piece - at least the mandala section - I'm just going to improvise. That's my compromise between just grabbing the paint and winging it... and doing prototypes and sketches and shit.
I really do miss the days when I would just slap paint on something. But now... I get this silly idea that like... when you've been doing something this long... and you call yourself a professional... You better be on your shit 24/7. And that's bullshit. Sorry. It is. That whole "every piece has to be better than your last or else it's not worth making" myth, that's bullshit.
I guess it's just the permanence of this stuff that gets me. If I fuck up the shorts? It's one of 3 pairs of shorts I own... XD I love those shorts, I don't want to "ruin" them. I never used to say shit like this. I never felt that way about my black jeans. Ever. I'd just start drawing on them without even thinking. "Ruining" never even popped into my head. What a nasty thought-infection!
So yeah. I guess the biggest thing I want to get out of my head... is this stupid idea of "good" and "bad". Either I'm willing to embrace the piece for what it is, and what it has become... as a product of my creative process, at a specific time, with specific efforts. Or I'm not willing to accept it. For whatever reason.
Let me use an example of where I'm a little on the fence right now. That red-beaded necklace? My first preparation of ink-stained beads finished with tung oil. I had it sitting in a sealed bag with a piece of cinnamon to add a multisensory experience to it. (it didn't work) It's been chilling while I work on the newer beads for... close to a week now. I took it out to wear it yesterday. The beads... have a kinda satin finish to them. I was not expecting it at all. When I put them in the bag, they had a bit of a gloss to them. I guess that was residual oil. This was after 6 coats of oil separated 6 hours apart each, as instructed by multiple sources including the bottle itself. Well... I decided to look up tung oil finishes today and apparently... Apparently they take up to 3 days to dry each coat. And the phrasing on all the bottles and shit is completely wrong. So... what I've been doing is just... taking the same coat and just re-saturating it every 6 hours. So... cumulative, this finished piece has 1... maybe two coats of oil on it. And it's already strung and finished. Do I call that a finished piece? The beads are pretty water-resistant. The color does look nice. They are decently polished, but again... have a satin finish, not a gloss. Do I strip the beads off and add more coats to them until they get the glossy sheen I really want? Will tung oil actually give them that sheen? (I've read that it's possible it will not.) Do I try to polish the beads with a finishing coat of wax? Or do I leave it as-is?
This is an example of... if someone came up and saw this piece, they would have zero knowledge of what I was attempting with this piece. They would have no idea that I intended for the beads to be glossy. Or that I still technically could try to get that look, but I'd have to dismantle the piece in order to do it. Maybe they would like the look of something less flashy and more subdued even more than glossy. So... it calls out that "good" or "bad" dichotomy, which does. not. exist. It's entirely subjective. What I find appealing, you may not enjoy. What a friend likes on Instagram might be uninteresting for a paying consumer. And I'm trying so hard every damn day to keep my head in the mentality of... "what does this piece want?" Not "what do I want" or "what does a potential buyer want?" In the business world, they call this "bad business". Of course you want to find out what is trending and what's popular and what's going to guarantee the sale. DUH. That's how all that shit works. But when it comes to creative expression... "pure" creative expression... these pieces simply share space with trends. Trends are always going to leak in through proximity, through cultural influence and shit. But the shift that truly makes pieces special... is when the piece takes on a life of its own. When the only thing that matters is figuring out what the piece is asking for, and how to get it there.
That's clearly not the only form or art or craft. But it's the kind that I chase, that I am constantly pursuing and craving. When you just put a pen to paper and the piece just starts drawing itself. When you pick up a guitar and the song just starts calling your fingers to the next note. It requires so much immersion, so much faith. Trust in the process. And I love it. It has been the fuel in my confidence-battle against my severe anxiety disorder since I was very young, and I often forget how crucially important those leaps of faith are for my everyday functioning - especially socially.
So... I can feel when I'm not practicing this enough. And I can feel when I'm slipping into "well, I'll just play it safe", "I don't want to 'ruin' it..." And today, I went there. So, after cooking dinner, I made an effort deliberately to fill a container with water for my paintbrushes... and get a paper towel. And just put them on the floor next to the skateboard. Then all I need to do is just go over there tomorrow and just start working. Just... paint to canvas, let it go and see where it ends up.
You know what I need? What my brother, who is also crippled by anxiety but is a very talented musician, needs to do? Make a "bad song". What every struggling artist needs? Make a "bad piece". Get it fucking over with. And you'll see that it's never as "bad" as you think it is. And there's always a person out there who likes it.
So, make "bad" art. Make hasty art. Make impulsive art. Make messy sloppy art. But for the love of god, don't make dishonest art. You'll deprive your work of the one thing that makes art... art. Soul. You. The artist. Maybe I'm just speaking for myself, but I really don't think we need more examples of soulless art in the world. People are literally programming robots to do that. We're all set, thank you.
Maybe I'm just talking to myself, maybe the world, I don't know. But like... soulful art is really important. It reminds us of what life's all about. And it resonates with people... reminding them of their humanity, too. And it becomes this kind of conversation. Maybe not a literal conversation (sometimes, but rarely), but as my eccentric sculpture teacher used to say... "art is anything put on a wall that asks the question 'consider this...'" And... as viewers, we respond. So... rather than try to mindread what's going to be a hot-selling topic, or what's trending... or whatever? Why not say what your heart has to say? It may be bad business, or bad marketing... but it's art.
Easy to preach, hard to practice. Good luck being a professional artist when you have no social connections and can't get noticed on the internet because you don't give a fuck about trends... on platforms that are literally designed from the bones up to exclusively support the popular getting more popular. But I'll be damned if I'm going to let that stop me.
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Religious Questions #1
15 November 2022
Greetings,
A fellow asked me yesterday, "Is stoning allowed?". It was a joke question that I answered regardless of the intention. The short answer is no.
However, another fellow reminded me of Deuteronomy 13:6-10. I will quote 10 as follows:
Stone them to death, because they tried to turn you away from the Lord your God, who brought you out of Egypt, out of the land of slavery.
My answer is still "No, stoning is not allowed." Now, why is it ordered this way?
Context is very important in analyzing the verses. You can say that they can be split into a few groups:
1) The ones that don't change over time,
2) The ones that can be reformed through time (though you can not take the word "reform" as completely change, but take it as if updating the computer's operating system to fit the newest equipment of the era without changing the base at all),
3) The ones that were ordered to just particular groups of a particular time that only worked back then and wouldn't work now. For the stoning, I have seen in Deuteronomy 13:5 that Egypt is mentioned, and the context is added to make us understand that it belongs to the third group I said above.
Also, to determine if an action is allowed or not, you should check the laws. The laws forbid you from killing. If you break it, you are hurting the local harmony. Therefore, you are committing a sin. Tolerance should be upheld.
And, regarding the second group of verses I have said above, the view towards the people you regard as sinners have changed throughout the years.
Also, historically, religion was one's nationality as you could say, therefore differences in religion could also be another way of description for the enemy nation. You could say "non-Christians/Jews/Muslims" just to refer to the enemy state/group. The main factor has not been the religious differences but the religious descriptions were merely used as a differentiating factor to label people. Think of the football teams that wear different color uniforms, you'd call them reds and say "fight against the reds". In this context, you are not hostile against the color red most of the time, but simply use it to highlight the enemy.
So, religious differences back then could as well be the indicators of different factions. If one were to invite you to the other, it was not only a religious difference but a policy difference.
Again, historically, religious conversion has not been a personal thing. It would apply to anything from taxes to the government's judicial policies on you, which you can see in the example of the Early Modern Period in the Ottoman Empire very clearly.
Therefore, if you check the archives or anything, you can see a bunch of inter-religious hostility, especially in the context of the Mediterranean of the Early Modern period. It does not encompass the in-person level of religious tolerance such as hugging your non-Christian enemy as a Christian yourself. It's more governmental as it was the state policy to convert people (Pia Casa of Venice and Devşirme of Ottomans, if you will).
It could also apply to smaller groups as people were keeping the right to enslave the people of other religions when they were pirating around. Still, it's a different thing. Despite that, the "Barbary Coast" Muslims had 'mercy' on the French during the times the Ottomans were protecting them, so it's more about political power than religion itself. I believe the Torah verse hints at the same context in this situation.
The end verdict: Stoning is not allowed.
My sincere wishes,
The Archbishop of Nova Justiniana and All Cyprus, His Beatitude,
Karolos Yarakios.
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Good morning (when I assume most people will see this. Feast your god damn eyes on a chicken nugget.)
Context: I’m frickin’ bored.
#doodles#shitposts#the conductor#the engineer#ahit#a hat in time#toonkind DnD#2022#you had no idea how much mental energy it took to write daddy on his shirt#hint: it had to be in 2 colors for me to tolerate it
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as yours (viii); winter break
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: sukuna ryomen x reader
𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬: 4,024
𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: fluff, comedy, a hint of violence, college au, mention of gang fighting/ involvement, a sprinkle of angst (future updates), cursing and swearing, slow-burn relationship, SIMPKUNA
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: "as a child, you have harbor a massive crush on Itadori Yuji; it wasn't until that college happened you dared to ask him. Trying to give him a letter, the one who you ended up giving to was no other than his no-good twin brother, Sukuna Ryomen."
𝐚/𝐧: finally I am back, I wanted to make sure that this get posted this time. Plus tumblr buffer my work, so I had not choice in the end and force to delete it, it was originally around 3k words, but after adding and editing more it got around to barely 4k, which was a feat and should be enough to make it up for lost time.
chapter 7 ✿ chapter 9
You lay in bed, looking at every plushie won for you. It was hard to get them inside Sukuna's car since he was stuffing them like it was a Thanksgiving feast. But then a thought rush through your mind. "How do they even know my name?!" You sit up in bed, ponder how that Majima guy even got a hold of it. No one knew, besides your friends and family, even a few people you don't like. The feeling of unease weighs in. You surf back into your memory and gauge how Sukuna is one-hundred on the line of knowing Majima; the way he loses his temperament for a second and blinks it away speaks for itself.
Remembering that Sukuna gave you his number, you got off the bed to your dirty laundry basket and pulled out your pants. Digging into its back pocket, the yellow note crumpled up and folded in an orthodox origami. Unfolding it on your way back to bed, you grab your phone and shoot him a message.
Sunday, December 1st, 2022
[You: Hey idiot, this is me. I need to ask you something really quick. -Sent: 2:24 pm]
[Sukuna: I didn't think you would text me this fast, ask away anyway. -Sent: 2:25 pm]
Sukuna didn't miss a beat when it came to you.
[You: Are you friends in that past with Majima or something? -Sent: 2:25 pm]
There was 'typing...' On the screen before it disappeared and reappeared a few times, confirming your suspicion. Sukuna does know Majima, but to what level?
[Sukuna: Not really, but why? -Sent: 2:28 pm]
[You: Then how did he even know my name if I never tell him? -Sent: 2:29 pm]
Seen.
Was that Sukuna left you off with? Besides, Majima and their two other people look shady as hell, too; you remember their appearances well, all those tattoos and dark monochrome scheme colors. You rechecked the phone to see if he would text back, but there weren't any notifications. He did leave you on read. Tossing your phone on your bed, your mother calls you from downstairs.
Sukuna felt his blood go hot and cold in mere seconds reading that last line from you.
[Cute Spitfire: Then how did he even know my name if I never tell him? -Sent: 2:29 pm]
Like he wants to toss his phone across the room, he knows that Majima wants dirt on him. But him gaining access and info about you is deemed ambiguous. One thing about Sukuna is that he dislikes disclosing his personal life to other people. The only person who knows is Uraume. Sukuna doubted that it was Uraume from the start. He wondered which mole he should wack for spilling out sensitive information about you. He doesn't tolerate carelessness and betrayal on the spot.
Combing a hand through his hair, he took a deep breath before losing his shit. Sukuna then bark out, "All ride out; tonight, we hunt for fucking rats!" There was a chorus of cheers in the taken warehouse that Sukuna had used for a temporary base. He doesn't like to linger in one place for too long; it would arouse suspicion and the wrong kind of attention. So being constantly on the move is a thing for him when he wants an adrenaline rush.
Hopping in a car, multiple engines mixture of motorcycles and heavily tuned cars revved loudly; that's it's enough to hear from miles away. Hanging an arm loosely on the outside of the car, he gave it a few hard pats to get everyone in line as he ordered the designated driver to lead.
Vehicles pile out in order like it was still some war era.
"Head straight to the backwater of Tokyo." Sukuna's deep strawberry eyes glower in the light, "I'm taking him out." Loose ends are something he doesn't let go of often, but this is personal to him. Considering all the time, Sukuna had allowed Majima to run free despite keeping track of every crime and ordeal he had struck behind his back, thinking that he didn't know. Sukuna is one of the central four Kingpin in Japan; not even the police force and government want to go against him since he is funding them with everything they need.
So if killing someone like Majima, no one would bat an eye since anybody slew across the alleyway is another body in the gutter. Easily replaceable in this world full of billions of people.
Checking your phone as if you're married to it for three days, Sukuna hasn't been answering you nor texting back ever since that day. You cuss his name out under your breath for wasting your time. Deciding to pull the internet up, you saw a news feed of 5 warehouses near the shipping port being burned down. There was a tug on you to read it, so you did.
["Today, on December 1st, there was an attack on five warehouses near the port trading cargo area. There were no people injured, but there were 23 people dead on the scene, and among those 23 casualties, they belonged to a gang called 'Kingsnake,' a minor gang that has been on the rise."]
Scrolling down the article, you see the unrecognized faces of gang members, but out of the 23 that were dead, you saw two faces that you briefly memorize. They were with Majima night. But going onto the article, there was a sentence about 'turf war' and fighting for control. It's been a while since you heard anything about gangs since they're primarily undercover. If not, they're untouchable since not even the police want to be involved with them.
Checking the time, you saw it was nearly time for you to go to college. Unplugging the charger, you grab your backpack and hurdle out of the room in a rush. Not before running back in to grab your notes to study for upcoming exams you have for the end of the month.
Running down the stairs like a madman, you bid goodbye to your family and opened the front door to expect Sukuna there, but he wasn't there. A somewhat despondent strike your heart in a sharp jab. 'Fuck, am I getting used to him?' Closing the door behind you, you rush out of the front gate and hope that the train didn't close on you and that you made it on time for college.
You glance at the papers given during classes on a lunch break. It was practice exams from your subjects and to see a low mark from one of your most minor favorite subjects is susceptible. Your friend group told you they would be at the library when you get your papers. Making a grimaced face, you pull that one specifically out of the piles you did well on. Flipping the pieces, you check to see the red comments on what went wrong or is in questioning; leaning your temple against your fingertips, a huff of stress claims you. You need to pass this semester's class before changing it. You already talked to your counselor before. If you did well on the exams, you wouldn't need to take the entire course semester, maybe doing paperwork over the winter break about the 2nd semester to get two-thirds of the grade, a B+ at best. After all, you want to do courses that align with your career path.
"That's pretty bad," a voice spoke over your shoulder. You jump up in surprise as a string of curses leaves your lips when you notice who it is. Sukuna leans over your shoulder, looking intently at the papers. You were so focused on your practice exam that you didn't see his shadow looming over you or his footsteps approaching.
Flipping the paper close, you shuffle it in between your other documents. "You didn't need to point it out," collecting the stacks, you evenly bounce them on the table to smoothen out the corners before putting them inside your backpack. "Besides, you were gone for three whole days and left me on read."
"Awe, did you miss me?" Sukuna coo, pulling you closer to him by the waist as you suddenly push him back, which he doesn't budge when a hand goes up your back to make sure you won't distance yourself away.
"Hell no!" You denied it quickly. Too quickly for him. A smirk climbs up his face; now people stop what they're doing, and you are trying to push him away; he was too close to your liking, and you felt embarrassed in the eyes of scrutiny. His legs kept brushing up against yours, and you could feel the heat spreading all over your body. "Let go of me, dammit! People are watching, especially your fangirls!"
Without warning, you shriek out more when Sukuna picks you up. Your legs were straddling his waist, and he effortlessly carried you with one arm while the other hand grabbed your bag. He slung it over his backpack. You were whining like a child who wanted to be put down. 'This is so embarrassing!' Your face could explode now, as you felt like you didn't know what to do anymore. Your hands were on his shoulders, gripping and loosening each second.
Sukuna: "Hold on tight; I don't want to drop you. Considered this a free ride that I didn't give you this morning."
You: "Anything but this!"
Sukuna: "Should I throw you over my shoulder or carry you like a blushing bride instead?"
You: "Fuck you!"
Sukuna: "Are you consenting? I would make sure that you're not gonna be walking right after I'm done, Little Spitfire."
During the walk to the library, all you could do was look at the ground and his feet. Too nervous to look at anything else, whisperers and people secretly talking to each other didn't go unnoticed by you. There was a shock when people saw you both. You could tell the fangirls would kill to be in your spot (they envisioned you dead); it's not every day that someone here carried, and you would trade it in a heartbeat.
Once in front of the large double oak door of the library, you were put down, almost losing your footing if not for Sukuna balancing you out and gripping his shirt out of pure fear of being dropped. You weren't focusing on anything else but the way your body bent halfway to the ground, with Sukuna's arm wrapping tightly around your waist and him gripping the door bar for support.
"You can-" turning around to face Sukuna and telling him that you should be okay, your noses brushes against one another at the tip. Surrounding all forgotten, all you could focus on was how close he was, and his deep strawberry eyes had flakes of gold specks around them, almost representing little stars or golden seeds. His breath hits your lips, and if it wasn't intentionally, Sukuna's eyes shift to your lips as his long lashes flutter a few times slowly. A deep bob of his Adam apple was enough to tell you what runs through his mind.
Sukuna never thought this was the closes he would get to you; he was aware of the hundreds of eyes looking at you both. But all he could focus on was you, the way how you suddenly look softer in his eyes, or how your plush lips part and the gloss you wear makes them shine like gemstones. How much he wishes to kiss them. Just a little more, and he would, but not without you consenting him to do so.
Pulling you up, he breaks the spell when you guys suddenly part away from one another to give each other space. Sukuna could tell that you were flustered, the calm persona was slipping away, but he quickly recomposed himself. Sukuna could feel his skin warmer than the cold air in the hallway like it was on fire. Heart beating like a rapid drumming line, he opens the door and allows you in first, and you zoom right past him to the table.
Throwing yourself into an empty chair, you avoided everyone else eyes, "We thought, when are you going to-" Maki paused her sentence when she saw Sukuna right behind you, feet away. Her smile widened as she gave at Nobara with that cocky expression of 'you know, and I know,' by nudging her with her elbow, "-what a lovely surprise to see you here, Sukuna." Maki drawl out with a polite, teasing tone to rile you up.
"Hi," Sukuna gave a short, curt response and settled himself next to you. He hands you your backpack, and you accept it without looking at him. Your hands were shaking when you pulled out the reviewing materials, which Megumi caught.
Megumi: "You doing okay, (Name)?"
You: "Hm? Huh? Y-Yeah."
Megumi: "You're shaking a lot-"
Maki: "She is fine, Porcupine, just her nerves being tease since love is in the air."
"Maki, you're this close to being tossed out the window." You show her a thumb and finger so close to being touched, and she laughs at your threatening attitude.
With the gang complete, Sukuna lingers on the side, watching everyone interacting, passing around each other's practice exams around in what shared class or period they have differently. Sukuna saw you invested in the practice exams and glanced at the paper from afar. You guys were discussing what the answers are or how to solve them. But seeing you trying to figure out how to solve it since no one in the group got it right or doesn't have that shared class, Sukuna can't help but tell you.
"That is wrong because..." Sukuna went off on a tangent of explaining, pointing at the paper, his forefinger running around the problem as everyone, even you included, listened intently. With him writing it down and presenting it with a thorough explanation and the correct terminologies, Sukuna explains it much better than the professor. Then the group started taking advantage of the situation by asking more of the questions that they got wrong, and Sukuna was in a good mood today and had become a teacher. Well, to your group of friends, an unofficial teacher.
"Not only he got good looks, but brains too," Panda commented, which makes Sukuna's ego sore through the roof. "Guess not all rumors are true." He continued with his praises, but for somewhat of a reason, Sukuna remains humble about it. Maybe this was a ploy to get on your friend's good side and romance you without the barrier of them protesting or convincing you otherwise.
With the hours getting late, the sky got dark quickly after five hits. Sukuna grabbed you along to follow him, as it went from your wrist to your hand when your little habit from the days before the fair play his mind. His warm hand engulfs your delicate, cold one.
"Tell me that they're dating without telling me they're dating," Nobara snickers out loudly when you were away with Sukuna at a reasonable distance, which got you are screaming back at her to 'shut up' when your ears are burning up. The group laughs out wholeheartedly. Wanting to chuck your bag at Nobara like a brick, it might be immobilized her since it got books and other heavy stuff. The you're weight isn't something to be messed with.
Sukuna paused in his steps; he felt you bump headfirst to his backside. He turned around to your friends. "Oh yeah, if you guys are cool with it during the break, I know this nice bathhouse forty miles from here! It's located in the mountains run by heated lava beds, and I'm paying for it!" Your group didn't hesitate to say yes, since it's Sukuna's offering, and it's free too! Megumi looks at everyone and sighs at his fate. You could relate too.
You were in shock when you arrived at the given location with your friends when you refused to ride with Sukuna. Sukuna told you about the bathhouse but didn't say it was the Ice Lily, which was exclusive only to VIPs. Even celebrities are dying to get into this bathhouse as they had to sign up and be put on a waitlist which could range from months to a year at most.
What you know about the bathhouse is that it was magical to people who managed to get inside. So to say this was on your bucket list as a kid before you died. Sukuna arrived promptly when he got out of the car, not his bike when he handed his key to a valet to park, and they gave him a token number for his car. He pops out his duffle bag from the truck and meets up with your group.
"What do you guys think of the place?" Sukuna asked; he knew that everyone was stunned.
"This is out of my pocket range," Panda spoke up, with Inumaki agreeing. Nobara and Maki can't wait to try everything out or what the bathhouse has to offer since beauty care and personal care are what they only think of since, in their head, it's only fair to treat themselves when they're so busy slaving themselves to the college system. Megumi only tagged along because he didn't want to hear his father nagging and his mother coddling him. His sister is the same as his mom, so Megumi figured this was the best choice before getting thrown back into his family.
Sukuna leads the group inside when a guard recognizes him and hurriedly opens the door and gives him a formal greeting. Sukuna gave a head nod as an acknowledgment without speaking and headed straight to the front desk, where a lady presented seven critical cards with your guy's names inked in cursive gold. Sukuna took one and explained that everyone was located on the same floor.
You peer at Sukuna's key card and notice that his room number is just next to yours, and you suddenly want to smack him. 'All the rights by trying to get close to me.' Lasering eyes at him, Sukuna felt like eyes were on him. He turned around, and you looked away simultaneously. The Cheshire grins return.
So you knew? Good. Spending time with you has become scarce these days with him working none stop and not being able to entertain you as much as he should, so cornering you is an idea.
"Ah, I'm beaten." Maki relaxed into the warm water after getting a full body massage and a facial; she said she was reborn. You glance at Maki, a lot more toner than you in body training since she was in a sports club. Her muscles move around whenever she flexes, and damn, what a great time to be alive since you barely see her wearing short-sleeved shirts. You had to admit that being bisexual or being born as a guy would be great.
As for Nobara, who was toned, but on the delicate side, she cares about her figure very much and would indulge in those 'keto' diets or just diets that would help her maintain her weight.
You, on the other hand, are a random mess; whether it's by luck or genetics, you didn't care about your appearances much overall. Since your family was an instead blessed one, you thought that would be the case. Whether you're thin or not, you don't care about fitting into society's standards much when there are other things to care about than the superficial stuff that constantly changes with the trends or over time.
Reaching over behind Maki's back, there was a chill bucket filled with alcohol. You pulled it out of the ice and saw a warm amber color through the glass bottle; popping the cork open, you took a whiff of the smell and made a face. There was a hint of sweet apple with the strong notion of vodka; you decided to give it a test by pouring it into a cup, enough for a shot.
"By the way, what's with you and Sukuna? You guys are so close to each other that you don't even think about Yuji anymore. Are you guys dating behind our backs, thinking we won't know?" Nobara questioned her brows, wiggling, and when you up the glass into your mouth, you suddenly spat it back out the second.
Choking and putting the glass behind you, tears wounded up in your eyes, trying to form sentences and words, it comes out with you hacking, still trying to catch your breath. Nobara only laughs at your misery. "You already asked me that before, and you're asking me again!"
"I mean, I'm not wrong." She shrugs.
Clicks!
"You guys heard that?" Maki asked in a low hush tone when you and Nobara paused your ongoing bickering.
Clicks!
Maki grabs a floating bucket in the water and hurdle it at an incredible speed where the sound comes from. And with great accuracy, a loud cry of pain was heard when a body dropped out of the tree. There was a camera in that stranger's hand.
A peeping tom has occurred!
You scream when the stranger has recovered and dashes out of the women's side of the bathhouse. You never thought this would happen to you guys, considering this was a private resort.
With Maki hot on the stranger's tail, she got a towel around her when you and Nobara emerge from the women's section chasing after the peeping tom. Nobara tossed whatever she could in her arm at the pervert but missed every time, or it's just that the pervert has excellent agility.
You were speeding up the paces, too, when Maki finally caught up and put the guy into a tackle and put him in an arm lock. She takes the camera from the guy's hand and kicks him down to lay still. She flips through the pictures and sees that the guy had taken it when you three first walked into the bathhouse to the bathing parts, meaning he saw the nudes.
With the guys coming out of their section, they wondered what was wrong until they saw a person being held down by Maki's impressive foot strength. They all went 'oh.'
Sukuna was the last to emerge, "What's with the screaming?" Then he pieces the clues together, Maki with a camera, you in nothing but a sexy towel still have water droplets all over you. You must've rushed out to catch the guy, considering you and Nobara were out of breath. "A pervert? Really?" Sukuna then called security, as if he wasn't pissed off suddenly since this was a resort that he rented out personally for you and the others. Before the guard could reach the culprit, Sukuna went over to them and whispered low in a meaningful tone, to only what they could hear. "I expected nothing but great quality from this place, but you failed to secure the area."
The security guard felt like his soul was taken out of his body and was dumped into ice; the way Sukuna's eyes glowered was enough to make him pick up the culprit hastily and notify the front desk to call the cops.
Maki destroyed the camera by smashing it into pieces on the ground and snapping the memory card in half, causing the pervert to cry out in low agony. It's like his whole life had flashes in between his eyes.
"Are you okay?" Sukuna asked once he was near you enough; the extra towel he had around his shoulders, he shrugged it off and covered you instead.
"Yes," with a brief answer, you walk back to the women's section to get changed into the new clothes before entering your room.
Sukuna knows that you're pissed off, considering the tone you use on him. It was easy to decipher how your face tried to mask that you wanted to beat up that stranger. But so much for a break, and getting you to be alone with him.
.
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#fan fiction#jujustu kaisen x reader#jjk sukuna#jujutsu kaisen#masterlist#jjk x reader#sukuna ryomen#sukuna x reader#sukuna ryomen: as yours (series)#jjk x y/n#jjk fanfic#jjk fluff#jjk anime#fanfic series
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Day 2: Breeding Kink
Day 2 of Kinktober and… I got carried away with this one. The others are not going to be nearly as long as this one, so you guys are gonna be spoiled with this. I hope you enjoy it! Find my Kinktober Masterlist here.
Warnings: Minors DNI, this is 18+ only content. Some warnings for violence and blood mentioned, though nothing too graphic. PinV sex, unprotected, consensual, nonhuman character, exophilia, slight hint of biting kink
Tags: Dilf!werewolf x reader, exophilia, kinktober
Moonlight Through Colored Leaves
When you’d first moved to the tiny Irish town in the middle of nowhere, you’d originally hoped to escape the family drama that haunted you back in America. Thanks to your grandfather’s Irish immigration, you’d been able to get an Irish citizenship and move relatively easily. So, you’d packed your bags, only told your grandfather where you were going, and boarded the first flight to Ireland you could catch.
You’d quietly made your way to your grandfather’s tiny hometown far out in the countryside, and moved into the long-since abandoned house that had belonged to your ancestors before. Though it had been run down and you’d had to do some major repairs and cleaning, you’d finally made a cozy cottage on the outskirts of the small village-like town.
The town had been quite welcoming and friendly, and you’d quickly found a job working at the local town pub as a waitress. Your boss had been very welcoming, and you’d earned favor from your coworkers and boss for your hard work and quiet, unassuming diligence. The pay was good, and you found yourself growing comfortable in the sleepy town life, meeting your neighbors and getting familiar with the town dynamics.
You’d just gone in for your shift of the day when conversation caught your ear. You put on your waitress apron, pulling your hair up into a ponytail and walking out to the bar to grab your tray.
“Did you hear about the news?” Jaina asked, arms propped on the countertop. “I mean, about that Romanian vamp that landed on Scotland the other day. Word is that he’s headed this way.”
“Well why would it want teh come here?” Sean snorted. “We’re out in teh middle o’ nowhere, Janie, t’ere ain’t not’in’ here t’at it would want.”
“Well didn’t you hear that apparently they’re expecting Agent Blue to be chasing it down with the Dullahan?” Jaina hissed. “Why wouldn’t they come over here?”
You hid your discreet grimace, instead walking out in front of the bar. To your delight and surprise, you found yourself facing a familiar little figure sitting at the bar in a corner. The little girl caught sight of you and squealed, waving.
You went over to her giving her a hug. “Well hello there, Miss Morrigan,” you greeted cheerfully. “How are you this fine evening? Having a drink?” you teased, noticing the glass of juice near her notebook.
She giggled, nodding. “Yeah! I’m with Daddy today,” she answered, feet kicking against the bar. She turned her head to see the bartender approaching. “Daddy!” she said excitedly. “Look, it’s the nice neighbor lady I told you about!”
You looked up to see Lysander Sullivan standing there, polishing a glass with a cloth. He gazed down at his daughter with a fond look deep in his eyes, then turned to look at you, his ice blue eyes meeting yours.
“Is that so?” he asked, his deep voice a low rumble in the relatively quiet bar. It hadn’t gotten to heavy traffic times, so there weren’t many people around yet. His grey-flecked hair had been swept back into an elastic band, and his beard had been neatly trimmed.
You gave him a small, shy smile, a little embarrassed. Though you knew that the man lived next to your property, you’d been a bit timid about approaching him. He was a kind enough gentleman from everything you’d seen and heard, and he’d watched out for you as you worked, but you didn’t see any reason why he’d be interested in any further contact with you. After all, you were a younger woman in your mid-twenties that lived alone.
“Yeah! She helps me with homework sometimes,” Morrigan prattled on, “and she lets me water her flowers!”
You laughed a little, feeling the color splash across your cheeks. “Well, I certainly enjoy the little Queen’s company,” you admitted. You’d heard some of the other workers gossip about Lysander, saying that he was a single father to nine-year-old Morrigan and that her mother had died in a tragic accident. You didn’t really know, and you’d tried not to pry or overhear too much. The man had a right to privacy, just like you had things you were running from as well.
“Thank you for looking out for the little cub,” Lysander said, a small smile crossing his face. He mellowed out around his daughter, his love clear in how he interacted with her.
“Of course. It’s a delight,” you said, smiling at Morrigan. “She’s a smart little cookie, aren’t you, Queenie?” you asked, tugging at her pigtail teasingly.
She giggled. “Yeah!” Then she tilted her head at you. “Are you working with Daddy tonight?” she asked curiously.
“O-oh, well, sort of,” you stammered, taken aback a little. “He works behind the counter, but I serve people out there,” you said, motioning to the tables. “So I guess we do, in a way.”
Morrigan nodded sagely. “Ohhh, so you do the food and Daddy does the drinks.” She nodded, satisfied at her conclusion. “Oh, I’m making a drawing! I want you to see it later, when I’m finished,” she said, tugging at your sleeve.
You smiled. “Of course, Queenie. You just let me know and I’ll pop by when I have a moment, alright?” you promised.
She nodded, turning back to her notebook and picking up her crayons again. Tongue poked out, she diligently returned to her masterpiece. You gave her a fond smile, noting the way the soft lights made a halo in her blonde hair.
“She’s such an angel,” you murmured, grabbing some straws from the bar to stick into your pocket.
“Aye, that she is.” Lysander’s comment almost startled you. He glanced at you across the bar, the sleeves of his crisp maroon button-up rolled halfway up his arms. “I apologize for not bein’ a better neighbor,” he remarked.
You blinked, then reached up to brush a piece of hair behind your ear. “Oh, no— not at all,” you blurted, then gave him a chagrined smile. “I’m the one who should be apologizing. I’d met Morrigan when she was coming back from school, since I was in the front yard. She just… hopped on over, so I said hi. Honestly I should have introduced myself better, but…” You bit your lip. “I just kept putting it off because I didn’t want to bother you…”
He blinked, then chuckled slightly, as though surprised. “An’ here I thought it was ‘cause you didn’t really like me for some reason,” he said, amusement laced in his tone.
You gave him a horrified look. “Oh! Not at all!” You shook your head with a sigh, tugging mournfully at your ponytail. “I’m… notoriously bad at meeting people for the first time,” you groaned. “I just get nervous and tongue tied and I don’t know how to interact and… ugh.” You winced. “I am sorry, Mr. Sullivan. I should be a better neighbor, especially since I somehow got to know your daughter.” You half-laughed at yourself.
He waved you off. “I’m just glad you get along with Mor,” he chuckled. “She speaks endlessly about you. Seems like you’ve impressed her.”
You looked up at him, genuinely surprised. “Really?” you wondered, glancing at the girl. Then you smiled. “Well, I’m flattered. She’s such a smart, curious girl. I’m rather honored that she’d find me interesting.” You breathed a laugh, then glanced up at him. “I should get to my station, but… if you don’t mind, would it be alright if I swung by tomorrow to say hi and properly introduce myself?”
He nodded calmly. “Of course. She gets back home from school at three, if you wanted to catch her as well.”
You nodded, propping the tray on your hip. “Thank you! I’ll do that. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll stop procrastinating and actually start working,” you laughed, and walked off with a wave.
The night progressed relatively smoothly, customers rotating in and out with regulars stopping by. The crowds ebbed and flowed, sometimes more rowdy and sometimes more calm. Still, you enjoyed the atmosphere and the liveliness of it all. Despite it being a pub, and an Irish one at that, the town was small and most people knew everyone else. Plus, Lysander was the bartender for more than one reason. Everyone knew that making trouble of any sort was not tolerated and had force to back it up.
You occasionally popped by Morrigan’s place at the bar, either to have a chat or to admire the progress she’d made on her drawing. And throughout the night, your worries started to mount the more gossip you heard around the pub. Some of them had heard confirmation that the Romanian vampire gone mad was making a beeline for Ireland, though no one seemed to know why. There were even more rumors that Agent Blue, the famous Will-o-the-Wisp, was after the rampaging Pricoli. And still others said that the Scott Pack would be making a reappearance.
Once you’d finished your shift and helped close up shop, you started the trudge back to your cottage down the road. It wasn’t a far walk, really, and it gave you some time to think and clear your head from the smells of the pub. Reaching up, you pulled your hair free from the ponytail and sighed, shoulders slumping.
You’d come to Ireland to escape your problems, but it felt like they were all closing in on you as the days went by. As you got home and got ready for bed, you wondered if it was asking too much to hope for some peace.
Instead, you distracted yourself by trying to think of something to make for the Sullivans the next day. You didn’t want to go empty handed, after all. Maybe some bread-?
You fell asleep thinking about it.
~
You’d just lifted your hand to knock when the door flung open. Morrigan practically tackled you, wrapping her arms around your waist with a shriek of greeting.
Laughing, you balanced yourself and wrapped an arm around her. “Well hello, Queenie,” you greeted. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
She grabbed your hand and dragged you in, chattering happily about her day at school. “Oh, and you should have heard how everyone laughed!” She interrupted herself as she led you into the kitchen. “Daddy, she’s here!” she called.
Trying to balance the homemade sourdough in one hand while still holding Morrigan’s with the other, you looked up to give Lysander a helpless smile. “Hello, Mr. Sullivan,” you greeted, a little breathlessly.
He raised an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth twitching up in amusement. “Well hallo, Miss,” he greeted back, wiping his hands with a towel. “Mor, why don’t you let her set the plate down before anything drops,” he said, shaking his head.
Morrigan let go of your hand, bouncing up and down. “Ooh, what is it?”
You offered it to Lysander, a little flustered. “I… well, I didn’t really want to come without an offering, so… I made some homemade sourdough,” you offered, a little awkwardly. “I hope you like it, it’s a fresh batch, still warm.”
He took it from you with a nod. “Thank you. We love sourdough, don’t we, Mor?” He seemed far more comfortable in his own home, less stoic and stern than in the pub.
Morrigan nodded, throwing up her hands with a cheer. “Yeah!” She danced around. “I love bread!” Then she grabbed your hand again. “Oh, oh, you gotta come see my room! Daddy just made me a new desk, and it’s really nice and shiny!”
Lysander waved you off as you turned to him. “Go ahead. Oh, I was going to invite you to dinner,” he added. “If you’d like. The food is almost done, actually. Your bread will be a perfect addition.”
You smiled. “I’d be honored. Thank you.” Then you let Morrigan drag you away.
By the time Lysander called for you both, you’d been given the official tour of her room and had happily listened to her tell stories of what she’d done at school and the projects she planned to do in the coming days. The little girl always cheered you up with her bright and cheerful presence. If anything, it eased your heart to see the little girl clearly so healthy and happy with her Father. She openly adored him, quite the Daddy’s girl.
As the three of you sat down at the table, you realized with a slight start that you’d never felt so comfortable in Ireland as you did in this moment. It felt… right, like you’d finally come home.
“Thank you for the food,” you said, giving Lysander a grateful smile. “It looks amazing.” The soup simmered in the bowls, while the sourdough bread had been cut into slices and set by the butter.
He nodded. “Thank you for the bread.” He passed the steamed potatoes, and everyone dug into the meal.
You let out a soft hum of contentment as you ate, enjoying the rich flavors and the homey comfort food. Clearly Lysander was a good cook, and you almost envied Morrigan for being able to come home to this every night. Not that you weren’t a good cook yourself, but you supposed company really did make a difference.
“The bread is so good!” Morrigan chirped, taking a giant bite of the bread slathered in butter.
You laughed softly. “I’m glad, Queenie. Take it slow,” you warned, worried she’d choke. “The bread isn’t going anywhere.”
She nodded, scarfing down her food. “Oh, oh, Daddy, cartoons are on soon! Can I please go watch? I did all my homework!”
Lysander nodded. “Alright. Go take your dishes to the sink.”
“Thank you! Morrigan cheered, sliding down from her chair and carefully taking the dishes. She trotted to the kitchen, then got herself a glass of juice and went to go to the living room.
You realized with a slight start that this was the first time you’d been alone with Lysander. Looking down at your spoonful, you wondered if you should maybe ask him the questions that pressed on your mind. Perhaps he would know. Then again… it’s not as though he were related to your grandfather’s clan… and not to mention, most of the people in the town didn’t even know that you were aware of the nonhuman community. In fact, you were rather positive that your coworkers thought you didn’t.
“If I may ask, what brought you to this small town?” Lysander asked, his voice calm and mellow. His blue eyes glanced up at you, and the question died on your tongue.
“Oh… family history, actually,” you admitted with a smile. “And, well…” You shrugged lightly. “I needed to get away for a while. I wanted a fresh start, somewhere where people didn’t really know me.”
“Understandable.” He nodded. “I essentially did the same with Morrigan when we moved here a few years ago.”
You hummed, reaching for a piece of bread. He handed you the butter, and you gently grasped the sleeve of his flannel for a moment. “You’ve got a bit on your clothes,” you said, wiping the smeared butter off with a napkin. You’d just let go when your fingers brushed across his briefly as you took the butter. You didn’t notice the way he froze, his movements jerky as he pulled his hand back.
“Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “Do you— I mean, does any of your family still live here?”
You shook your head. “Not exactly. But technically, my extended family is here. My grandfather immigrated from Ireland to America, where I was born, but through marriage there are still people here I’m technically connected to.” You shrugged. “I haven’t really gotten in contact with them, though. They probably don’t know me that well,” you laughed with a rueful shrug. You glanced at him for a moment. “I bet it’s even harder when you have children.”
He glanced toward the living room, where the faint sound of the cartoons floated through the house. “Well, I suppose,” he admitted thoughtfully. “Still, I wouldn’t trade it for anything. She’s my life, really.”
You lowered your eyes to your plate, unable to deny how your chest tightened at the way his voice softened when he spoke of his daughter. You’d always tried to forget how much you’d been attracted to the older man. You’d only ever dated once, and while he’d been nice enough and it had ended cordially, you still hadn’t been able to forget the lingering feeling of disappointment you’d had from the experience. You’d known, after that, that it would either be a long time before you ever tried dating again or it would have to be to someone whose maturity at least matched yours. And, unfortunately for you, that tended to mostly apply to men past their forties.
You really did try to forget how Lysander ticked all the boxes.
“I can see why.” You smiled. “She’s really precious.” Your eyes slid toward the living room. “Does she… inherit from you?”
Lysander looked up, his gaze suddenly piercing as he stared at you openly.
You gave him a faint smile. “I don’t talk much about it, but my grandfather comes from the local O’Connor Faoladh Tribe,” you said calmly, taking another sip of the soup.
His shoulders relaxed, the hard edge in his expression melting away. “Ah. Yes, she does. But she hasn’t fully shifted yet. It will be another year, we think. Are you-?”
You shook your head. “Oh, no. It’s funny, really,” you said thoughtfully, motioning with your spoon. “My grandfather is Faoladh, and my mother’s side of the family is a lycanthrope pack.” Your lips twitched. “And somehow, I got the recessive genes and ended up a simple Seer.”
His eyebrow raised. “Not so simple, I’d think,” he remarked. “Aren’t Seers rather uncommon now?”
You shrugged. “For a reason. There’s plenty of potential but not many who actively practice anymore. The price is heavy for knowledge like that.”
He gave you a discerning look. “Is that what you’re running from?”
Your silver spoon clinked softly as you set it down on the edge of the plate. “I suppose you could say that,” you murmured. Your eyes closed as you shoved away the memories of distant screaming, the crackle of fire, crimson splashed across stone floors— “Or maybe toward something.” After all, you mused, there had been a reason you’d felt drawn to your grandfather’s homeland, and town in particular. And of course, you’d never been one to fight Fate too hard.
“Perhaps so,” he conceded. Then he stood. “May I take your plate?”
“Oh— please, let me help.” You stood, taking your dishes and starting towards the kitchen. “At least let me wash or dry.”
When you finally got back home, you sat down on the couch and buried your face into your hands. Seeing Morrigan and Lysander together had stirred up old memories you’d long since tried to forget. Old desires that you’d thought you’d given up on: hopes and dreams of a family to call your own.
You crawled into bed, everything inside you aching. After all, what could a Seer with a cursed fate possibly offer anyone?
~
The night the Dullahan rode into town, you’d just started closing up the pub on night shift duty.
They’d ridden in, followed by the famous Agent Blue clad in his dark robes and carrying his lantern over his shoulder. He strode in the door, followed by the Dullahan. At first, you hadn’t even noticed the other figure trailing behind them.
Your Boss, Dorian, had walked out of the back room to greet them. He, of everyone in the town, was the only one to know of your heritage, as the elected leader of the supernatural community in the town. He nodded to the group as they entered.
“Welcome, Dullahan, Agent Blue.” He nodded at them, shaking the Will-o-the-Wisp’s hand.
“Greetings in return, Chief Dorian,” Agent Blue replied, his face still covered by the hood. “Apologies for the intrusion. I’m sure you’ve heard of the Pricoli that’s been running amok all over the Isles.”
Dorian nodded. “We certainly have. I assume you’ve come on a hunt.”
“We have. And I’ve brought someone with me.” Agent Blue turned, motioning towards the back of the group.
You’d been distracted, still working on trying to finish clearing up and getting out of the way. If your boss had asked, you were ready to offer to serve the new guests as well, giving Lysander a glance that he returned with a small nod.
It wasn’t until you straightened and turned around, finished, that you heard a familiar, startled voice call your name. Turning, you looked up and saw, to your shock, a very familiar face staring at you. You froze as the figure lunged forward, wrapping you in a tight hug. After a moment, you awkwardly hugged him back, mind whirling.
“What are you doing here?” Your younger brother stared at you incredulously, holding your arms. “I didn’t even know you left home! Last I heard you were still there.”
You grasped his sleeves, disoriented. “O-Oh. Ray,” you gasped, processing. “I—“ You suppressed a flinch. “I just… moved into grandfather’s old cottage,” you stammered, then looked down. “I had to get away,” you said quietly. “It was too much.”
Of all your family, you knew that Ray would best understand. He’d been the only one to really stand up for you back home, try to support you as best as he could, being a younger sibling. When everyone else constantly reminded you of your Fate, your Destiny, Ray had been the only one who had encouraged your personal hopes and dreams, had listened to your fears and worries.
He sighed. “I mean, I can’t blame you,” he said, shaking his head. “Still… does anyone know?”
You scoffed slightly, turning your head away. “Only Grandfather ever cared about me besides you, Ray. There’s no one else who probably even asked.” You shrugged. “How is school?” You’d been the one to support him when he decided to move to Scotland to attend University. He, too, had wanted to escape home.
He grinned. “Pretty great, actually!” Then he glanced behind him. “Turns out my best mate is actually one of Agent Blue’s sons, so when the whole Pricoli thing went down, I offered to be his in to the Faoladh Tribe here. For formality, y’know.” He shrugged. “I remembered what Grandfather had always taught us about how picky Faoladh are about tradition.”
You nodded. “Yeah…” You huffed slightly. “Technically only the people in here right now even know that I’m a part of the supernatural community,” you said dryly.
He raised an eyebrow. “That’s some dedication to keep it quiet. How has the local gossip train not found you out yet?”
You snorted. “Maybe because I’ve always been quiet and kept my mouth shut.” You rolled your eyes at him, though a smile twitched on your lips. “And we both know who never can.”
He playfully cuffed your shoulder. Then he grinned. “Oh, but guess what?” His eyes sparkled. “I found my Mate!”
Your eyes widened. “Really?” Your heart lightened for him, happy that your younger brother had finally found his Mate. “Does she know yet?”
He shook his head, face falling a little. Well, not yet. I mean, I’ve kinda only just met her and all, so… and it’s kinda awkward, cause…” He winced. “Well, she’s my best mate’s younger sister.”
You gave him an incredulous look, then sighed, shaking your head. “Well, good luck with that one, Ray,” you snorted. “You’ve gotten yourself into quite the situation with that one.”
He shrugged. “I know, but…” His grin turned goofy. “She’s so pretty. You should see her. She’s even pretty sassy, kinda like you are with me.”
You laughed softly, patting his arm. “Well, I’m glad I was able to catch up with you. If you need a place to stay, you know my house is always open to you.”
He nodded. “Thanks, sis. I should probably head back. I don’t know what else they might want me for.” He paused, then gave you an odd look. “Have you… found anyone?”
You blinked at him, startled. “What? Ray, you know what my Fate says.” You frowned.
An odd expression crossed his face, then he shook his head. “Yeah, I know. Just… don’t forget the promise you made me.”
You sighed. “I won’t, Ray.” As if you ever could, you thought with a hint of bitterness. He wouldn’t let you.
He squeezed your hand, slipping a piece of paper into your grasp. “Text me. I wanna keep in touch.”
You nodded, pocketing the note. “Thanks. Good luck, Ray. Stay safe.”
He nodded, then jogged back to Agent Blue with a wave. You were left to stand there, your heart sinking with every step he took away from you. Everything was lining up far too well. Though you’d vainly hoped to escape from the Fate that had hung over your head for so long, it seemed as though you’d just walked right into it instead.
Turning back to the bar, you quietly packed up your things. Bidding Lysander goodnight, you checked to make sure Dorian didn’t need you and headed back for home.
It was only a matter of time.
~
Rain splattered against the ground, heavy and thick like a curtain. Shielding your eyes from the drops, you pushed yourself to run, faster, as fast as you could. There was no time left to think.
The vision you’d had kneeling under the large Fae Maypole tree you’d found in the forest nearby kept flashing through your mind, insistent and horrific. Your Fate loomed, past and future meshing into the present in ways you could hardly stand. You’d thought you’d been running, cowardly but maybe safe from the Sword of Damocles—but now here you were, fallen headlong into the trap of the Fate you’d known since childhood would claim your life.
And yet your feet would not stop running, pushing you forward without hesitation. Was this not worth it? Was this Fate—this Fate that you’d feared for so long, hated and loathed and tried in futility to escape—was it truly so horrendous? Now that you were here? In this moment of truth?
You barreled up the steps, slamming your shoulder against the door without a pause. It broke, sending you headlong across the threshold to skid across the carpet. Ignoring the burn on your arm, you looked up as you heard a scream. Morrigan’s face stared at you, sheet white as she curled up in fear by the foot of the couch.
Jacking yourself up, you didn’t take time to glance behind you. “Mor, into the safe room,” you gasped, “your Daddy sent me, okay? I need you to get in the safe room, now.”
She nodded shakily, bravely scrambling to her feet and running towards the safe room that Lysander had made for her. Nothing would get through the doors, you knew, once they locked. You waited until you heard the lock click, then turned and scrambled back out the busted door.
In the empty area between your houses, out on the outskirts of the town, everything seemed oddly distant yet crystal clear. Your memories nudged at you, whispering about the deja vu that filled your every pore at the sight of the green, rolling grass and the relentless rain that poured over everything. In the distance, the red glare of a fire fueled by gas and undaunted by rain began to dominate the color of the sky.
It didn’t surprise you when cold fingers wrapped around your throat, leaving mottled bruises to bloom against your skin. You stood still, knowing that any movement might crush your throat. You may have been Fated to die, but not until you’d finished your task.
The enraged Pricoli snarled, hissing in your ear. “I know he sent you to hide her,” he sneered. “You helpless, pitiful Seer. For all your preeminence, did you not find a way to best me?” he barked a laugh, maniacal and loud. “You useless Seers and your cursed fates—and for what? A single moment of ruined glory?”
Your breath shallowed, airflow restricted. Agent Blue, several Dullahan, your brother, Dorian, and Lysander all emerged from the tree line, pausing as they saw you being held hostage. You closed your eyes for a moment as the icy hands constricted around your throat even further.
“Tell me where she is, and you get to live, Seer,” he snarled, his face nearing your ear. “She is my perfect match, my BloodSong. She is fated to be mine, my apprentice!” he howled. “Give her to me, my right!” His nails started to lengthen, turning into claws, digging against your skin. “Or I’ll drink you dry first and use you as fuel to take these maggots down.”
You brother’s face had gone ashen in horror, staring at you as though trying to deny his own eyes. His face twisted in despair.
“I’ll never give her up to you,” you answered, aware that everyone could hear you despite the rain. You tilted your head up, letting the rain wash over your face. “I am a Seer,” you declared, loudly, proud of it for the first time in your life. “And I embrace the Curse of my Fate. I pay the price gladly, if it means the power to make sure you never lay a finger on her.”
The Pricoli snarled, the rage almost audibly warping his voice into something demonic. “Then meet your Fate, Seer.”
Your knees gave out the moment his fangs ripped into your jugular. Strangely enough, the pain wasn’t even that bad, you mused hazily. Your eyes—were they blurred by tears or the rain?—rolled up to see your brother, mouth open as he reached for you. Even Lysander, white fur matted and soaked, had his maw open as his snout pointed to the sky.
Distantly, you could hear screaming. A roar, loud, tumbling through your chest, rattling into the ground. The crackling of fire. Everything started to get.. so… cold. Vaguely, as the hand shoved you forward and you landed against the ground, you could see out of the corner of your eye the Pricoli hunch forward. Despite the pain, the numbness… your lips curled in a vindictive smile.
The crimson eyes turned to you, a horrified anger sweeping through them as they landed on your twisted grin. A cold hand went up to his throat, and the Pricoli started to choke. His body lurched, tongue lolling as he gagged on your blood, his veins starting to light from the inside out with a toxic green. Slowly, agonizingly, he fell to his knees, his face contorted in a paroxysm of agony as he choked on your blood, your concentrated inherent magic tearing him apart from the inside out.
Your limbs felt sluggish as you forced yourself up, your ears ringing. Reaching up, you pressed your hand to your ruined neck and staggered to your feet, starting to lurch away from the destroyed corpse of the Pricoli. Warmth smeared across your skin, and every breath sent needles raking down your throat and into your lungs. Your feet stumbled, and before you realized it, you were leaning against something broad and firm.
Two icy blue eyes stared down at you, claws wrapping around your arms. Strangely enough, though, you didn’t fear that grasp. Lysander’s maw moved, you noticed faintly, but all you could hear was the persistent ringing in your ears. Vaguely, you reached up, your fingers clumsily landing on the side of his snout. Red smeared his fur, and your arm dropped down numbly to your side.
With the last of your strength, you forced your mouth to form the words that your shattered throat couldn’t say. Tell her goodbye.
The world spun into crimson.
~
Shivering, you shook your head as you curled into the corner that you’d pressed yourself into. Tears burned behind your eyes, and you heard your breath start to rasp and wheeze, rattling your throat.
Your brother’s face crumpled as he stared at you. “Please,” he begged, his voice wavering. “You need to drink.”
Agent Blue rested his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Take it easy, son,” he said, voice firm but compassionate. “She’s understandably frightened. Even though she’s successfully gone through the change to being a damphyr, she’s had quite the scare and probably doesn’t want to feed.”
“But she needs to!” Ray exclaimed, frustration lacing his voice. “She’s already hurting.”
It was driving you insane. The pure power of the Will-o-the-Wisp’s blood was calling to you like a tempting beacon, and your brother’s hot blood practically screamed at you. The thirst flared in your throat, an ache so powerful you wanted to gag. It was like sandpaper. But you didn’t want to feed from them. You didn’t want to risk losing control, didn’t want to didn’t want to didn’t want to—
“I’ll take care of her.” Lysander stepped into the room. He turned to Ray. “She gave her life to save my daughter. This is the least I can do. I promise she’ll be in good hands.”
Your brother paused, then sighed, shoulders slumping. “I know you will, Sir,” he said, defeated. “I just…” He glanced over at you, eyes reflecting his misery.
Lysander reached out, squeezing Ray’s shoulder. “I understand,” he said quietly.
Ray nodded, then approached you again carefully. “Hey.” His voice softened. “I know you probably don’t want me around. But you have my number. Please, just… contact me when you’re ready, ok? You know I’ll be here for you, like I always have been. I’m gonna go back to Scotland, but you know how to reach me if you need anything. I won’t tell any of the family that you’re here.”
Swallowing back the drool, you tentatively reached out and barely ghosted your fingers against his cheek, hoping your eyes would convey your thanks. You just… needed space. Away from him, to control yourself, get yourself together.
But his expression turned a little more hopeful, and he nodded. “Love you, sis,” he said quietly. “Please… live.” With a small smile, he stood and followed Agent Blue out of the room.
With a quiet whine, you squeezed your eyes shut and tried to push past the unbearable, insistent pain scratching down your throat. Your throat roared for a drink. Your eyes snapped open when you heard Lysander approach. Though you didn’t know why, his presence always sent you into an absolute panic, though not of fear. Your thirst around him seemed to impossibly skyrocket. Like something about him drove you crazy.
He knelt, his blue eyes fixed on yours. He reached out slowly, giving you a chance to move away. Instead, your body froze, entirely fixating on the way his plaid shirtsleeve pulled tight around his arm, rolled up to his elbow. You swallowed thickly, his blood an absolute siren call. You could smell it, practically taste it. Dripping down your throat, into your veins, ambrosia sweet and thick— Drool slipped down the corner of your mouth, past the pressure of fangs against your lips.
Lysander’s eyes strained. “I know what it does to you,” he said quietly. “Just the fact that you’re not lunging for me right now is…” He sighed, his other hand raking through his hair. “I don’t know if I’m impressed or-“ His lips twisted as he cut himself off, as though conflicted. “There’s a reason why my blood calls to you.” He settled himself in front of you, making you want to scream as both relief and a frenzy of want roared through you.
“Of course, Mor is my daughter,” Lysander said, his voice low as he looked down at the floor between you. “But her Mother was… not my true Mate.” He sighed. “I didn’t really care, because I loved her. But she… well, she left me. Didn’t want Mor, didn’t want… me.” A self-depreciating smile passed across his face. “But it was okay, I had Mor and I only wanted the best for her. But still… somewhere inside me, I knew that my true Mate was out there somewhere.”
You almost couldn’t focus, his proximity almost painful because he was too far, and yet not close enough—
“And then you appeared, and Mor started to love you, and I—“ He sighed, hand reaching up to cover his face. “And I didn’t know if I wanted to run or stay.” His shoulders slumped. “Seeing you with Mor, working with you, talking with you… every moment I spend with you near is like agony, but when you leave it’s like you take a part of me with you and I can’t breathe.”
Abruptly, your mouth went dry, shocked almost clear out of bloodlust. Wait, was he saying-?
“I told myself that you’d be better off without me,” Lysander admitted, voice thick. “I’m… not young any more. You’re beautiful and— and you have so much more promise, a whole life ahead of you… I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable. I’d gone for so long without my true Mate, I thought I’d be fine. But when I saw you lying on the ground…” He turned his face away, jaw ticking, a wild, feral light in his eyes. A low snarl rumbled through his chest, dissolving into a whine he quickly cut off.
He looked back up at you. “I’m not telling you this to make you feel… obligated to do anything. But you deserve to know the reason why my blood calls to you so strongly, and why— why I want you to drink from me. Why I don’t mind.”
Your mind whirled. The permission. The heady scent of his blood. The warmth he promised. The realization that he was calling you his true Mate. The way he looked at you, like you were the only thing he’d ever wanted.
Reaching up, you clapped your hand over your mouth with a half-sob of desperation. You wanted it. You practically ached for it, the kindness and love he offered. The promise of a family, a home, someone who had seen you at your worst and still somehow wanted you.
“Please,” Lysander rasped, his eyes laced with that same desperation roiling in his gut. “You don’t even have to accept me as a Mate. But you need to feed, and I—“
You were at your limit. You’d already taxed yourself as a newborn damphyr somehow trying to resist the frenzy of the first feed, and now that your Mate was in front of you, offering freely, practically begging you to feed from him, you could only take so much.
You lunged, a snarl dying on your lips as you lunged forward, the strength of your desperation actually knocking the seasoned werewolf down onto the floor. And still, even as you straddled his waist, your fingers curled around his shoulder, eyes fixed on the tempting expanse of his neck… you still tried to fight. Still tried to fight it, to control yourself.
But Lysander’s broad, warm hands gently wrapped around your waist, not fighting or pushing you off. The scar slashing across the left side of his face seemed to glow in the light streaming through the curtained window, and he gave you a smile.
“It’s okay,” he said, voice low and soothing. “I can handle it. I know you won’t hurt me.”
You shuddered, drool dripping down your fangs. Leaning forward slowly, you tried to keep yourself paced, tried to force yourself to some modicum of control. Mouth opening, you lowered your head until your fangs just barely grazed the crook of his neck and shoulder, not too close to his jugular but just enough.
The moment your fangs sank into his throat, Lysander’s fingers went weak around your waist. A deep groan pooled into the air, and a tremor ran through his body underneath you.
Heat pooled in your stomach, even as his blood slid down your throat with a satisfaction unparalleled. He tasted sweet and dusky, like fresh bread and sunshine, and freshly-cut grass after the rain. The pure heat and warmth he radiated soaked into you, and you felt the bloodlust slowly slake as you drank. Finally, you forced yourself to let go, vaguely aware with your instincts that you’d taken enough to not hurt him but probably still leave him a bit lightheaded for a moment.
The bite wound almost instantly healed over, and his grasp on your waist tightened again, fingers flexing as he regained his bearings.
You leaned your head against his chest, the gratitude and shame warring inside you. Grateful that he’d been so kind, so understanding and gentle. Ashamed of your own arousal, the way your entire being reacted to him.
Your name slipped from his lips, and a moment later his face pressed into your hair. His voice ached with the same torn desire that roiled through you. “I shouldn’t—“ He sucked in a sharp breath as you pressed your body flush against his. You could feel how tight his pants were, could feel the lines of his bulge pressed up against your thigh. A choked groan accompanied the way his hands spasmed around your waist.
“Mate.” The whisper slid from your mouth, the first thing you’d said aloud since your change. Your fingers clenched in his flannel shirt. “Mate… wants me?” Your voice cracked with your fear. Fear that he wouldn’t want to deal with you after all, that you weren’t worth it—
He pulled you closer to him, hand sliding to your hair. “So damn much, sweetheart,” he rasped, cradling your head to his shoulder. “You’re so goddamn beautiful and fierce— I don’t care if you’re human, Seer, damphyr. You’re my true Mate, my love.”
And you buried your face into his shoulder and let yourself shed a few tears of relief. He wanted you. Accepted you, in spite of everything.
“I know it’s not fair to ask you to stay,” his voice strained. “You gave your life for Morrigan, and I’m so much older—“
You reached up, your hands sliding up to cup his jaw as you slanted your lips over his, tears slipping down your cheeks. His mouth opened, kissing you back with a fervor as he splayed his hand over your lower back, pressing you into him. He let out a low growl, the sound rumbling through his chest and straight into your body. Your entire body flushed, and you let out a quiet whimper.
Almost before you could register it, he flipped you over onto the floor, hovering over you. His teeth bared, and he stared down at you with a heat in his eyes that scorched through you. His hands clenched around your waist, pulling your hips flush against his.
You whimpered, tilting your head to the side and exposing your throat to him, sprawled against the floor. Your chest heaved with breath, and a moment later his teeth closed gently on the arch of your neck. A soft breathy moan escaped your lips, eyes fluttering closed as his scent washed over you, his mouth marking your neck, replacing the memory of the Pricoli’s fingerprints mottled against your skin.
With an effort, Lysander wrenched himself away, though he half rutted against you. “Darling, I’m going to need you to tell me if you don’t want this,” he rasped, voice thick and half a snarl already.
“Lysander,” you whispered, lips caressing his name.
His hips stuttered, and he pulled you up against him before heaving himself up and staggering to the bed. He lowered you onto the bed, wasting no time before he practically yanked you to him, his hands hot and greedy. He kissed you, somehow still gentle and yet needy enough to take your breath away.
“May I?” He tapped your shirt.
You nodded shyly, letting him slide it off of you. You lifted your hips in an invitation, and he lowered his mouth to your neck as he slipped your shorts off. He groaned, hands sliding across your bared skin. His skin felt so hot to the touch against your chilled body, wholly satisfying. You practically melted into his hands like putty, malleable to however he touched you, moved you. He made you feel safe. Loved. Cherished. Wanted.
“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured, voice hoarse. “So beautiful, leannen.” The Gaelic spilled naturally from his mouth as he slid his hands under your back, unhooking your bra. You let him slide it off, too desperate for the warmth of his hands to process embarrassment. His hands cupped your breasts, callouses rasping across your nipples in a way that left your breathless and aching.
You whimpered, a little encouraged by the way you felt his bulge throb against you at the sound. Fingers tangling in his shirt, you tilted your head for air, arching into his hands.
“Fuck,” Lysander hissed against your jaw, his hips rolling into you. His hands slid lower, and his thumbs hooked in your underwear. “Can I?”
You nodded, fingers clenching against his shoulders as he slid them off. His shirt was already straining at the seams, threatening to rip. At your tug, he took a moment to reach down and practically rip his shirt off, tossing it uncaringly to the side as he opened his mouth against your neck.
You were already dripping, just his touch and scent enough to arouse you. Breath hissed through his teeth as his fingers dragged through your slick, just barely brushing past your clit. A whine escaped your lips as you shivered, fingers slipping against his chest.
“You smell so good,” Lysander groaned, one finger slipping into you as his thumb rubbed circles around your clit. “Fuck, sweetheart, you’re wet. Can I take care of you?” he rumbled, teeth nipping at your ear. “You already gorged yourself on my blood. How about I fill you up with something else?”
You flushed, fangs sinking into your lower lip. “Please?” you whispered.
His ice blue eyes flashed, and his chest heaved under your hands. “Oh, are we a little desperate?” He smirked, sliding another finger into you, stretching you. “Want me to pull your legs up on my shoulders and keep you here all night?” He chuckled, feeling you pulse around his fingers. “Mmmm, I think your gorgeous body is being pretty honest, sweetheart. Well. I aim to please my Mate.”
You only had a moment to wonder when he’d managed to get his pants off. His fingers slid out of you, only for you to feel his cock rest heavily against your entrance. He slid against you, and you could feel a dribble of precum smear across your skin. One hand went to your waist, holding you, while his other found your clit again.
“Is this alright, sweetheart?” he asked, voice low and suddenly soft. “I’m a bit of a stretch. I’ll try to go slow.”
With how wet you were, you sincerely doubted that he would find much of a problem. Still, you swallowed and nodded, grateful for his care and the way he tried, every step of the way, to make sure you were comfortable. Then again, you could already tell he wasn’t lying about how big he was. You could feel him resting against you, throbbing against your thigh. Slowly, he pressed just the tip into you, his breath shuddering.
Your lips parted in a gasp as he stretched you open, sliding into you. Compared to the chill of your body, his cock practically radiated heat. By the time he completely bottomed out, pelvis flush against yours, you’d already come so close to the edge, drool slipping from the corners of your lips. He seemed to completely fill you, pressing up against every spot inside of you until you swore he’d stretched you into his shape.
Lysander slumped over you, his head tucking into the crook of your neck. His entire body shuddered, and his hands clenched around your waist. His chest heaved against yours, muscles flexing as though he were physically holding himself back.
“Thank you.” The shaky whisper pooled against your skin. “For saving her. Giving your life for her. Thank you. For choosing me.”
Your fingers slid into his salt and pepper hair, relishing the stubble against your neck and shoulder. “I love you.” The confession spilled from your lips, quiet in the room.
He shuddered, letting out a low moan. His fingers clenched, just as he pulled you down further onto his cock, pressing up into you. “Fuck, sweetheart,” he rasped. “Say it again.”
“I love you, Lysander,” you repeated obediently, wholly truthful. Your core clenched around him, and he hissed, pulling out to thrust back into you.
“I love you,” he groaned, starting to thrust in a slow but steady rhythm. He reached down, then pulled your legs up around his hips. The new angle made you pulse as he seemed to reach impossibly deeper into you, angling up justenough to hit that one spot inside you that had you gasping and arching.
“You’re so tight,” he growled, picking up the pace. “Feels so good, sweetheart. So good.”
He suddenly reached behind you and grabbed a pillow, then lifted your hips up to prop it under you. Setting you back down, he shifted himself up and pulled your legs up to his shoulders.
A cry left your lips, utterly wrecked and broken. His cock completely filled you, fucking any semblance of coherence out of you, going so deep you swore you could feel it in your stomach. He seemed to know exactly how to read your body, adjusting to every whimper you let out, not giving you a break as he kept pounding into you with devastating precision.
“You feeling good, sweetheart?” he chuckled, the sound raking down your spine. “Is this what you want?” He thumbed your clit, pressing a kiss to your lips. “You gonna give Mor a little sibling? Taking me so well like this, spread open for me?”
The thought of adding more kids to your life, together with Lysander, proved to be the last straw for your poor mind. You came, stars bursting behind your eyelids as you cried out his name and the wave of heat and pleasure washed through your body.
And Lysander just kept fucking you through it, going harder as he pinned you against the sheets under him, not caring that your fingers raked against his shoulders. He bent to kiss you, murmuring your name in a husky voice that just wrecked you even more. He gave you no mercy, his gaze predatory as he stared down at you, soaking in your ruined expression.
“That’s right, sweetheart. Cum for me,” he murmured, coaxing you through your high.
Even when you rode it out, he didn’t slow down or let up the pace. “You gonna make me cum, darling? Can I cum inside you?”
A plea staggered off of your lips, followed by his name. Your jumbled, blissed-out mind wouldn’t allow you to do anything else, barely recalling your own name.
“Fuck— gonna cum, sweetheart— gonna fill you up—“ He let out a moan before his hips slammed into you one last time. He ground against you as he came, his bruising grip not letting you move an inch away from him.
You melted back into the bed, eyes closing as you soaked in the feeling of his seed filling you, pouring into you. Your fingers slid up the back of his neck as you lay there, docile and welcoming to his every move. Even when he’d finally stopped spilling into you, your stomach full and hot, he slumped against you.
His lips slid across your throat, soft and almost reverent, and he pulled you into his body. He murmured soft endearments into your ear, his hands running over you with gentle, loving strokes, soothing you.
“I promise I’ll do my best to protect you, treat you the way you should be,” he promised. “I love you so much, sweetheart.” Then he chuckled, hand running over your stomach. “I wonder if Morrigan will want a brother or a sister. She’s already going to be so excited to call you Mommy.”
You gave him a shy smile, accepting his soft kiss. “Thank you, Lysander,” you whispered. “I love you.”
Perhaps the price of your Fate had been high, you thought, but it had been entirely worth it.
#elysiadjarinkinktober#elysiadjarin#x reader#my writing#mywriting#nsft#exophilia#terato#monsterfucker#xyou#smut#kinktober
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