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#i get so distressed i can barely enjoy the plot

chuluoyi · 7 months

Text

romeo and juliet

- fushiguro megumi x reader

you were both young when you first saw each other. years later, you and your gentle childhood friend fall in love... but you're betrothed to someone else.

genre/warnings: modern royal(?) au, childhood friends to lovers, soft!megumi, fluff, forbidden love, arranged marriage, mild angst, comfort

notes: i love this request!! but i don’t know if this turned out good🥲 honestly, this is what unholy matrimony would be if done right in another universe *snorts* anyways i hope i did this right! enjoy!

had to repost it 3x bcs it didn't show up in the tags😭 based on this request: “Hey, can I ask a Megumi x Reader with the plot related to “Love Story” by Taylor Swift?” thank you anon!

listen to: love story - taylor swift duh

series masterlist | oneshot masterlist

Your father had always told you that you were promised to the Zen'in.

Ever since you were a child, he had groomed you to be the picture-perfect lady, and he always brought you to their ancestral home, a grand, maze-like estate you would always get lost in.

You were barely six back then, stumbling on your own feet as tears streamed down your face. You sought refuge in the gardens, hoping that someone would come to find you there eventually as you were tired of walking around.

And on that fateful day, the one who finally did was none other than the little Fushiguro Megumi, who looked at you with tilted head and confused eyes.

"Are you... okay?" he asked cautiously, and he was startled when your wide, teary eyes quickly focused on him. The next thing he knew, you immediately clung to his hand.

"I'm lost! Please help me!" you said with trembling voice, and Megumi merely blinked. This unknown girl suddenly latched onto him, well, who wouldn't be taken by surprise?

Yet, even as a child, Megumi knew how to treat someone right. Seeing you in distress, he immediately found a way to console you. "Okay... where are your parents? Let me take you back to them."

"I... don't know..."

He sighed. You were a stone throw away from bursting into tears, and he didn't want that. He had to find another way. "Don't be scared. This place seems scary, but it's not."

You scrunched your face, tears already pooling in your eyes. "How is it not scary? There are so many windows and leaves! This is more like a jungle rather than a house!"

"Well..." Megumi wracked his head and a light bulb went off in his head when he caught the sight of the flowers. He pointed at a pot of roses. "Look, they're actually quite pretty, right?"

At that very moment, your focus was completely captured by the flourishing plant, and your eyes practically shimmered with delight.

Little Megumi thought then, that you were quite lovely.

And your friendship started then, as he took you by the arm to lead you to the main foyer.

Years flew by, and the only thing that made it bearable to pay a visit to the Zen'in was meeting Megumi. You both would explore various hidden corners and knew every nook and cranny of the place. And when you reached your teens, the "playing" was replaced by studying in the library together.

"Hrrrgh, why—can't—I—reach—"

You gritted your teeth in frustration as you attempted to pull the book from the top shelf, only to fail miserably. Your were too short. But you refused to surrender, standing on your tiptoes once more, you stretched your hand as far as it would go.

Suddenly, the scent of fresh roses filled the air, accompanied by a warm presence behind you. Your back made contact with him, and a longer hand effortlessly retrieved the book you desired.

"If you're having a hard time, ask me for help, dummy," Megumi shook his head and handed you the book. "Here."

"Thank you," you pouted. Despite the frequent close proximity between you two, you still found yourself feeling giddy.

Megumi was always like this though. He was curt, but he cares. He would often cheer you up whenever you father smothered you with the talk that he couldn't wait for the day you would be living at the Zen'in estate and became their bride. He would get you flowers, let you put your head on his shoulder, or quietly watch as you cried, offering his silent presence.

You really, really hoped that if you were to be married off to the Zen'in, it would be to Megumi. He was easily the boy you'd pick over Naoya, the son of the main branch of family. You were never close to him, the way he stared at you sure gave you the creeps.

"I can ask for your help anytime, right, Megumi?" you mused, observing his cool profile as he turned the page of the book he was reading.

He regarded you with the straightest face ever. "Of course. I have always helped you since we were kids. Why wouldn't I do that now?"

"Then..." you breathed. "Can you take me somewhere... anywhere, just away from all of this?"

Megumi stilled. He knew about the conflicts in your heart. He knew you hated being played as a pawn in your father's schemes, and he hated that too, because he simply didn't like how sad it made you.

And he hated that there was the looming possibility that you might be out of his reach far sooner than he thought.

"Sure," he answered. "Where do you wanna go?"

And then, you began to do just that. Sneaking out to the gardens, finding secret meeting spots in the town—because you were dead if anyone should know.

Before you knew it, you both had each other's hearts entirely in your hands—before you knew it, his face was mere inches from yours as you both concealed yourselves behind a large cluster of foliage in the Zen'in gardens, your father and the Zen'in clan head engrossed in a conversation just a few feet away.

Your clear, wide eyes blinked up at him, and Megumi gulped. At that moment, he realized once again that you, his childhood friend, were really stunning. And that you trusted him wholeheartedly enough to go with him and be found in this position, with him.

He couldn't deny it any longer. He was in love with you. Have been for a while now.

And so even with the great risk of being found out, he led you deeper into the woods, his arm wrapped around the small of your back, and with a soft tug, he planted the gentlest, sweetest kiss on your lips—your very first kiss. Everything was sealed then.

"So, do you say yes, or not?" he mumbled afterwards, his cheeks burst into the color of peach. Meanwhile you, still breathless, touched your lips in astonishment.

"You..." you couldn't help the grin that was blooming in your face. "You like me?"

He turned away. "Who wouldn't? After making me run after you, lead you to safe places, see you cry—"

"Okay, okay!" you giggled, and the sound was like music to his ears. "Then it's a yes!"

You were the happiest with him. Amidst the intrigues surrounding you and the Zen'in clan, the times you spent with him were your saving grace.

"Am I pretty?" you boldly twirled in front of him, after meeting up at the outskirts of the town in one of your escapades. Megumi watched you from head to toe, taking note of how your flare dress hugged your form so elegantly, and the straw hat that framed your head only made you look even more adorable.

He didn't immediately answer, and when he did, all with red cheeks, you smiled brightly, expecting a compliment.

"Don't do that. People are looking. You're embarrassing yourself."

You pouted. "So I'm not pretty..."

To your surprise, he suddenly plucked your hat and pulled you behind the pillar, and then the round hat was beside your head, hiding your face—

And he stole a kiss.

"Megumi!" you jolted, blood quickly rushed to your beautiful face. "This is public place!"

His soft chuckle only served to make your heart soar even higher.

You were living the dream, with the man of your dreams beside you. This love story no one knew, you were content with it.

"By this point, all there's left to do is run," you heaved between chuckles and his feathery kisses as the two of you hid away to have your thirst in the gardens. "Can't we just run, Megumi?"

"I would, if I could," he gazed at you with a steadfast resolve. "Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess, somehow."

This love is difficult. But it's real.

But so was your father. And his will. In the summer of your coming of age, it was decided that you were going to marry Zen'in Naoya.

Your love story with Megumi... would it end just like that?

"Please, don't go!" you begged. You could hardly believe this situation right now. What did he say? End things here—?

Megumi felt his heart clench. "It's been announced already. You are to marry him. We can... no longer do this."

"But!" you argued. "You s-said... you would find a way out of it somehow..."

Your eyes glazed over, and Megumi had to look away to keep his heart from breaking completely. "I'm sorry."

At the end of the day, he was still a mere son of the branch family and stood no chance against Naoya. If you were to become the bride of his cousin, even he had to respect that.

Your heart shattered into pieces. This day had been looming on the horizon, and you'd been aware of it for some time. Your father didn't exactly conceal his greed with how he insisted on your marriage to Naoya to secure your position as the clan's main wife, instead of Megumi.

Yet it still hurt. You didn’t expect your happiness to he this fleeting, and you were disappointed that Megumi didn’t exactly fight his way through this.

“It’s… for your own good,” he added, and grimaced when he saw how you started sobbing. “I don’t want to compromise your virtue. It'll get ugly fast if people think that we're having… dalliances. You deserve better—”

"Don't patronize me!" you yelled. "Don't t-try... to tell me how to feel!"

Frankly, you never cared about virtues or anything. Most of choices made in your life weren't yours, and if you could finally make a decision through jeopardizing your fickle reputation, then so be it.

"I love you too much to let that happen," Megumi said then, baring his own feelings, that he too, didn't want this any more than you did. "You know I would do anything for you."

"All there's left to do is run," you sniffled. "If you would do anything for me, you would run with me."

Just say yes, your little heart screamed. You stared at him through your wet lashes, desperately willing him to just forget all this nonsense about family, virtue, and just choose love—your love.

But he never did. That day, he decided to leave you. This love was indeed difficult, but you really thought it was real, and now you had never felt so alone.

Days went by longer after that. Now that it had been announced to the public, as per Naoya’s will, you would move into the Zen’in estate until the day of your marriage. You resented and barely knew him, and your gut feeling was proven true when he smirked before you, pulling you into one of the hidden compartments of this godforsaken place.

“Don’t think I didn’t know about what you and he were up to,” he spat viciously. “You should’ve already known that you are always meant to be my wife—and what did you do? You’re putting me to shame as you and that lesser bastard run around.”

“He would always be better than you,” you bitterly scoffed.

“Get it through your head already, you’re to become my wife, and that’s final.”

“You can’t do anything if I don’t want to anyway. Beware of upcoming scandals in the future.”

And with that, came the first day of your misery. Naoya locked you up in that desolate place.

You were missing.

Megumi had noticed it for quite a while. Even if you were no longer his, his heart still longed for yours, and ultimately he wanted to make sure if you were okay. You moving in into his home should increase the chances of him seeing you, and yet, it was as if you had disappeared into the thin air.

It was an understatement to say that he was just worried. He knew Naoya wasn’t exactly the kindest in this household, but he really expected him to at least treat you right.

He still remembered how the tears fell from your beautiful eyes, telling him not to go. Megumi was as heartbroken as you, if not more. He had the choice when you asked him to run, yet he willingly stopped and did what he believed to be the right thing.

Was this still the right thing though?

As the maids hurried past, yelling something that vaguely sounded like your name and the phrase "starving herself!", Megumi felt his blood run cold. Without hesitation, he forcefully grabbed one of them, demanding answers.

“Where is she? What happened to her?”

The maid merely cowered with worry and fear. “Master Naoya… specifically instructed us not to let the miss pass freely…”

Megumi didn’t quite recall what he did, but he couldn't forget the frantic pounding of his heart as he rushed through the gardens to find you in the small room tucked away in the farthest corner of the vast compound, near the servants' dormitory. He practically tore the door off its hinges when he opened it.

You abruptly spun around to face the commotion, thinking that it may be your shitty fiancé, utterly bewildered.

Megumi scrutinized you closely, and gradually, he could feel his anger simmering beneath the surface.

You were pale, your hair was a disheveled mess, but what truly infuriated him was the sight of your broken nails and the dried blood. All he could think of was that you probably tried to claw your way out of this place.

"Megumi?" your voice sounded too hoarse to his liking. You looked at him as if you couldn't believe he was real. His heart shattered.

He shouldn't have left you. He should've run with you. You shouldn't have to be alone and hurt like this.

"Save me," you croaked with small voice, eyes brimming with unshed tears and fear.

That did it. When he heard the approaching rapid footsteps, he made the swiftest, life-changing decision of his life.

He caught a hold of your arm, and pinned you to the wall. And when the entirety of the household arrived in your doorstep, Naoya included, he made it a show as if the two of you were having the most scandalous tryst of the town.

"This ends here," he grunted, casting a glare at his rotten cousin. "I'm marrying her."

"I got tired of waiting, you know," you giggled, peering at your beloved's sullen face. "My faith faded at one point."

Megumi hummed, clasping his hand in yours. "I'm sorry."

You rolled your eyes, staring at the clear waters under the cruise. "I kept waiting, but you never came... and when you did, you caused us to make the headlines."

Your wedding to Megumi was both the grand event and scandal of the year. The sudden change of groom on such short notice triggered disapproving glances from most of the people you knew in this infuriating town, but frankly, you didn't care.

"I thought you wouldn't fight for me at all,” you mumbled, fiddling with your fingers.

"I've always believed that if it would make you happy in the end, I would be fine with it," Megumi said, gently tucking your hair behind your ear as the wind swept by.

"And then? What made you finally let go of that righteous, self-sacrificing thoughts?"

The softest smile was graced his lips. "I love you, and that's all I really know."

You didn't give a damn about what anyone else had to say because, in this moment—as you sailed on your honeymoon cruise, and throughout this love story, from your childhood and forevermore, he is the prince, and you are his princess.

#fushiguro megumi x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x reader #megumi fushiguro x reader #jjk imagines #jjk fanfic #fushiguro megumi fluff #megumi fushiguro fluff #HSHAHA i don’t know anymore #i legit repost it THREE times so it’ll show up in the tags #this is so cheesy overall aHSHSHS

831 notes · View notes

seuonji · 8 months

Text

彡 as long as you're here, i can endure it. — yoon jeonghan

—office worker au! desk neighbour jeonghan.

notes ๑ gn!reader. oneshot. alt title: 9-5 jobs suck

genre ๑ fluff to angst.

warnings ๑ smoking (i don’t support smoking but it’s for the plot.)

word count ๑ 1k

from aya: please reblog if you enjoyed! feedback is always appreciated<3

the agonising sound of keyboard clicks, printers printing, and overlapped conversations rang in your ear. overwhelmed, you curled into your arms and let out a distressed exhale. you covered your ears and for a while it was tranquil.

only for a while.

“ynnnn let’s go for a smoke,” your desk neighbour, yoon jeonghan casually tugged at your sleeve without looking away from his screen. one of his hands held his cigarette pack and a lighter. even with the bulk, he was still typing like he normally would. you squinted your eyes at his laid-back nuance but did not have the energy to point out his weird skill.

you took a peek to your screen and it seemed like a good time to take a break anyway so you fulfilled his demands and got up from your seat. you waited and adjusted your clothes, standing beside jeonghan who was finishing up to his goal.

"alright, let's go!" he practically jumped out of his seat after saving his work.

as you reached your designated smoking spot which was just the rooftop of the building, you embraced the breeze that greeted you. you held onto the railings and looked down at the semi-dead street, wishing you were down there catching a taxi that was headed to home.

jeonghan plucked two cigarettes from the pack and positioned one in between your lips. he sparked a flame and lit his cigarette before leaning closer to you. he held your chin and as the tips of your cigarette touched, your cigarette ignited.

“9-5 jobs suck,” you exhaled expressing your disdain for your current life situation. “did someone not warn you beforehand?” jeonghan chuckled before continuing, “i think even pre-schoolers know that.”

“i'm probably just tired of how works getting repetitive," you sighed before turning to him and asking, “how are you holding on?“

“i’m fine, i really don't mind this line of work,” he took another puff, eyes squinted because of the sun targeting his face.

“really? i would've suspected that you'd hate this job more than me."

he seemed taken aback by your statement, "do you know me enough to assume things like that?"

you pouted defeatedly and nodded in agreement. he had a point, your 'relationship' with him had only begun a few months ago and there was only so much you could know about him.

you and jeonghan were the newest employees of the company who had started on the same day. overtime when you started to get comfortable working there, you coincidentally ran into him on the roof. both of you knew you were there for the same reasons.

since then you two have gotten closer. you two would only rely on each other, even occasionally grabbing lunch together on your accord but most of all you two always spent your breaks smoking together.

“just assuming from what i’ve observed so far,” you answered, pinching the smoke in between your fingers.

“you’ve been observing me?” he said cheekily.

“barely,” you sternly say while rolling your eyes.

he was humored by your expression. moving closer, he closed the distance between you and him and leaned on the railing right by you. his shoulder grazed against yours and you jolted at the sudden physical contact but tried to hide your reaction.

you cleared your throat to fill the silence, “so, what do you like about this dreadful 9-5?”

“well...it’s a bit flexible in terms of schedule. the food in the cafeteria sucks though and the people in our unit are kinda incompetent, except for me of course. the air conditioning system is quite good but it gets stuffy at times. another thing, they seriously need to upgrade the machines and technology, the printer keeps jamming on me—“

you softly smacked his arm cutting him off, “you are describing it how a person who hates this job would.”

he sneered as he looked off into the distance as if he was in a movie. he had a slight grin on his face as he truly answered your question,

“i don’t mind this job because i met you in the process."

you were in the middle of taking a drag from your cigarette when he said that. caught off guard by his words, you profusely started to choke on the smoke. “yn? you good??” he worriedly called your name and patted your back, as if that would help.

“i’m good—” you said in between coughs. "do you want me to get your water?" he bent down to your level, still patting your back.

“it's okay, we’ve got to get back to work anyways," you weakly said as you walked towards the exit door.

you faced your colleague and kept up an energy despite your throat literally dying from the inside, "come on now, i’ll make fun of you if you work overtime again," you joked, silently changing the subject.

he shook his head in disbelief and laughed as he walked towards you.

you threw your cigarette into the ashtray and opened the door to the stairs. jeonghan followed behind you disposing his cigarette before placing his hands into his pockets.

as you both settled down at your desks, you shared a smile with him before silently getting immersed in your work. in spite of that, some parts of you drifted into thought.

on your side, you thought that if you knew any less, you would've assumed jeonghan had feelings for you with the way he worded that answer. it wasn’t possible, he meant it in the friendship way, right?

on jeonghan's side, he was a bit disappointed, he thought today was the day he could finally confess. maybe he should’ve been a bit more direct, or was it too soon?

overall he didn’t fret much, he gets it if it was a topic you weren’t ready for. for now, as long as he had you as his desk buddy who would smoke with him in any given moment, that was enough for him. sooner or later, he knew he could eventually work his way up to being something more than someone who just smokes and gossips with you.

that was what he thought, until he saw your phone one day. he happened to glance at it when it was near his side. it had just received a notification from a sender under the name, “shua” followed by a pink heart. he even caught a glimpse of your smile when your eyes saw the notification.

suddenly, everything in the world clicked but for jeonghan, everything had shattered.

「shua💓: hi my love! i’ll be home early today, what do you wanna have for dinner tonight?」

204 notes · View notes

meowmarkie · 10 months

Text

long distance - lhc

credit to @delhyun for the gif!

Plot: You and Haechan have been internet dating for almost a year now, but haven’t seen eachother in person yet. On your anniversary, he decides to surprise you.

Word count: 1980

notes!

hi! this is my first oneshot, and i already apologize for some grammar mistakes i might make since english is not a language that i use often. hope you enjoy it anyway!

One day a year ago from now, you accidentally made a choice that altered your life for good. You chose to download an app called “Twitter” for fun at first, and there, you met Lee Donghyuck, a korean guy who loved Michael Jackson as much as you do. Because of you guys’ shared love for the singer among other things, your relationship started.

No one thought that it would last, and some even thought it was impossible to date someone that lives so far away without cheating or actually committing to the relationship. Alas, you two beat all the odds and a week from now it’d be the 1st official dating anniversary.

“Babe, I’m so excited! I mean, I can barely believe that all this time has already gone by. It feels like I met you yesterday!” Donghyuck’s cheeks flushed a little and his eyes gleamed with excitement while he talked. He was head over heels for you, and made sure to let you know about it through every big — and small — gesture. “I really love you.”

It was way past midnight for you, and seven in the morning for Haechan but none of you wanted to hang up the video call. It became routinary for both of you to get home and call each other, even with the time zone difference. You both believed that if you want something to work, putting in some effort is more than needed. That’s how your relationship flourished.

“Awn, I love you too Hyuckie!” You said, blushing. The way he treated you blew your mind every time. He was extremely caring and gentle. “And… I have good news!”

“Ooh, tell me!” He sat up in his bed and stared at you through his screen, making sure to listen attentively.

“I might be able to travel to Korea this year! But only a few months from now” As soon as the sentence left your lips, his face lit up with joy. His reactions and way of living would never get old for you.

“Y/N are you serious? Like, for real, for real?” Donghyuck held the screen of his computers with both hands, trying to pull your image as close as he could to his own face. “If I could, I would so kiss you right now.”

“I would too… And, yes! I’m for real. We’re going to see each other soon!” You smiled warmly at him while also giggling. You knew how much he loved and cared for you. That gave you all the strength you needed to go about your day. “But as much as I would love to discuss my trip details with you, can we do it tomorrow? I’m kinda tired from work…”

“It’s fine, princess. We can talk more tomorrow!” The way he called you princess made you melt internally. He was the perfect man for you, and he knew it.

“See you soon, Hyuckie!” You said while blowing him a kiss.

“See you sooner than you expect, Y/N!”

After hanging up, the last thing he said stayed in your mind a while before you went to sleep. What did he mean with “see you sooner than you expect”? I mean, you would see him in a few months from now but it definitely wouldn’t be sooner than what you planned for.

You gave it some thought, but since you were really tired, sleep got to you, interrupting your train of thought.

But, on the continent Hyuck lived, he wasn’t planning on sleeping or staying in. He was actually preparing to leave his apartment and to go to Incheon’s airport.

“You got everything you need?” Asked Renjun, his roommate. He was really responsible and always made sure Haechan stayed on the right track. “Is your passport with you?”

“No, I sold it for extra cash.” Renjun’s eyes opened wide in distress but as soon as the sun kissed boy started laughing he understood it was a joke. “Relax, Injun! I have everything with me. Be back in a couple weeks! Take care.”

“You too!”

TEXT MODE ON - DONGHYUCK'S PHONE

you

hey Y/N

just texting to let u know that my phone is broken

and i’ll only be able to fix it tomorrow

so im going to hand it to the store now!

love you

talk to you soon!

love of my life

oh, ok!

love u too!

talk to you soon

TEXT MODE OFF - DONGHYUCK'S PHONE

“It’s done” thought Donghyuck. That way, you would never suspect that he was traveling to France, the country which you live in thanks to work. Your marketing firm really wanted to place you there.

He would have to keep his phone in a constant stage of “airplane mode” while he traveled. It would suck not being able to reach out to you or his family back in Korea, but luckily he explained why that would happen to them beforehand while also making sure to download all of his music on Spotify.

In just a couple hours he would be able to see you. He didn’t care what it took or how long it took to get to you, but he decided that he would do it.

Meanwhile, you were finishing some work on your apartment located right in the middle of Paris. Some would think that it was incredible to live there, you would beg to differ. Something about the rats and the cigar smell took out some of the magic that the infamous “City of Light” has to offer.

You’ve been living there for almost the same time you know Donghyuck, but you still weren't able to adapt to the city. If you could, you would go live somewhere else.

The next day came, and you woke up really excited. Donghyuck’s phone was getting fixed and he probably would get it back by lunchtime in your time zone. You were about to get up and take a shower when a notification pops up on your screen. Haechan sent you a text!

TEXT MODE ON - YOUR PHONE

my dearest sunshine

babyyyy

got my phone back!

i missed u so much!

you

HEY HYUCKIE

missed u too

my dearest sunshine

send me ur address again, would ya?

i wanna send u some flowers!

you

omg ur literally the best wtf

how did i find someone like u?

im so lucky

my dearest sunshine

shut up im the lucky one

you

cute

my address is: (insert information here)

my dearest sunshine

thank u!

see u soon!

TEXT MODE OFF - YOUR PHONE

Again with the “see you soon”. What could he possibly mean by that? You spent some time re-reading your conversation and just when you were about to type a message, your doorbell rang.

You weren’t expecting anyone at this time, so you had no idea who it could possibly be. So, you went up to the door cautiously.

“Who is it?” You asked loud enough for the other person to hear, without having to actually open the door.

“Flower delivery for miss Y/N!” The person’s voice shocked you to your core. The one who replied had the same voice as your boyfriend!

Without wanting to wait another second, you opened the door as fast as you can and there he was. Donghyuck was right in front of you, holding a bouquet of your favorite flowers and smiling like he had just won the lottery.

“Hey, Y/N”

Instead of replying with words you threw your arms around him so fast that he had some trouble getting the flowers out of the way before you smashed them. When he managed to safely secure the bouquet, he held you the tightest he has ever held someone.

You smelled so good, and you fit perfectly in his arms. Donghyuck was waiting so long for that moment and it was all worth it. You were there.

“How- How did you- How?” You could barely speak because of how touched and surprised you were. He went all this way to see you. “I’m so happy you’re here”

“So am I! Now… may I come in?” Haechan’s gaze never left yours and if you two could, you would freeze time in order to maintain that beautiful moment there forever. But, unfortunately, you both had to enter the apartment at some point.

“Yeah, of course!” You showed him inside after you got the bouquet from him. The flowers were really pretty. “How can I kiss you properly if we’re both standing in a hallway?”

Your words and your mischievous smile made him stop in his tracks and blush a lot. He didn’t know how you would feel about kissing right away, but he’s glad to know that you’re both on the same page.

He got closer to your body, and when he placed a hand on your waist to pull you closer, it felt like an electric current went through your whole body, also sending shivers everywhere. Both of your breathings synchronized, and when Donghyuck made the choice to close the distance between you, it felt like a movie-like moment.

Your lips finally meet in a soft, tender kiss, sealing the year of anticipation and longing in which you felt everything from love to happiness, to anxiety and to peace. You melted in his touch while he was trying to embrace all of you at once.

The kiss deepens as they pour their emotions into the moment. All the late-night phone calls, the virtual dates, and the countless "I love yous" now culminate in this one perfect kiss.

After what feels like an eternity, they finally break the kiss, but their foreheads stay pressed together, their eyes closed, basking in the overwhelming joy of the moment. Now that he knew what it was like to have you, he didn’t want to let you go ever again.

“I never want to let you go again” Donghyuck whispered against your face, his breath hitting your cheek like a minty and refreshing summer breeze. “I love you so much.”

“Then don't. I'm here now, and I'm not going anywhere” You whispered back, holding him tighter. “I love you too, and I will love you forever and ever.”

“I can't believe we're actually here together” He pulls away from you a little bit in order to observe the place you live, glancing around with eager curiosity. The place is quaint and filled with sunlight, just how you liked it.

“Me neither. I'm so happy you're here, Hyuckie. This long-distance thing has been tough, but I'm even more convinced that we can make this work!” He smiled when he heard those words, caressing your cheeks as you both stared at each other’s eyes.

“Move to Korea with me.” Haechan doesn’t know why he said that, but knew it needed to be said.

“What?” Your eyes widen, a mixture of surprise and delight washing over your face. Was he actually asking you that?

“I've been thinking a lot about our future together even before coming here, and... I don't want to be apart from you anymore” He took in both of your hands, lifting them up to his face so that he could kiss them. “I’ve never been so sure about anything before in my whole life! You’ve been my only certainty when we started dating. I don’t ever want to leave you again. I know it’s sudden, especially with your company and-

“Fuck my company! I hate Paris!” You said, exasperatedly. It’s true, Paris just wasn’t for someone like you. “I’ll do it. I’ll move in with you”

After hearing your response, his face lights up, and he pulls you in again, sharing another passionate kiss with you, sealing your decision to take their relationship to the next level. You both laugh, having love and excitement fill the air around you. It was finally happening. Your life was about to start, and all because you made the decision to download the blue bird app.

The End!

#haechan #lhc #haechan x reader #haechan x you #haechan x y/n #nct fluff #nct imagines #nct dream #nct 127 #fluff #nct fanfic #haechan imagines #nct dream imagines #nct 127 imagines #nct dream x reader #nct 127 x reader #long distance love #nct x reader #nct dream fluff

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fantasylandloser · 4 months

Text

Cupid

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x woc!reader

Summary: idfk Daryl + apocalypse + love

Warnings: canon typical violence, injury to reader, lots of hurt comfort, angst, nno specific plot

A/N: I just started watching twd and everybodys so attractive and traumatized, I don't know what to do with myself. Anyway enjoy, or don't.

******

When you first met Daryl, you very quickly learned to be cautious of him and his brother. The color of your skin caused unnecessary distress to the eldest brother, and he made sure everyone else was aware of this problem if he was in the mood.

You were tactful about avoiding him for the most part. Until Merle was missing. You weren’t particularly sad about it. You surely wouldn’t miss him, then you began to notice Daryl without worrying his brother was behind him.

He was quiet, withdrawn, helpful, kind in his own way. He was many things, maybe even a good man. The first time you found yourself around him on purpose, you’d been spooked. You ran to the first person you saw, which was Daryl and he pushed you behind him. You hardly realized the way you gripped onto him when he held up his bow an arrow to shoot the walker. Your heart was beating so loudly that when he told you ‘it’s dead now’ you barely heard him. And you didn’t get to thank him before Carol pulled you away.

The next day Daryl found ten perfectly carved wooden arrows outside his tent. He knew it was you. He never told you thank you though, he didn’t know how.

The next time he goes through a bunch of arrows again he finds more outside his tent, probably twenty, they’re perfect, each of them. He hates them. He doesn’t understand them. Which is why you find them thrown back at your feet, when he finds you at the creek washing clothes.

“I can carve my own arrows.” You look taken back slightly, but nod nonetheless.

“I’m aware.” You say trying your best to appear unruffled, but you were also well aware others were watching the two of you.

“You don’t need to be wastin’ your time makin’ these.” He nods to them. Then looks away from you when he sees your look of disappointment.

“I understand. I’m sorry I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” Your reply is so soft he barely hears you, and he knows he’s a dick by how gutted you sound , but he can’t bring himself to pick the arrows back up so he just walks away.

You stay away from him again after that. Only near him when the group is all together, never making eye contact or standing too close.

*****

The next memorable interaction between Daryl and you is when Andrea shoots him. It was the most reckless thing you’d ever seen in your opinion, and you didn’t have a problem telling her so, much to the shock of the rest of the camp. You couldn’t help being so mad though, you’d finally found safety on the farm and you were a little upset to have it compromised. No other reason.

Someone must have told him when he woke up because when you pass by his tent for the tenth time in an hour, he calls you in. It’s awkward considering how little the two of you have spoken. He doesn’t ask you for anything, even though you offer plenty. He just reaches into his back pocket, hands you a sharp knife with an impeccable blade, tells you that he found it while he was in the woods and figured you’d have use for it.

He asks you to show him the technique you used when you carved his arrows. His way of apologizing you think. You tell him there wasn't a technique, but you let him watch you carve one and he realizes you’re so into it you don't recognize the method to your own madness, you’re just using it to cope, to create.

After that day he lets you carve his arrows, sometimes sitting with you while you do it. The two of you didn’t do much talking but you both appreciated the company.

******

“Raise your arm more.” Daryl tells you. You huff slightly not annoyed, just frustrated.

“It’s heavy.” You complain.

“You made it.” He counters, squatting beside you.

“Not for me.” You murmur. He sighs and takes the crossbow from you. Something you made mostly of wood and spare parts you found around the camp. It was really badass in Daryl’s opinions but for whatever girly reason you were embarrassed.

He had found it when he was looking for you, put away the best you could in your tent, but still it caught his eye. He wasn’t snooping, as you said he was.

Daryl can’t help but admire it, but that’s all he does. He won’t accept it as a gift, not something you put so much work into, so he offered to teach you how to use it instead. You regretted saying yes to that as your shoulder ached.

“Just somethin’ you gotta learn how to do now.” Is all he can offer, you only sigh while stretching your arms once more before taking the crossbow back from him.

“Hold up” You still, but you keep your arm lifted. You let him move the strands of curly hair out your face, some of them falling back to exactly where they were.

‘Alright now you can actually see the target.” You scoff, seeing how pleased he is with himself, but can’t help the amused smile that lights up your face.

“I hate you.” You say, with no bite behind it, but you can actually see the target now. You don’t hit it on the first ten tries, but when you finally do, you smile in triumph, pleased with yourself. You allow yourself that joy for a few seconds, you’ve forgotten Daryl at this point. Because you reload without so much as looking back at him and continue on until the sun is no longer in the sky. For a reason unknown to Daryl, this blooms a feeling of pride in his chest.

******

Sometimes you found yourself watching Daryl's arms. It wasn’t something you did purposefully, he’d be showing something to you and your eyes would just wander. It was a stupid habit that only caused you more trouble than you needed.

“Are you listenin’ to me?” No you were not.

“No.” Your cheeks heat up at your admission, your eyes finally making their way back up to his. “I’m sorry.” You catch the amused glint in his eyes and you know you were caught.

“It’s alright, we'll pick back up-” Daryl’s name is called before he can finish speaking. Shane and Rick nod him over and he gives you a quick look before walking over. They leave to make a run an hour later.

Everytime Daryl leaves you watch for him, waiting for him to get back. You wish you didn’t, but you couldn’t do anything else with him gone, too scared, too nervous. That’s how you end up in such a stupid accident. Falling off the roof of the RV had to be the most embarrassing thing you’d ever done, and stupid. You probably would have been able to just get up and dust yourself off with a few scratches and possibly some sore muscles if you hadn’t landed right on an arrow you’d carved while you waited.

You don’t cry out surprisingly, it’s probably shock. You’re barely aware of your surroundings as Dale and Andrea come from inside and rush you towards the house. You let them push you into the room and lay you on the bed, you let Hershel look at it, but the second he mentions pulling it out you panic, defensively covering it with your hands.

Carol is on the porch waiting for them to get back and they see the panic in her face before she has the chance to say anything. And Daryl sees that you aren’t on top of the RV like you usually are when he’s gone and he starts sprinting towards the house, the others are a close second behind him.

“No please.” You’re not crying still, but you’re panicked, blocking Hershel from getting to you.

“I just want to help you, but you gotta calm down.” Hershel tells you. You let out a series of no’s while you get out of bed. When Daryl finally makes it to the room and sees the situation, he feels a bit of relief. He’s sure you’re in pain and he hates that, but it’s better you be in pain than dead.

“How the hell did this happen?” Daryl asks, when you hear his voice, your head snaps towards him and you call for him.

There's a series of voices answering his question, but he ignores them all when Hershel says “She’s delirious, I need you to hold her down.”

“You gotta lay back down, sweetheart.” Daryl tells you, he walks to you slowly trying not to spook you, He’s never seen you so terrified and he knows the pain must be too much when you're malnourished and sleep deprived and he knows you give most of your rations to Lori.

“I don’t want them to take it out.” He knows you barely know what you’re saying. But he thinks you’re calming down some as your eyes grow wet. You clutch your side as the pain finally catches up with your senses.

“Just lay down and let me look at it.” If you weren’t so out of your mind in pain you’d realize that he was lying, but you were. You agree lying back down. Once you do he attempts to lift your shirt, but it’s stuck to the arrow that hasn’t been pulled out.

He sighs, his arm going around the top of your chest signaling Rick to grab your legs. “Baby, you’re gonna have to let him pull it out.” He sees your panic swell again but grabs your hand before you can do anything.

“Just breathe, okay.” When Hershel starts to go to work on your wound, you face Daryl’s chest as you quietly cry. “I know, I know.” He soothes. Daryl realizes that he doesn’t think he’s seen you cry often since all of this has started and it makes his chest ache a little.

When everything calms down after you pass out from the pain, and Hershel stitches up your wound Daryl finds himself sitting there still with his hand in yours. He doesn’t leave your side until your eyes open.

*****

Daryl gently touches your hair while you tell him about your life before infection. Your head is in his lap and he doesn’t even remember climbing into the bed with you. He allows himself the intimacy, says to himself that it’s to comfort you and not at all for him.

He doesn’t know when he started to feel so comfortable with you, but he thinks you have a way about you that would make any man break down his walls. It scares him. He hates it. He thinks you’re cupid, shooting him with arrows, making him love you.

“Were you with anyone before all this started?” You ask. He only shakes his head. You hum softly, your hands fidgeting with the hand of his that isn’t in your hair. After a while of silence Daryl realizes you fell back asleep, but he can’t bring himself to leave you just yet.

You’d lost so much blood in the day prior, more blood than he thought was survivable, but Hershel said you were fine. He couldn’t shake this feeling though, he just wanted you to be fine, he didn’t want to be scared.

When the herd came for the house Daryl felt panic constrict his throat in a new way. Chaos ensued as he looked for you. When he finally found you, you were holding your own with a group of walkers, he would have found the time to be proud if it weren’t for the way his heart was beating.

By the time you make it to his motorcycle, you killed nearly a dozen with his help. “Hurry the hell up.” He rushes, even though you’re hurrying to the best of your ability.

****

“Where is she?” Daryl asks as he walks through the prison, he doesn’t get an answer but he doesn’t need one as your head pops out at the sound of his voice.

He sees the betrayal in your eyes as you look at him, still he gets closer, just wanting to be near you. He starts to say your name, maybe to apologize, you’re not sure, and you don’t care. You shove him away from you. He comes back.

“You left.” Your voice betrays you, as it quivers. “We needed you here.”

“He’s my brother.” He tries to explain,

“And what are we?” Your voice rises, and it’s the first time you’ve ever yelled at him. It startles him slightly. “Are we not family?” You ask. “What am I?” Daryl clearly doesn’t have an answer for you.

“Baby-” He calls when you turn away, ignoring Merle’s presence as you did before. “Give her space.” Carol tells him. “She’ll come around.”

“What the hell did I miss, little brother?” Merle asks, only to be ignored.

When you finally come back from wherever you run off to, you don’t make a sound if Daryl or Merle speak to you. It’s like how it was before Merle left the first cam, except worse in so many ways.

Daryl just wants you to understand, he doesn’t know how you don’t. He wants to tell you it wasn’t personal, but the words don’t seem right. He works to find the right ones but it’s no matter, they’re aren’t any.

You’re holding baby ass kicker when he finally gets a moment with you. Everything that happens is usually so public to the group now that you have to stick together, so he knows that everyone knows what you mean to him. It’s unnerving.

“M’sorry.” You pause your actions momentarily before going back to tending to the baby. When you don’t so much as acknowledge him, he goes where you and ass kicker are before getting on his knees willing you to look at him.

“You gotta talk to me, alright? Even if you just want to yell or scream or hit me, give me somethin’” He pleads, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. You exhale a shaky breath. “I’m sorry I pushed you earlier. Wasn’t right.” Daryl almost scoffs because of course you’re apologizing.

“Deserved it.” He whispers to you, still on his knees in front of you, waiting for your eyes to land on him. You shake your head in disagreement.

“If you leave again, or something happens…” You pause and Daryl wants to tell you nothing will happen and he won’t leave you but he can’t promise that to be true. “I want you to know that I love you,” You whisper. “It’s all I could think about since you left. How I should have told you- how I might never see you again.” When you finally look at him you see his tears, you know he’s hurting.

“I’m not trying to make this harder for you, I just wanted you to know.” He nods, holding his face in your lap, trying to gather his emotions. With the hand that’s not holding the baby you stroke his hair gently, allowing him to cry.

#daryl dixon #twd daryl #daryl x reader #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixion x reader #daryl dixon angst #fantasylandloserfic

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littlelightbolt · 27 days

Text

JazzProwl + baby - Merformers AU Chapter 3 - A captive individual

So here's the last of the chapters I have ready written, I kinda write in a bullet point style cause I don't think my brain is at the capacity at the moment to come back and make them actual well written chapters. Enjoy tho. - Ideas still welcome. I'm kinda stuck on what other problems the character will be facing with life in the aquarium.

Life down in this hell hole has been a constant blood pressure raising experience for Prowl.

Not counting his transportation after being caught, he has calculated that it has been 32 cycles since his kidnapping from the Autobot pod after a bloody dispute with Optimus. Not even Jazz had tried to stop him when he stormed off.

The capture had been unpredictable. Never in his mind would it have occured to him that pirates had breached the secret coves wall.

His pod could be in danger and he couldn't even there to warn them. Even if the probabilities were low, he could only hope that no one else had been captured. The cove was a protected space. It would be detrimental to their way of life if humans were to discover them.

He fought every step of the transport process. Stuck alone in a tiny space with a foreign language echoing through as his music. Bruised and battered he arrived to a rather large facility. Bright colours were everywhere it was dizzying. After being poked and prodded, he was placed in an isolation pool. The empty walls smelt of distress and dead fish. He simmered deeply ashamed to have been outsmarted by a bunch of land dwellers. He graced his tank by thrashing aggressively sending big waves that splashed the humans who shrieked in displeasure recoiling from the edge of his pool. Despite the brief victory, he was soon swarmed by the lot of them.

Over the next few days, he learned quickly that attacking the staff was a futile effort. Where one fell another took their place. He always got drugged and worked with an awful headache there after. Now, he has reserved to take a smarter approach, observing all he could in hopes of plotting an escape someday.

Eventually the humans deemed him healthy enough to be transferred to a bigger pool. To his surprise, this one had furnishings of actual kelp and rocks. One of the walls had an ominous grate that connected to parts unknown. Prowl steered clear of that for now. There was a small alcove at the bottom to hide in, barely big enough to stretch out fully in. A small school of fish were in here with him while star fish rested on the glass wall looking outwards.

His first glimpse in what would be his new home was less that flattering. Beyond his tank there were many others just like his with pairs of mers or solo ones as he was. They too seemed to notice the new comers presence and we're checking him out too.

Prowl's skin curled at the thought of having little to no privacy.

Below to tank groups of humans were looking up at him. Most of them wore bright colours and expensive suits. The walkways reminded Prowl of the big loud yachts he would see from time to time back home. It disgusted him to be downgraded to an item to be observed.

Everyday it's just the same four walls and the humans outside. His neighbours loud and the humans louder still. He did his best to get through each day though and memorise the routines of the humans that took care of him.

Sometimes mers from the tanks around him were cartes off and returned again, sometimes they just never did. It was always the prettier mers, the ones who showed interest in the humans down below. Prowl deducts that being carted off is very bad and strives to be as antisocial as he can with the humans. He fears for the day his turn comes.

So far, escape is still far away. It was only in the night cycles where most mers were asleep that he could have a quiet reprieve from the over-stimulating environment, where the constant vigilance tore down on him.

It is there that the waves of loneliness would wash over him completely, pulling him under some nights. He would never admit that he laments that no one will come to save him. To get away from it all, what used to be a private pass time now became a self soothing hobby. He sang. Tuneless little melodies to songs he remembered from mainly Jazz.

His songs on those nights were considered some of the most hauntingly beautiful in the aquarium to the skeleton crew humans who worked the night shift. Only amplified when the humpback mer several tanks down that sang to and with him occasionally. They formed a sort of musical comradery.

It was the 55 day cycle here at the facility. The day cycle was stagnant and Prowl was well and truly bored. He swam a few laps around the tank and cleaned up his little burrow but aside from that there was nothing to do. Prowl cursed the humans cleverness, exploiting the mers need for being busy to entertain the crowds outside.

Prowl firmly pushed down the urge to look back at the glass knowing that doing so won't do him any favours. And so he laps, chasing the fish and rearranging the star fish.

The sounds coming from the glass were getting louder today. Way louder than usual. Curiosity getting the better of him, Prowl glanced towards the screen. A large crowd has gathered at his viewing window. Apprehension takes him, he never had so many humans stay in front of his enclosure.

A tiny hint of fear sinks in. Is he being carted off. A human dress in a workers uniform was in front of the crowd talking into a microphone echoing the words into the water "-and today we will be introducing this sweet little baby to what will hopefully be their loving surrogate parent!" Prowl had picked up a few words during his captivity but most of the sentence was beyond him.

The announcer finished with a flourish and the crowd clapped and cheered. The sound of something breaching the surface caught Prowl's awareness. A large box was being lowered into the tank. Prowl fear turned to dread when he saw the little body within it. The faint smell of distress and sick was coming off of them.

Knowing the humans, he kept a fair distance away from the box until it was fully lowered to the bottom of the tank. When the ropes had fully detached he made he way towards the box. At least the sick bastards didn't lock the little one in there. They could have drowned if they did.

Prowl was honestly a bit out of his depth in talking to young kids. The autobot pod didn't have any, the youngest was probably hot rod and they had found him when he was already a teen. Figuring the best way to gather their atte tion was to talk Prowl gently called out to the little form that laid there. The poor thing curled tight in fear slowly unfurled seemingly seeming him approable.

Prowl reached out to touch him, but being unsure of how to start allowed the baby to initiate first contact. Now up close, Prowl was thankful that no visible bruises were seen on the baby. But, it did to his eyes look slightly tired and flushed. Must have been the panic of being moved here taking its toll. They looked old enough to start talking but the little one was silent.

When the baby grasped his finger, Prowl was glad the terror twins weren't there to see him freeze. The world grew smaller until it was just the too of them, a wave of warm emotions unfurled in Prow 's cold heart. If only for a nano click. Another small hand was roaming his chest, pawing at his skin funnily enough it was slightly tickling the adult amusing him.

Wanting to assess the baby further, Prowl brought the little hands to his face scenting them, the baby was slightly malnourished and smelt of burnt sour milk due to the fever raging. They were sicker than he thought and it worried him.

It was then the crowd outside returned him to reality. The loud shouts and cheering shatter their small moment. The baby frightened once again.

Prowl made quick work of the latches. Opening the box and reaching inside for the baby. They were leaving, he was fed up of the unwelcome eyes on them. The baby latched on and curled around his chest rather snuggly, he could feel that they were burning up.

With a few powerful whips of his tail, he breached the surface of the tank allow the little one to breathe. Before diving back down into his little cove to his. It barely fit the too of them.

Kelp was a common herb in the sea incorporated into almost any dish the autobot pod cooked or made. Prowl remembered ratchet giving a lecture to the twin about eating their veggies. That it was also a great staple in medicine for simple illness like fevers. Thinking fast, Prowl slipped out of the cover and grabbed some kelp to use it as medicine for the little one. The humans watched him in fascination but he hardly cared for them. Arriving back to the shivering baby, he chewed up some kelp in his mouth making sure it was turned to paste before spitting it out and feeding it to the little one.

He fed them 3 mouthfuls of kelp before the little one showed signs of being full and drowsy.

The baby nuzzled into his form looking up at him once bleary before laying down to sleep.

Not wanting to awake the little one, Prowl got comfortable for the long unmoving wait of nap time. While the baby slept, Prowl's mind whirled. Well, he definitely wasn't bored now.

'where were their mother, pod? what happened to them, how long had the baby been alone for can they actually speak' many other questions swarmed his mind.

Most of all, his escape plan now had an additional variable. If he were to escape he would be bringing the baby with him. He could only pray to a god he didn't quite believe in: primus to be so merciful to them.

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

#transformers #prowl #jazz #transformer sparkling #baby oc #or baby bluestreak take your pick #for funsies #writing ideas #jazzprowl #Eventually yes but for now is a slow burn #inspired by other great fics on ao3 really #writing #first time writer

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liliallowed · 6 months

Note

Imagine if the player got bored or something and used Y/N as a vessel to flirt with Dust.

That would be so out of pocket.

hmmm. well that is a good idea but...

I was thinking something even more interesting.

I won't elaborate since that plotline is for my Thornbound souls fic but yeah I've had this idea before. just... with a plot twist or... two

in the meantime though enjoy this short little fic!

you were in the lion's den and one mistake could cost you your reset.

but you liked to gamble. going all in on a bet made your heart beat fast with excitement.

how good WAS your y/n impression actually? you were fairly confident you could mimick their behavior and personallity...

though... it would be even more natural to have the vessel be in full control... while you simply observed and felt things from their perspective. let them take the lead.

or maybe they would? as long as they made the same choices y/n would've made anyways, there was no distress in the soul and they'd be completely in sync and unrecognizable. but?

one missed heartbeat... a TINY BIT of indecisive behavior and they KNEW he'd pick that up on the MOMENT their soul studders.

they knew he had his senses hyperfixed on this humans pathetic mushy soul.

what did he see in them anyway?...

you sigh feeling a slight throb in you head but it disappeared the moment you open your eyes.

you can't help but notice a familiar hooded figure is watching you, his eyelights observing you silently.

🩶[close your eyes again and pretend to be sleeping so he'll go away. it's just a dream y/n you're still dreaming.]

"stop staring at me."

"... why are you still here... am I still dreaming?"

you close your eyes swiftly as you try to ignore the sound of your definitely NOT real paralysis demon strapping closer... closer...

he's right there you don't dare open your eyes you KNOW his face is only millimeters away from yours cuz you can FEEL his eyelights digging into your soul.

nope. you aren't seeing him. he's fake. you're just tired. he's not real. you just need to MOVE your hand and see if you can touch air.

... your hand... slips through the air. there's actually nothing there?

🩶[check]

you open your right eye squinting... nothing there.

you open the other one to get jumpscared by his face against.

🩶"EEP! "

[eye roll]

[stare into the void. maybe he'll go away???]

you let out a small scared squeak ducking under the comfort of your pillow... then look back.

yep. still there. still VERY MUCH THERE.

/your ears barely pick up the sound of a small chuckle./

/.../

/you're starting to see the appeal actually... this vessel is kinda adorable./

before you can make a choice however,

you find yourself glaring at the skeleton as you step out of bed, walking up to him with a stubborn face.

"why are you here?"

/huh... without input? they're pissed hehehehe./

"just checking up on you" he shrugged.

"don't you have some... demon thingy to catch or something." you mutter half heartedly.

"lost their trace. soooo knowing that freak YOU'RE the most likely person they'll cling onto"

/PFFFFT- *spits out coffee*/

/HOLY FUK... dude... dude I'm not sus. I swear./

"... I think I would KNOW if I'm possessed." you roll your eyes.

"I can tell" his grin sharpens.

"can you stop giving me vague threats!? I'm NOT GONNA... GO ON SOME DUMB... cosmic black hole time warping... WHATEVER THE HELL YOU SAID!" you glare at him.

"it's okay. take your time. either the mask slips or you're right and I'm just paranoid. the more we talk the more I'll get to... test your answers."

"you're fucking crazy."

"I know what I am."

🩶"just leave me alone... last thing I need is you telling me my choices aren't my own. FUCK off."

his sockets squint... as if he's looking for something in your stubborn face...

but... he doesn't find it.

he sighs.

"I'll look around again. DO NOT LEAVE . I WILL FIND YOU."

he warps away.

now was your chance to get out! yet... you feel inclined to stay. you don't want to leave-

stay??? why should you stay? HE KIDNAPPED YOU? why did you hang such a silly though+

*PING

a skeletal hand pulls at your soul TEARING it through the vessel.

"GOTCHA" he chuckled.

💔

GAME OVER.

#liliwrites #lv triangle #dusttale #dusttale player

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cutekittenlady · 1 year

Text

Other points for the frail emmet au;

I'm not a doctor and dont have much medical knowledge so my ideas on the root cause of Emmet's weakened health really should not be treated with any kind of seriousness? Mostly its just a function of the plot tho I do have idea of the cause.

When Emmet arrived in Hisui (somehow. tbh havent really thought the how) he landed in the wilds much like Ingo did. However Ingo was lucky enough to land in the icelands during the warmer months/season and so the pearl clans members were more active in the wilds. Emmet doesnt have nearly as much luck and winds up crash landing during the darker/colder months.

This means that the pearl clan are being more conservative with how far they wander from their settlement so they dont' wind up finding Emmet. This leaves Emmet alone in the wilds struggling to survive for months. Only being found when he's already on the brink of death.

The mental and physical trauma from barely surviving is what ultimately causes Emmet's health to crash and leaves him so weakened. It's not irreversible and it is possible for Emmet to fully recover, but with the level of medical care available in hisui it would take years and is less likely to be successful when compared to the modern hospital.

In terms of actual symptoms Emmets weakened health means he has a weaker immune system so regular illnesses hit him harder as do things like the spores from parasect, etc. He also has less stamina meaning he gets tired more easily lessening how long he can exert himself before needing a break.

I can see Emmet using a cane or walking stick as a mobility aid as he slowly begins to regain his strength.

Aside from points concerning Emmets health heres some other random ideas;

Like Ingo, most of Emmets clothes are destroyed from his time in the wilds. Unlike Ingo though, Emmet hasn't had as much room to repair them. Since he was alone in the wilds for longer than Ingo, the only pieces of clothing that are fully intact are his hat and coat.

This means that Emmet winds up wearing much different clothes from Ingo. He doesnt have a pearl clan tunic since he's not a member, and since he spends most of his time in Jubilife, he'd likely wear warmer clothes. So probably, like, a kimono and sandals? Something like that.

While Emmet appreciates the people of Jubilife and enjoys the company of his pokemon companions, he is also desperately lonely as while Ingo does visit him in Jubilife, he also splits his time between the pearl clan settlement and caring for Lady Sneasler. Beyond that, Ingo shows no signs of fully remembering Emmet.

Althoooooo, being with Emmet DOES bring back a ton of OTHER memories for Ingo. While this is distressing at first, Ingo is still relieved and actually quite thrilled to finally be remembering tihngs about himself.

Sadly, things about Emmet are not included in most of the things Ingo is remembering. Emmet doesnt want to push Ingo to remember him, and so leaves it, but the fact that Ingo only knows his name and their relation and not private things about Emmet (like his favorite foods, small things they did together as children, his fears, etc) makes Emmet still feel as though he hasn't quite gotten Ingo back yet.

#submas #frail emmet au #pokemon #pla #pokemon legends arceus #legends arceus #warden ingo #subway boss ingo #subway boss emmet #pokemon ingo #pokemon emmet

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izzabeean · 2 years

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Chapter 14 : Desire or Demise

pairing : fushiguro toji x fem!reader

warnings/tags : 18+, alternate universe - office, eventual romance, explicit language.

genre : angst + fluff + smut

word count : 2,631

a/n : Hi! This chapter feels quite sporadic as it jumps through lots of different scenes. I often wonder if short scenes are worth it in my writing, so whenever I draft a chapter, I always think back to my favorite movies.

Also sorry if there are a lot of repeated words, I am realizing as a writer, I need to read more. My consumption of tv shows, movies, and anime is good for the plot, but I need to expand my vocabulary.

Anyway, enjoy this chapter! xx

18+ minors dni!!!

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It’s surprisingly difficult to fall asleep after that.

That being threatened by a man he barely knows. And perhaps he wasn’t actually being threatened but how could he possibly not think so after the sinking feeling he felt upon his departure? It’s surprisingly impossible to believe his intentions were anything but threatening, yet Toji can hardly remember the last time he felt threatened. Normally he’s the hostile one to tell others to watch their back. So perhaps the sensation of being on the receiving end is causing his mind to keep racing. Gojo’s words jabbed and Toji couldn’t understand why.

Good people.

Sure, Toji wouldn’t consider himself morally to be the best person, but he doesn’t think he’s all that bad. Maybe selfish, looking out for his own well-being before anyone else. Trying to get by through each and every passing day without offing himself. Or is it wrong to think he could even consider himself to be a good person since he’s not a victim?

That aren’t out drinking every day.

What’s wrong with a man enjoying a glass of whisky after a hard day's work – it’s the purest reward of getting through another day. The malty flavors relieved him of the stresses and distresses of life, the warm feeling in his chest after a sip. Frankly, it’s one of the best feelings he can have in a day. Honestly, Gojo needs a drink to loosen up a little.

People that don’t get fired.

Technically he chose to put himself in a situation that caused his boss to fire him, but he did that for that purpose. Totally in his control. Gojo didn’t know that Toji was trying to protect you from losing your job.

You… You’re so indecipherable. With your coy comments inviting him in alongside a delectable, sultry look. Then you turn around like a scared kitten, swatting him away with sharp words as claws, without any explanation before walking away.

God, why did you walk away?

Picking up the cartridge of cigarettes, Toji gets up from his bed to open the patio door. His bare feet touch the cold concrete and it’s apparent he’s painfully sober now. As he leans on the railing, he sighs taking out the last cigarette from his last carton and sliding it between his lips, he notes he's going to have to bum a pack off of Kong. He lights the smoke and takes a deep breath in, letting the relief fill his lungs, a rush of humility falling over him. He knows he won’t sleep, but he doesn’t have to worry because he can just sleep all day. He doesn’t have any responsibilities or a job to go to. Honestly, doesn’t have much at all. Just this last cigarette he will have to savor and the thought of you still on his mind.

The evening eventually tires him as his heavy eyes finally close into a sleep. The kind of sleep where he has to remind himself that the morning is near and if he dozes off now he’ll be able to bypass the loneliness of the night. Still, his thoughts race, searching for answers in Gojo’s subtext, wondering what your true intentions are. The limitless possibilities stretch into the dreamscape as he tries to quiet his mind from falling into a black abyss.

Yet that’s where his mind tends to go to (and not just literally from the night sky). He finds it in the corners of his soul, creeping back to revert him to the sad, useless body he’s born to be. Coming into this world he only expected the worst, for he never expected anything beyond what he was capable of. He’s always walked on a thin line, unable to trust himself or trust what he could do. He wasn’t one that had good things happen to him and so he could only believe his sense of self is plagued. He is the black hole. He embodies space and time where nothing, not even light, can escape from it.

Not even she could escape from him… His light.

…

Somewhere in between being and ethereal a voice calls out to him. His consciousness could just be hearing things but he also believes it could just be his dreams. Though he is half awake, he doesn’t know which way he’s being pulled towards. The self he’s unapologetic for or the self he’s left behind, watching it fade away into the dust. Regardless, he finds his soul moving towards it, feeling a familiar warmth in the call, in the way his name curls in it’s whispers.

Toji, he thinks he hears. But he could barely make it out clear enough to know that’s what it was truly saying. For it could have just been the rustle of this old building settling in in his awakeness or his imagination taking flight from hypnagogic illusions. But he leans into it closer, longing for the voice to call him once more.

A loud knock at the apartment door shocks Toji awake. Immediately, his eyes shoot open as he props himself up, brain foggy from the hallucination.

“The fuck is–” He mumbles, rubbing his eyes before pushing back the hair that’s fallen on his face. Part of Toji wishes he hasn’t woken up at all from the constant headaches in the world. He didn’t have it in him to end it all though, that’s where he was the weakest at. No, he is intended to suffer, that is why he is alive. And he will continue you until his last breath.

Another thunderous knock erupts through the apartment followed by the whining voice of his landlord.

“Mr. Fushiguro!”

Anger begins to boil within himself as he lays back down attempting to ignore the cries.

He takes deep breaths wondering trying to remember what he just woke from. He scans the room in hopes that something will trigger his memory as he thinks harder than he has in a moment of desperation. It all felt so fast, the feeling of loss, the pain of heartbreak, the line he never crossed because he’s still in debted to this world. Only those emotions stick to him without the memory of the dream.

“Fushiguro, you still owe this month's rent,” the landlord howls.

And Toji just rolls his eyes, knowing exactly how much he owes. Honestly, he spent it all on booze to help lighten the burden of a lost job. It’s not his problem that that’s the only substance that will keep him going through his waking hours. But it’s been such a drag not having a drip of alcohol to help him forget. He also wishes he didn’t have such a high tolerance.

“Pay it by the end of this week or you will be evicted,” the landlord yelps. Toji can hear his stomps and huffs as he storms off.

Toji turns around in bed trying to make himself more comfortable. But with a sigh, he swears under his breath trying to think of a quick solution to get some money… Though still hazy, there’s only one thing he can think of…

Kong slides an envelope across the table to Toji.

“Sorry I ‘otta ask,” Toji mumbles placing the envelope in the pocket on the inside of his jacket.

“Anything for a friend,” Kong gruffs, taking a sip of his drink. But what he really meant was, of course, Toji would come to him for the money.

This isn’t the first time and it won't be the last time Toji will borrow money from Kong. Kong has always been good at saving, instead of spending and Toji really applauds him for that, but Toji knows in no reality he’d be able to not spend his money. Though Kong could definitely stop giving Toji money, he really won’t, even with all the debt Toji has to repay Kong. Toji knows Kong expects it someday, but he just doesn’t know when that someday will be...

“How’s work?” Toji asks trying to think of almost anything to say, his conversation skills completely plummeting after barely any sleep.

“It’s alright,” Kong says. “A couple of new clients here and there. Kaito ended up presenting your project.”

“Of course, that fucker did,” Toji mutters.

“You know that could’ve been you,” Kong says, trying to read Toji’s reaction just noting pent-up anger swirling inside of him.

“The fuck if I care,” Toji says. “He's just some useless piece of shit. I don’t know how that company hasn’t fired him yet.

He couldn’t stand it. That fact Kaito presented his project – the one he put his blood, sweat, and tears in. Maybe that’s a bit dramatic, but he did put more time into it than he ever thought he would. And he did, all because of you…

“[NAME] isn’t as friendly,” Kong says, after a pause.

It’s like Kong could tell what Toji’s thinking as the thought passes in his mind. As you show up in his mind.

“She hides out in her office most days now.”

“Mm,” Toji breathes trying to hide the fact he wants to know more.

“She’s always looking at your desk,” Kong continues. “As if there’s something missing.”

Toji freezes, looking down into his drink scared to even move an inch. His heart starts to palpitate faster, and his breaths seem to grow shallower, as his mind races. What is this feeling?

Kong snorts then breaks out into a chuckle. “You know I’m fucking with you right?”

“You’re a fucking idiot man,” Toji scoffs. “I don’t care about [NAME].”

Toji stutters when he speaks your name. It’s so strange to say, like uttering your name is a sacred prayer or maybe somehow you’ll hear it roll off his tongue and you’ll scorn as his call. He can feel tinges crawl up his spine as goosebumps emerge on his arms. Almost like a shiver, your name passes through his body and his gaze shifts from Kong to the room wondering if he’d summon you. Alas you’re not there, and only the sensation of what could have been you resides in his chest.

“It’s fine if you don’t want to talk about it,” Kong sighs. “You never do.”

Another awkward silence stretches between the two and it’s apparent that Kong knows what Toji is thinking at this very moment. For fuck sake, he can read him like a book. Kong is the only person that can. Nothing can hide from him. But Toji has never felt this sort of reservation before. He can’t speak, can’t deflect anything, he feels tired and all used up. And then he hears about you or sees you, then the air seems to be lighter, his shoulders don’t feel so hunched, a sort of warmth blossoms around him.

“What can I even say,” Toji says.

“Maybe start by saying you like her,” Kong encourages.

But the words can’t seem to fall into place. Isn’t it lust that he’s feeling? It can’t be more than that. It can’t be true, not after his wife passed. The universe isn’t supposed to grant him any happiness when all he’s done is cause pain. He shouldn’t be allowed to feel this way. Feel fortunate. Feel content. Just like he did… All those years ago.

“And maybe also start looking for another job,” Kong adds, trying to lighten the conversation. “I expect you to pay me back.”

“Who the fuck will want to hire a guy like me?”

Kong stares at Toji with a shy smile. “Luckily you have me to help you with that.”

The sound of the convenience store bell rings as Toji stands at the till greeting the guests that just entered the shop. A grumble falls past his lips as he thinks about how he hates Kong for this. It’s not his forte to be friendly, but he had no choice. Well, he did, but he knew he’d have to make money somehow, even if it did include a scummy job like this.

Listening to the bell go off once again, he lets out an irritated sigh before greeting another guest. Instantly he recognizes two women, both from his old workplace. He hopes they don’t look over in his direction as they remain deeply engaged in their conversation. Toji goes to turn his back in case they sense his stare but hears them call out to a third person.

Fuck2631, he thinks, just waiting for them to all turn and look at him.

Just as he’s about to excuse himself from the till, he watches as you walk through the door with a wide smile spread across your face as the two woman gesture for you to follow them. Nervously, you adjust your purse and as if you knew someone was watching you, you shift your gaze to Toji. Your eyes lock to his and the smile soon fades. Toji can’t help but freeze in place unable to look away from your big eyes. Fear seems to tremble from them as you quickly look away, attention changing back to your co-workers. Toji can hear them giggling as you follow them further into the shop ignoring Toji whose heart is beating so fast.

Now in normal circumstances, Toji would normally just leave this alone, avoiding the act of appearing too eager. However, an intense emotion causes his feet to carry him in your direction. He spots you down an aisle browsing the typical convenience store goods. As he gets closer, you pick up a bag pretending to read the label, but Toji knows you’re just trying to look busy.

“You come here often?” Toji manages to slip out, in an attempt to be cool, but he knows that made him just sound like a complete douche.

“Only sometimes,” you say, eyes locked onto the vibrant bag of himemaru rice crackers.

He notices you’re a little short and maybe it’s because you haven’t seen each other since the kiss, but he thinks it’s just you playing hard to get. It’s how you’ve always been with him.

“I expected you to be a more sweet than savory snack kind of girl,” he says trying to push the conversation forward, but instead you just put the snack back.

“Just browsing.” You turn your back to him to walk further down the aisle.

An excitement stirs within Toji seeing as you’re so unbelievably difficult to read right now. It’s thrilling and enticing, he thinks maybe if he pushes hard enough you’ll tease back.

“So what kind of girl are you?” Toji attempts to be playful, in hopes you’ll flirt with him back.

But you keep your gaze towards the many packaged good before you. With a sigh you say, “The kind that prefers to browse the convenience store in peace.”

Toji quickly closes the gap between the two of you and utters quiet, “You forgot about the occasional good company.”

“Are you delusional?” You shout, making enough of a scene that head’s turn to look at the commotion. Your voice is thick and stern, something Toji has never heard before. He almost believed he was speaking to a different person. Your brows furrow as you step back into your own space. “I said I’m just browsing.”

Toji watches as you storm away out of sight. He can still hear your heels clicking on the tiled floor before the convenience store bell rings through the silence in the store. He can feel the tension from strangers as he looks upon an older lady, who holds her groceries closer to herself before walking away. He could hear whispers from other’s as he scans the shop to see his old co-workers glaring in his direction before leaving the shop.

This wasn’t what he expected the first day of his new job to be like.

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tags: @brumous11 @cosmotoic @slurptheskinoffshiggysfatdick @gojosoath @miraes-world @almondespresso @kekwmdkem @misslili265 @m00dycr4nkybitc

if you wish to be tagged, please comment on the masterpost (I’m sorry if I miss anyone, please send a dm if I do).

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #toji jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #Jujutsu Kaisen #jujutsu kaisen toji #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk angst #jjk toji #jjk x you #Toji #toji x reader #toji jjk #jjk fanfic

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albertonykus · 1 year

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Doraemon Movie Review: Nobita's Little Star Wars (1985) and Nobita's Little Star Wars 2021 (2022)

What is Doraemon? The title character of the Doraemon manga and anime is a blue robotic cat from the 22nd Century who keeps an array of high-tech gadgets in a portable pocket dimension on his belly, and has traveled from the future to improve the fortunes of a hapless schoolboy named Nobita. Although relatively obscure in the English-speaking world, Doraemon is a Mickey-Mouse-level cultural icon in East Asia (and some other regions, too). The Doraemon franchise was a big part of my childhood, and there are still elements of it that I enjoy now.

Doraemon has released theatrical films almost annually since 1980, most of which involve Nobita and his friends (kind Shizuka, brash Gian, and crafty Suneo) getting swept into adventures thanks to Doraemon's gadgets. Despite being of potentially broad appeal to fans of science fiction and animated films, there are very few English reviews of the Doraemon movies, so I'm embarking on a project to write about all the films that have come out so far. Good luck to me…

Movie premise: Nobita and his friends help tiny aliens overthrow a dictatorship.

My spoiler-free take: A pretty good Doraemon movie with enjoyable characterization and character interactions, if one can forgive the main source of tension being maintained by a relatively weak thread.

The 2022 remake is a solid reimagining of the story that capitalizes on the original’s strengths. If forced to choose, I might even recommend it over its predecessor.

POTENTIAL SPOILERS AFTER THIS POINT

Review: This film has a lot going for it in my book. For starters, it is one of the few in which Suneo gets a prominent role, not only in plot relevance but also in character focus. Given that he can often come across as the least sympathetic and most neglected of the main characters, that’s a very welcome development.

Shizuka also has some good scenes here, even though she actually gets forced into the damsel-in-distress role at one point. (Recall that in Nobita and the Castle of the Undersea Devil, she volunteered for the part.) She is quickly rescued and remains an active participant in the story afterward, so I suppose I can let that slide. In fact, one of my other favorite elements of this movie is that Shizuka and Suneo share several scenes together, which is a very rarely-seen dynamic in the franchise.

The villains of this film may not be the most powerful among those that Doraemon and friends have faced, but they’re probably some of the most threatening. They see through or circumvent nearly every strategy that the heroes come up with, and in the end are only defeated through circumstances that they couldn’t have predicted. That, however, brings me to the main weakness of this movie...

Throughout the story, tension is maintained by the fact that the main characters have shrunk themselves down using Doraemon’s Small Light, which gets stolen by the villains. As shown in the final battle, the Lilliputian aliens are barely a threat when the Earthlings are at their normal size. Therefore, the protagonists’ primary goal for much of the film is to retrieve the Small Light so they can reverse the shrinking effect. That may sound reasonable enough, but it completely ignores the fact that Doraemon also owns a Big Light (with the power to enlarge objects, if the name didn’t give that away), which should have readily solved this problem.

To be fair, this is a common issue with Doraemon films. For almost every time the main characters are supposedly in some kind of crisis, dedicated Doraemon fans can probably name a gadget that could have resolved the situation. However, this example stands out in particular, because the Big Light is a gadget that makes regular appearances in the franchise (including in the previous movie!). If one can look past this apparent oversight, however, I think there’s more to like about this movie than not.

Star rating: ★★★★☆

Like most of the other early Doraemon movies, this one has a remake. For anyone confused about why it’s titled “2021” when it was released in 2022, it’s because its premiere was delayed by the COVID-19 pandemic.

Review: I think this remake does a decent job of not only retaining but expanding on the strengths of the original. For example, there are even more scenes focusing on Suneo and how he feels about being dragged into yet another dangerous adventure. The protagonists also get to spend more time with Papi, their most prominent new ally in this story, and learn more about what makes him tick. Furthermore, this version dives into the main plot much more quickly, eliminating much of the setup in the original that ultimately did not end up mattering a whole lot.

Although the Big Light is not directly addressed in this remake either, Doraemon does mention at one point that he doesn’t have any gadgets on him that can return everyone to their original size, so one can probably assume that the Big Light happened to be under maintenance or was otherwise unusable during the events of the film.

There are a few changes that I felt lukewarm about. The entirely new character of Papi’s sister, Piina, seemed like an unnecessary addition that did not affect the story much. I also thought that the voice direction on Papi’s flying dog sidekick, Rokoroko, was more effective at getting across his “motor-mouthed” personality in the original. At the same time, I don’t think these elements harm the quality of this film substantially.

One other noteworthy edit here is the removal of the many homages to classic movies in the original. Those were fun, but I’m also not especially attached to them, so this was a change that I didn’t particularly mind.

Star rating: ★★★★☆

Original or remake? This is a close one. For me, the pros and cons of both versions largely even out relative to each other. If I had to pick one though, the remake might actually come out just ahead. The fact that it built upon some of the best qualities of the original was a strong creative decision, I feel.

Besides, the new art style is shiny.

#Doraemon #Anime #Nobita's Little Star Wars #Nobita's Little Star Wars 2021 #ドラえもん

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reptilian-angel · 1 year

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Hidden In The Stars - Chapter Two: “Meet Me Inside”

ME: It’s certainly been a minute hasn’t it, folks? No apology can ever be enough, I know, but I hope no one’s too angry over my lack of updating. I won’t go on a tangent as to why EXACTLY I haven’t updated this in a couple weeks shy of a year, but to sum it up, my mental health took a serious nosedive and it’s only been until the recent few months that I’ve finally got myself together to get the urge and want to create art and write again.

To everyone who came across this fic and took the time to read it while it was on hiatus, and also gave such sweet comments when they were through, thank you all so so so much, from the bottom of my heart. They really helped me through some really tough spots that I went going through and have really helped me get the juices for this story flowing again.

That said, this chapter is 80% filler due to me getting a LITTLE too carried away with providing depth to a side character who is most likely to never appear in the story again, but please bear with it as the rest will be a bringing us back to the main plot.

Here’s what to expect: There are more reasons to hate Stella than meets the eye and a certain hitman slithers in to up the ante!

I own nothing, save the poor soul in the first half of this chapter, please enjoy!

Scone swallowed, the attempted repression of the sound popping their ear canals nonetheless. Anything to break the oppressive, near mute air in the parlor room.

Their nervousness was understandable. Affairs inside the Goetia Manor had been . . . Quiet. Too quiet, to put it delicately. (They winced at the cliche’ line they had been smart enough not to say aloud.)

Which, to any who worked there, was highly distressing.

Scone was careful not to make direct eye contact with the stone-faced Lady of the House not five feet from them as they prepared her afternoon tea. Muscle memory ensured that they properly put in the exact amount of tea leaves for Princess Stella’s preferred blend, with the necessary bowls of sugar, milk and lemon wedges placed appropriately at their respective places on the tray. They fought the wince each time the china clinked together, the noise akin to slamming doors, a sound deeply familiar to everyone in the manor. The shiver that crawled up their neck at the glares the only other demon present shot at their back didn’t help their nerves in the least.

Scone didn’t need to look. They could easily picture the Swan Demon sitting at the parlor’s ivory table, back ramrod straight as always. Her posture was as stiff as a gargoyle’s while her eyes were just as menacing glinted in their purveyance of the world outside the expansive stained glass window. A picture of painted elegance, broken by the sharp agitated tapping of her claws. Scone found it safe to assume that the tapping was aimed towards them. Another of the barest of clinks from the dishware only increased the tapping. They barely hid the cringe, worry sparking at the action.

At this point, the Princess would have been throwing a fit, screaming loud enough to be heard clear across the manor and getting in good throwing practice through launching the teapot at them. But in all honesty, Scone would have taken the screaming and customary attempts at bodily harm over . . . Whatever the heaven this was.

It was a simple statement of fact that the Lord and the Lady of the house hated each other. Or more rather, the Lady hated the Lord with a passion that would have been admirable had his Highness not been dealt the brunt of it. It was one of of the worst kept secrets both in and out of the estate that the “happy couple” - And that term was to be used in the most sarcastic way possible when alone. - Could be everything BUT that.

It would be pitiful enough for the Princess to repeatedly take out the hopelessness of their consigned union on the Prince, were it not for her enacting her abuse on just about any servant within seeing distance. It was just as commonplace for Princess Stella to strike the Fury of Satan into the staff each time she went into one of her rampages. From throwing them clear across the room to once shattering one of her diamond-studded mirrors over one servant’s horns, her actions were relentless and ruthless. And given Prince Stolas’s own conditioned fear and meekness when faced with it, there was little to be done about it.

Scone had learned that all too quickly, even as an adolescent impling just beginning their duties in the manor.

Barely five weeks into them starting they witnessed far more than they should have. They witnessed the Princess crack open the head of one maid who made an ill-timed remark towards the parlor décor. After that, she went on to spew verbal insults towards one of her aides until they hit their breaking point and committed suicide by hanging themselves off of the railing on one of the balconies. Finally, she make literal mince meat out of one truly unlucky servant who was desperate enough to try and steal some of her jewelry to pawn off. Scone remembered how sick they felt when they witnessed her newest aide fee his bleeding black remains to one of the Prince’s sentient carnivorous plants.

They also vaguely remembered the massive shouting match that his Highness had initiated with Stella afterwards. Of course, it was only the bare minimum that they could recall as they were just starting to swear off meat forever.

They did have recollection of the aftermath, not that it was good to. The sight of Prince Stolas’s bleeding crown feathers had verified who was the victor.

Scone felt a small frown on their face. As guilty and horrid as they felt for feeling so, it was far better that his Highness was there to take the Swan Princess’s attacks instead of them. Compared to the weak and meager physique of imps, demons like members of the Goetia Family were far more physically capable of enduring assaults on a consistent level. For as willowy and delicate as most of them could appear, such as his Highness, Scone had heard many first hand accounts of the ferocious and bone-chilling beats of damnation that lay just beneath their unassuming surfaces. Ans as the Prince was the son of the late King Paimon, his power should be close to that of a force of nature.

And that was nothing to say of his magic-wielding expertise. Even without the Grimoire of Worlds, his knowledge of more spells, incantations and curses than any in Hell could say they had heard of, the Prince of Stars was one not to be trifled with. Unless you wished to be tossed head-first into a portal, while bleeding and screaming and lit on fire, to Lucifer knew where.

That is, for whoever wasn’t Princess Stella.

To say that the woman scared his Highness went without saying. From the day they were wed, She went well out of her way to break her husband and bring him to heel like he was an unruly dog in need of “teaching”. Berating him, beating him, micro-managing almost everything in his day-to-day life to where only the wise and privy to the Royal pair could see the tight choking collar she had wrapped around his throat. And given how pacifistic and gentle the Owl Demon was in nature, it hadn’t been a challenge for her Highness to keep a firm grip on the Prince.

As awful as the daily abuse he endured was, the divided loyalties were even worse. Princess Stella had made good use of the principles she had been raised on for gaining tools to take control of the household. She had been quick to take not only the Prince in command in an iron grip, but those in that command as well. The Princess had had next to no servants in her own family to cater to her whims prior to her marriage, so it came to no surprise that Princess Stella had wasted no time in sweeping nearly two-thirds of them by whatever means necessary.

Blackmail, pay-offs or by sheer intimidation, anyone that she deemed useful was swiftly molded into whatever role suited her needs; a spy to send into a rival’s palace to garner crippling information, a grunt to handle those who required “physical motivation” to be kept in line, or a retainer to occasionally open a letter from a fellow Goetia or taste a dish “carefully” prepared by the cooks. Whatever they were made to do, in the end, they were all pawns to be used or thrown away.

Which was why it became a necessity to take one’s life or livelihood into consideration when it came to choosing between either the Lady Swan or the Lord Owl. As terrible as it was, it was far better to have someone else to take the lashes of the Princess’s temper. If given the choice between losing a finger to chopping vegetables or losing the whole hand to the Swan’s tantrums, well, there wasn’t a choice at all. Better the wall than the castle. Scone’s father had once said to them before dying from a heart attack.

With all that taken in account, in all but official name, Princess Stella was the reigning ruler of the 36th house of the Ars Goetia, with all knees bent before her.

Although, not entirely.

Very, very few of the others escaped her Highness’s lividity and greedy eye, seeing through their fear and keeping to their vows of serving the Prince. Some were disgusted by the behavior exhibited by the Swan and, despite having next to little power, did all they could to console and aid his Highness. Occasionally leaving a glass of Absinthe within reach of the sobbing Prince, making sure first aid kits were hidden somewhere inconspicuous in near every room of the palace, even going the lengths to misdirection her Highness each time she went on a tear. Scone bit back a small laugh at the few times where Stella wound up going after the very imps and demons on her payroll. Timing and awareness became paramount, with some successes and some failures.

But the fact that there were still a few who stood with him supposedly was the reason that, on occasion, Prince Stolas found enough vitriol to snap back at his wife. Despite his meekness and fright of her venom, his Highness was just as good at delivering just as much vinegar and salt as he was given. But still, even with those moments of strength against her cruelty, the reality remained.

Their mother once told her that the man was the head of the house, but the woman was the neck. And no matter what, she could turn the head any way that she wanted. If Princess Stella had it her way, Scone was sure that the Prince’s head would most likely had been snapped long ago.

They quietly sighed. Things were certainly bleak in this part of the cesspit of Hell. As was per for the course with this realm. With all the violence and rage focused inside these walls, all they could do was adjust to it. True quiet was a foreign mistress in the manor.

. . . Which, again, brought up the question of why the Hell this prolonged silence was happening at all.

BAM! A hard hand slapping against a smooth surface snapped them out of their stewing thoughts. “Just what are you doing over there, girl? How hard is it to make some fucking tea?!” The Princess’s infuriated squawk almost made them drop the tea distiller in their hands, making them realize to their own horror that they had done nothing but fiddle with it for the past five minutes.

Fear fluttering their veins, they immediately went into motion, almost dropping the distiller as they quickly refocused their efforts on the completely ignored porcelain teapot in front of them. “Y-Yes, my lady! I’m sorry, forgive me, it took a bit longer to heat the pot properly than usual -”

“Enough of your piddly excuses, just bring me my damn tea!” Her Highness cut her off curtly. Scone bit their lip to prevent any more words from spilling out and hurried to comply. Otherwise the teapot could just as easily be turned into a scalding club aimed for their head.

Their movements became automatic. Warm the kettle. Place distiller in the teapot and add the exact amount of tea leaves. Pour in the hot water carefully to an inch away from full. Fix the tray with the instructed amount of scones as the tea sets. Make sure the condiments for the tea were within acceptable reach. Napkins folded precisely to a sharp double diamond pattern and set it five centimeters and a half from the tea cup saucer. Double check the silverware. Remove distiller. Deliver tray.

Scone barely registered hastily but calmly setting the arranged tea tray down before the fuming swan. They wisely kept their eyes down as they lifted the teapot and poured its finished contents in the awaiting cup. Once it was filled as much as was appropriate, Scone made quick work of prepping it. Two lumps of sugar. One slice of lemon and milk to be poured until she says when so don’t fuck this up like Powder did last week or you’ll be the next bucket of chunks that’ll be feed to the plants -

“When.”

Scone almost didn’t hold back the ump at the terse command. Thankfully, irrespective of it making them lightly jostle the milk pot, no stains had splattered on either the tablecloth or worse, the Princess. Not like poor Nettle, who had been so nervous she tipped the whole tray onto her lap and ruined her Highness’s gown. Only Satan knew what happened to her.

Scone pushed that thought aside. Focus. Focus. Delicately picking up the saucer with two trembling hands, they perfectly placed the drink in front of Princess Stella and calmly followed it with the napkin, spoon and plate of *beezleberry scones in their proper positions. With everything in place, and a half-second glance to confirm the tea had been distilled correctly from the corner of their eye, they graciously stepped back with a silent bow of their head. Their hands remained folded neatly in front of them, thankful that they had ceased their shaking. “Your tea, your Highness.”

As expected, they received a sharp “humph”. “Certainly took your sweet time, didn’t you?” She spat at them. She narrowed at the drink placed before her with a scowl. “. . . The milk?”

“Made fresh from the peas brought in from Wraith early the morning, my lady.” Scone answered without hesitation.

She made another grunt of contempt. “The sugar?”

“Crushed from the sugarcane and processed with great deliberation, my lady.”

This time, she grunted haughtily. Lasering in on the lemon slice perched on the rim of her cup, she raised a perfectly manicured hand and pinched it between her talons, the sharp tips piercing the skin of it. “. . . And the lemon?”

Scone gulped softly before answering, “It was one of the few that his . . . His highness personally picked from his garden, my lady.”

One of her Highness’s eyebrows twitched, before disappearing and being replaced by a contemptible sneer. “Really? Why am I not surprised? That pathetic man wasting his time pissing away in that eyesore of a weed patch of his.” She turned over the lemon slice still dangling from her talons with faux contemplation. “Even his shitty attempts at growing food are an embarrassment. Just like those stupid, crowding plants of his, always nipping at me like I’m a teat to be sucked from.”

Scone bit back the correction that had budded on their tongue. I don’t think plants work that way . . .

“Bring me another pot!”

Scone blinked at the Princess. “My lady?”

“You heard me, you stupid bitch!” Scone found it hard not to wince under her Highness’s searing gaze. “Do you expect me to drink this sewer water when it’s been tainted by that fool’s paltry citrus?! Do I look like a filthy commoner imp like you?” Any answer that Scone could give was dashed away by her Highness throwing the offending slice at their face, their eyes shutting on instinct to prevent the juices from stinging. They dared not move in any other way until the Princess gave them leave. The last maid who tried that had been rewarded with a butter knife being launched straight into their spinal column.

“Only a nerve-dead retard would drink this drek! It’d serve you right if you drank it, seeing as that’s all the good you little horned rats are worthy enough to get in your useless, miserable lives.” Princess Stella shot at their shaking form, completely ignoring how badly they were shuddering. “If you weren’t passable labor, you would just be disgusting rats all ready for the Exterminators to clean up.”

As vile as her insults were, Scone was not foolish enough to contradict her. Too many servants had their own tongues cut out for such a notion. “Y-yes my lady.” Scone stuttered meekly.

“Tch! Why Lucifer doesn’t do away with you vermin I’ll never understand. Probably because that bobblehead of an airhead daughter of his cried bloody murder like he was trying to put down her mangy little hamster.” Princess Stella spoke tersely with a pompous toss of her pure white feathers. “Satan help all of us if he ever makes that sunshiny brat of his Queen of Hell. She must’ve been dropped on her head by that polka-loving cast-out, how else can she be so nauseatingly sweet and dimwitted enough to go through with those ridiculous “redemption” plots of hers.”

Once again Scone withheld any contradictory comments, nevermind that words like the ones she was just tossing out casually were bordering on vicious and blatant treason. His majesty was known executing other such nobles for less. The incident where one such Duke made a joke out of “correcting” his daughter on her role as Crown Princess while attending the last Rebirth of Hell Gala was still haunting the Pride Ring.

Her highness, clueless to Scone’s inner thoughts, made a small sound of exasperation. “Oh, what am I doing talking about politics with an imp of all things? As if your feeble little synapses can grasp the concept of politics. Fuck, I’m honestly surprised you have any brainpower to wipe your filthy asses!”

Scone could only nod softly. “You’re absolutely right, my lady.”

“. . . . . Well?”

Scone’s heart skipped in fear at the warning growl in her highness’s voice. “Your highness?”

For the second time, the Swan Princess smacked her hand against the tabletop harshly, the tremors of the strike causing the items on it to rattle. “Are you fuckin’ dense, imp?! Why are you still standing her with your thumb up your ugly arse?! Take this swill, get to the kitchen and get my. DAMN. FUCKING. TEA!” Scone just about fell flat on their rump as the Princess whipped out an arm and swept the untarnished teapot off the table, sending it crashing at their hooves with a terrific splash of Hell Ginger tea that soaked the cuffs of their trousers.

They unashamedly cowered at the sight of the Goetia Princess towering over their two foot one frame. With the look of red-hot anger flickering in her eyes and her impressive height, the swan Princess looked as physically imposing as jabberwocky getting ready to eat them for lunch.

Or worse, feed them to the plants in bloody black chunks.

They didn’t waste another minute. Scone scrabbled back onto their hooves and only spared one last second to bow at the boiling Goetia before hurrying to the parlor door.

“And someone to clean up the mess you made, you whore-born slut, or I’ll make you lap it off the floor with your tongue like mangy bitch you are!” The threat hissed at their back as they grappled with the uncooperative knob. If only it was a threat.

Scone gasped out an affirmative “Yes, your highness!” before finally finding success with the door and practically sprinting out of the parlor. They tried to pay no mind to the parting “Useless cunt” growling with vigor as the words chased them through the halls of the palace, Scone desperate to swallow the tears in their eyes.

They weren’t sure how long they ran for but when they eventually let themselves stop to catch their breath, they recognized the west wing hall that led straight to the ballroom. The walls of the corridor were tastefully decorated with large portraits framed in pure gold, each one painted to perfection as they depicted snapshots of some of the most prominent moments of his Highness’s life. From his hatching to his adolescence to his young adulthood, Prince Stolas’s form was made out as prestigious, proud and regal. Windows spaced each work of art with either a marble vase or an elegant clay pot holding one of his Highness’s many animate and varied plants. Most of which had been cultivated and raised by the Owl lord’s own hand himself.

That meant they had made it halfway through the manor and it was only a hop, skip and a jump away to kitchens. Scone sighed in relief. Thank Satan. Maybe if they hurried they could manage a brief run to the servant’s quarters and grab a change of pants. After all if there was anything else that set Princess Stella off it was having an untidy uniform -

That was when they remembered the slice of citrus still stuck on their cheek. The juice of the lemon clung unappealingly to their skin as they carefully peeled the now limp slice off. They made a small sound of complaint. Great. They were probably going to smell like lemon for days. That was all they needed.

They looked over the slice with a more rational gaze than the Lady of the house did. They hummed thoughtfully. Although, all things considered, they could have way things thrown at them. At least lemon was a pleasant smell. And considering Prince Stolas himself had grew and provided the majority of the fruit used in the palace, the taste of it was surely exquisite.

Their stomach than rumbled rather pointedly as though it agreed with them. Scone felt themselves redden. They looked at the slice again, weighing the pros and cons of eating what had caused her Highness such grief.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . Well, since the Princess didn’t want it, and they had always been taught not to ever waste their food. At the end of the day, they never knew when their next meal might be their last.

Tentatively licking their lips, they slowly tucked the “shitty” slice of lemon into their mouth and instantly fought back the moan at the explosion of taste that greeted their taste buds.

The lemon had just the right amount of tart and sweetness, where they could savor the flavor and still enjoy the tingly sensation of the fruit’s famous bitterness and without being affected by the rough handling it had gone through, it still had enough moisture inside to quench their thirst. Even the remains of it were savory enough to chew through and swallow.

Scone had once tasted lemons from the fruit stocks in the city market and with this one errant slice, they could easily pot the differences among the artificially-sprayed, overripe and occasionally lethally sour “fruit” over what his highness had cultivated. They sighed contently, the rind of lemon still held preciously between their fingers. Whatever the lady’s opinion was, in all honesty, that was the best dredge of fruit the serving imp ever had.

“Well, it’s nice to see my efforts being so appreciated.”

Scone squeaked out in undignified surprise, the now juiceless rind flying out of their hands. Whirling around, they felt their blood chill at seeing the voice’s owner.

Prince Stolas looked down at them, looking every bit as prim as proper as the Princess. But where her Highness was all starch ivory and sharp reactive angles hidden vainly with designer silk and Pridemulberry, his highness contrasted her with subtle, soft lines, simple but elegant attire that looked as common as casual clothes but still be worth a mint and florentine feathers; not at all unlike the light peeking as it encroached the edge of sky in the early twilight hours of morning. His expression towards them was also much more bearable than the acidic glares Scone had endured earlier, much more patient and tempered.

And at the moment, bemused. At them. For what they realized, with utter mortification, they had said outloud.

Embarrassment and not only a tad of fright, Scone rightly feel to their knees and couldn’t back the rapid spewing of apologies for the second time that day. “Y-y-your Highness, I am so sorry for my outlandish display! Please, please, please forgive me, sir! I swear I meant you no disrespect towards you or her Ladyship-”

A snort cut them off.

Looking up Scone blinked up at the Lord of the House and was surprised at the rare scene – the Tall Owl holding one ebony hand over his mouth as it was contorted with a . . . A smile?

A wobbly and soft one to be certain but it was assuringly it was a smile all the less. His Highness’s first set of eyes crinkled at the corners as a small hoot (a giggle?) escaped in spite of his efforts to hide it. “Oh, do forgive me, I’m-,” Another hoot. “I’m not laughing at you. It’s just, pfft, ‘Ladyship’ . . . I’m sure Stella would outright molt if someone important said that straight to her face and meant it.”

Scone’s look of confusion was startled away as his Highness locked all four eyes back towards them. “Not that you aren’t important, dear little imp. Work like yours is valued, just as you are deeply treasured by someone I’m sure – Just not by someone like my wife.” He sighed tiredly. “I know from first hand experience it takes a strong stomach to try and stay polite to her with a straight face. And even then all I have to show for it is a migraine and an upset stomach.”

Scone only smiled in response to that, albeit uncomfortably. But they couldn’t say he was wrong.

“But knowing there's at least someone in this palace who actually holds the food I grow into high regard does help to lessen the ache,” His Highness said calmly but Scone didn’t need to look to know that the Prince was now eyeing at their soaked trousers. “As others clearly don’t.”

Scone winced. “A-ah, I’m sorry, you Highness?”

“Please, there’s no need to play ignorant.” His Highness said with a calm shake of his head. “I know my wife all too well, or rather. I know whenever something has upset her to the point where I can hear her all the way to the observatory. Clearly my hobby has offended her delicate sensibilities once again and she decided to vent it towards you.”

Scone was completely unprepared for the slight incline of his head, his body bending in an informal bow. While Scone struggled to find their voice, he then said in a completely noncondenscending tone, “If she attempted to assault you or if she insulted you in any way, I apologize.”

They then regained the sense to get back on their hooves and immediately exclaim in respectful protest, “Oh no! No no no! Please, your Highness, don’t apologize! Especially not to some lowly servant like me! Her Highness was only r-reprimanding me for my work! And why wouldn’t she?! It was all my own fault so please don’t apologize, sir!”

Prompt humiliation stopped their ramble with a choke before bringing a flood of red to their cheeks, darkening their already crimson skin. They always had a habit of babbling when they got nervous which only got exponentially worse when they were being addressed by nobles like the Prince and the Princess. Usually when they got like that the Princess would briskly snap at them to shut up or backhand them if she felt impatient. Scone swore that one such time one of their teeth got knocked loose when her Highness was questioning her about the arrival of her Vulcan bath salts and they had taken too long to respond.

However, much to their relief, his Highness was much more patient. His beak curved in what looked a smile but was more subdued. Scone could only recall seeing such an expression on the numerous other portraits showcasing both the Lord and Lady of the House. Not a smile but not a frown, controlled and immaculate. Every bit the way a proper prince of the Ars Goetia should look.

For some reason, Scone felt a stab of sorrow for him. But this time, they were smart enough to keep quiet about it.

The Prince hummed coolly. “. . . She was that angry then?”

Scone lowered their face, but their lack of answer seemed to be telling enough, since his Highness sighed sadly. “I see.”

He then straightened up and squared his shoulders. “I’m aware that you all endure a lot in serving this household and also put up with much more than you need to in regards to your situation. But all the same, you shouldn’t suffer whatever crass or violent episodes my wife feels appropriate to deal out when she feels like doing such. It’s not much, but perhaps adding a bonus to your next paychecks might in some ways convey how your duties greatly benefit this house.”

Scone felt their jaw drop open. “That’s- That is incredibly generous of you, your Highness! But, but we couldn’t possibly -”

His Highness shook his head again. “I insist. It’s no trouble whatsoever.” A spot of amusement then made its way into his next statement. “And perhaps I should send an extra bundle of my next crop to the servant’s quarters as well?”

Scone felt their face redden even more terribly than before at the soft reminder. Bu they still managed a small grateful smile regardless. “. . . That would be wonderfully gracious of you, your Highness.”

The Prince of Stars gave a satisfied smile in return. “Glad to hear it.” He raised his hand to his chest, most likely to smooth out an indistinguishable wrinkle or crease on his romper. “Before I let you go on your way, may I kindly ask you for one more thing?”

Scone perked up. “Yes, your Highness?”

“Forgive me, in advance?”

Scone was, of course, taken aback. “I’m sorry, your High-”

SNAP!

The imp known as Scone acutely went stone cold silent.

Their eyes went wide and blank. Their posture as rigid as a marble pillar. Whatever thoughts were in their head went mute and in that moment, the soul of the servant vacated the body, leaving only the hollow, senseless shell.

And that was all that Prince Stolas needed.

~X~

Stolas did the utmost best to ignore the pang of guilt that took place in his threat like an awaiting pellet. He sighed warily.

He honestly couldn’t believe the lengths he currently had to go through to keep some secrets in this place. But hopefully, stars willing, that would not be the case for much longer.

He examined the oblivious idle imp before him. After a minute he gave a small reassured breath. Good. No signs of mental damage – no twitching limbs, crossing eyes, nosebleeds. The hypnosis he had cast on them weeks prior had taken root without incident or fatalities. If all went well, it should easily be removed once he was finished here.

Right then. No more time to waste.

In a neutral and clear voice, he addressed them. “Scone Horndelle, can you hear me?”

Scone didn’t hesitant. “Yes, your Highness.” They replied in a monotone manner.

“Do you know who I am?”

“You are Prince Stolas Goetia. First of your name, Lord of the 36th house of the Ars Goetia Family. Son of King Paimon and Queen Alycone, may Satan bless their bones.”

Stolas felt his beak twitch at the last bit. “Thank you. Do you recall what we spoke of the last time we were together?”

“Yes, your Highness. Your request has remained deep in my subconscious since you first issued it.” Scone said with a straight face, as though they were talking about the weather.

“And have you spoken to anyone in or outside of this palace since then?”

“No, your Highness. I have mot said a word of my assignment from you to anyone as per your command.”

“Does Stella suspect you?”

“No, your Highness. Neither her nor any who swear fealty to her have suspected or questioned my actions as of late. As far as I know, she is not aware of your intentions.”

Stolas hummed softly. “Yes, so it seems. She has been giving me a pretty wide berth as of late. Ever since the party, I’ve barely interacted with her at all.”

Even as he said it, he could still hardly believe the words. His “dear” wife was never capable of shying away form making her presence known in every room she was in, whether in a crowd of important socialites or simply him in his solitude. With the air of an agitated panther and the shriek of a perturbed crow, Stolas would always feel the instinctive bud of fear blossom into nerve-wracking terror each time she was in closing distance. Not that he needed to see her to feel her sulfuric airs seep into his own, leeching what gentleness and gentleness and warmth he was fortuitous enough to obtain.

But recently, at least ever since the chance he had damn near taken to snuffing himself out, she had kept her distance. She hadn’t let up on her insults or sharp rebuffs on him and his day-to-day routine, not in the slightest. Satan forbid she loosen the leash a bit. But in actual face-to-face contact? Stella avoided him like the Black Plague had come to Hell.

He didn’t even entertain the notion of her feeling guilty about trying to poison him. Not once, in all the centuries that they had been married, had she ever expressed a shred of regret for all the humiliations and cruelties she had sadistically bestowed onto him. If she didn’t feel sorry then, why in the rings would she start now?

The few times he had seen her. She made it a point to only remain in his proximity for as long as it was required of her. Even with her sudden newfound want for distance, she made sure to remind him that she was not to be ignored in any shape or form, talons digging into his arm with enough force to draw blood. Not that he would be given the courtesy either way. The minute that the whatever menial business concerning them both was concluded, a small party with some of Stella’s “friends”, a ten-minute interview on 666, an awkwardly tense brunch with Duke Gremory, Stella didn’t delay in making herself scarce. In her urgency, she wouldn’t even give herself a half-second to throw a scathing insult over her shoulder.

As bewildered as he by it, Stolas was not the kind of man to look a gift-hellhorse in the mouth and complain. Not with what with the plan he was brewing. Stolas refocused his attention on Scone. “Back to matters at hand. Pertaining to my request, how did you fare?”

Scone answered without missing a beat. “I was successful, your highness. Achieving it took longer than expected, but I eventually located someone for you. They asked me many questions about my occupation and who had sent me but thanks to the disguising charm you gave me, no one was able to discern my true identity nor who you commanded me.”

Stolas made an approving hum. “What else do you have for me?” Scone’s bare expression remained unbroken as they begun rifling around the inside of their vest. Not even a minute after, they neatly pulled out a small, folded piece of paper and held it out towards the Prince.

“The name of the demon you seek and the address to the location of the meeting is written on here. The time of the meeting will be eleven o’clock PM this coming Thursday.” Scone instructed blankly as Stolas took the paper carefully into his hands. “I was told to say to you to bring $ouls required to pay in advance.”

They paid no mind to the gleam in Stolas’s eyes as he peered down at the delivered parchment held in his claws. “Hmm yes, I expected as much. Thankfully procuring the fee should be no problem. After all, Stella hasn’t got access to all of my money – not yet, anyway.”

A faint scratching. He paused, only for a moment. He turned his head all the way around in a quick survey.

No movements in the windows. No fleeting red tails at the corners or windows. No sound of fading hoofsteps. No whispers of slow, practiced breathing.

Good. No one else was here. Stolas felt an odd mix of relief and a small pinch of surprise. Looks like Stella even cautioned her staff to back off. Interesting.

He turned his head back to Scone in a paced turn. He knew it wasn’t needed, he made sure to smile gratefully at them. “Thank you very much for your work, my dear. Although I’m sure you would hate me for the manner in which I went about it, your aid has proven invaluable to me.”

Scone was neither flattered nor insulted. They simply continued to look straight on with their empty gaze. “Thank you, your Highness.” Stolas wasn’t offended by it.

Tucking away the note in trouser pocket, he then popped open the collar of his romper and pulled out another folded piece of paper, this one tinged golden yellow like the others he had specially commissioned. “That said, I have one last chore for you to do for me. Once it’s competed the hypnosis I have cast on you will break and erase itself from your mind entirely. From then on, you shall live the rest of your life as though you had never been under a spell such as this. All the triggers will be stricken from your psyche and you will lose any and all memory of these sessions.”

The owl then smiled sadly. “I realize I should have done this a long time ago, but please understand – With how thorough and hounding Stella can be when she gets suspicious of something, I find that this method is the best way to avoid any problems.” Looking at them, he added. “Also, I know the lengths that she’ll go through if she wholeheartedly believes someone is lying to her, or worse, not telling her what she wants to hear. She doesn’t care one fig for the truth, simply what she can use to win more favor. She certainly learned that lesson well from her parents.”

Not that they were around to brag or gloat about their daughter and her accomplishments like their were their own anymore. For all their skills and intricate schemes, karma finally caught up to them in one fell swoop. And in Hell, karma was more than a bitter bitch; it was a life-sucking, ruinous, relentless harpy that hovered with a gaping maw near your throat, just waiting for the right moment to snap her jaws shut.

He may not have cared for them much, before and after they became his in-laws, nevertheless he did pity Stella for her loss. Or rather, he would if he didn’t know her better.

She barely shed a tear over her, after all, so why the fuck would she weep over them?

“. . . As deplorable as it is, this method is the safest for the both of us. But you have my word that after today, you needn’t stomach this any longer.”

“Yes, you Highness.” Scone replied, hopelessly neutral to his vow.

Stolas cleared his throat in an awkward cough. “Right. Now, for your final task.” He bent down to their level once again and spoke carefully. “After this session is over, continue your evening as normal. But before you turn in for the night, you must do two things – First, inform the head of staff that you’ll be taking the day off tomorrow to run some personal errands for Stella and I. If he objects, tell him it is on our orders and not to bother either me or Stella about it. She’ll be leaving tomorrow to visit one of her friends over in Envy so she won’t be here to contradict me.” Out of her many irritations and aggravations, she absolutely hated being interrupted while socializing for trivial matters, usually resolving them with splashing expensive wine in their faces or kicking them for good measure when she felt merciful.

He extended to them the yellowed note. “Second, memorize the contents of this letter right down to the last period. Once you are confident you have it all committed to memory, touch my crest at the very top of the letter. It’ll disintegrate the paper instantly. No traces should be left but wash your hands just to be safe.”

Scone took the note and only stared at it for one moment, registering its shape indifferently before tucking it into the same place as the previous note. “As always, tell no one of what you read on this paper. Follow my directions on it exactly. It’s absolutely vital that every single thing is done precisely.”

“Yes, your Highness. I shall not fail you.” Scone promised.

Stolas smiled at the dull response. “Good. I trust that you won’t.” He had to. He straightened himself back up one last time and nodded. “Now that you have your orders, you are to continue on whatever task you were on before I stopped you. Speak of this to no one. As I promised, after today I shall never compel you for any reason ever again.”

He knew Scone wouldn’t react to it but he smiled down gratefully at them. “Once I snap my fingers, you will wake up. You’ll have no conscious memory of this interaction but you will still follow my command even so. I apologize for any strain this puts on you.”

“Thank you for your kind words, your Highness.” Scone bowed low. “I live for no other purpose than to serve you.”

Stolas was thankful that they couldn’t see the displeased frown on his beak. He hated how the exact spell he had used always had the recipient turn so subservient. It was one thing when they acted so out of their own fee will, but it was another matter when they forced to.

Well, at least, they wouldn’t have to again after this. Or at least towards him.

Stolas gathered himself. Pressing his thumb and middle fingertips together, he looked straight into Scone’s eyes as he stood back up. “Are you ready?”

“Yes, your Highness.”

“Very well.”

SNAP!

Just the bulb did with the flip of a light switch, Scone Horndelle came back to life to with a gasp.

Their face was a plethora of different rapid emotions, confusion being the most prominent understandably, as their eyes repeatedly fluttered open and closed. A debilitated moan left their mouth as they rubbed the heel of their palms into their eyes, like they had just woken from a deep sleep (Which wasn’t wasn’t too far from the truth). “U-uh, what . . . What just . . . ? What was I -?” They murmured, obviously fatigued.

He didn’t answer. Instead, Stolas, in a bold display, utterly blew past their shaky incomplete question and knelt before them.

Only paying half a mind to their jolt of astonishment that gave way to alarm at the Goetia kneeling before a lowly imp, he zeroed in on the now damp stain on their trousers. He smirked. An easy fix. With a simple wave of his hand, the tea splatter dried and faded away in a second, the imp’s trousers looked almost completely untouched by his dear wife’s rage.

If only I could say the same for myself. He thought somberly. He smoothed his face into an even smile, letting nothing of the past few minutes slip into the open as he peered back up at the sputtering servant.

“Pardon me,” He started, ceasing their pleading ramble straightaway at the Prince’s full attention. “I know you must be confused. Of course, it’s my fault for not being more careful.” The lie started its easy slide from his beak as he gestured at their now clean uniform trousers. “I thought I could remove your stains with a simple spell that helps with my own little accidents, but I wasn’t paying attention and accidentally scrubbed a little bit of your memory instead.”

At their startled expression, he simply waved it off. “No need to worry, the spell was only meant to tamper with short-term memory so I doubt you’ve lost anything truly important. But nonetheless, I do apologize for inconveniencing you.”

Before Scone could start off on another protesting tirade, Stolas arose back up with all the grace he was brought up on. Shoulders back. Chest out. Hands tucked behind neatly. The height difference was hilariously clear between the two demons with the owl at his full height, he noted with some humor, something that Scone couldn’t help but warm their face prettily at.

Stolas almost wished that he had time to admire it. “Now then, I believe I’ve wasted enough of your time. I imagine Stella is waiting for you to get back to her. It’s nearing lunch and I know very well how moody she can get when she gets even the slightest bit peckish.”

The admittedly pleasant flush on their face disappeared like he had snuffed out a spark of flame on a match-head. It was easy to imagine their level of fright judging by how their face faulted. Before he could even blink, Scone had turned curtly on their hooves and shot down the south end of the hallway, making noises of distress all the way. Halfway out, Scone gave an inaudible curse and turned to rush back towards the Prince. Skidding to a stop, Scone almost fell over in their attempt at an urgent bow, their rising anxiety running them even more ragged than their tryst at Demonic Track Relay. “P-please, please forgive my rudeness, your Highness! Please please please forgive me! I’ll accept what ever reprimand you deem suitable!”

Stolas huffed out a chuckle. “That won’t be necessary. Just continue on with your duties. But, if you would kindly tell the chefs to have my lunch sent to my study, I would grateful. Also make sure it’s piccolo who delivers it. He does make a rather delightful cup of coffee.” Plus they know how to properly check food for any “additional” garnishments.

“O-of course, your Highness! Thank you very much, your Highness!” Scone gasped. “Please excuse me, good afternoon!” They barely bent back upright before once again shooting right back down the hall, hoofsteps echoing thought the corridor.

The Prince stood alone in the hallway, idle for only a few precious ticks of time before following Scone’s lead, albeit much more sedately, beginning the trek to his private study. The brief tip was uneventful, which was just fine. Stolas was far more focused on the paper that felt as weighted as a loaded gun in his romper. He momentarily wondered if the imp he coerced to “pick up his dirty laundry” sort to speak, could feel the gravity of their task written on that tiny slip of parchment. He doubted it, but dear dark lord, did he hope that they would accomplish it.

Safely inside his study, he swung the door shut tight with a flick of his wrist. With a third snap of his talons, the privacy wards carved on all the window frames and the mantle on the door awoke with a glow. Letting out the breath he had held in for the past three minutes, he pulled out and unfolded Scone’s letter with trembling fingers.

The words on the creased surface of it sent a rush of excitement, elation, nervousness and apprehension through that made the tips of his feathers stand on end.

“Copperhead

Xibalba’s Keep 11:40

Private room #4”

Stolas down the nervous pellet that was definitely rising in his throat this time, rolling into a ball of anticipation that was welling up in the pit of his stomach. With how he felt right at that moment, he wouldn’t be all to surprised if he vomited right there and then.

It wasn’t because he was nervous. Not really. No, he wasn’t giving in to his wobbling joints just yet.

He scanned the blunt and brief message in his hands over and over, possibly twenty times, until he could see the words with both pairs of eyes shut. His beak moved soundlessly on repeat as he tore up the correspondence without warning, only stopping when the paper was reduced to paper snowflakes. After that, he needed only a second of concentration to conjure a flame in his hands, a much smaller burst of fire than the flare he had displayed weeks prior, turning the feeble kindling to ash in a heartbeat. Once he felt nothing but soot, he extinguished the flame and snapped open a porthole sized portal and tossed in the residue to some forgotten reach in space before snapping it way just as quickly.

Anyone who witnessed any of this would think his methods of disposal seemed a little over the top. But they didn’t have to live with any invasive, sycophant witch like Stella for over 5,00 years.

Like a great deal of other things he had the misfortune to learn with his dear wife, Stolas learned that his privacy was nonconsensually considered persona non grata. In her eyes, there was always a secret to find no matter where you looked. From files to the rubbish bin, any demon can uncover something if they looked hard enough. (Not that she would ever look in the trash herself with her perfectly pedicured claws, not with plenty of “already grubby” servants nearby.) And secrets were how Stella kept what pawns and assets she had in line, himself included.

As a result he learned throughout bitter trials to adeptly rid himself of critical trash, both to his pride and chagrin. The measures he had to go through to keep some sanctity, and sanity for that matter, would make a member of one of human spy agencies on the surface weary to the bone.

Stolas stilled his pacing to take a deep breath to calm himself. In and out. In and out. In and out.

It was fine. It was fine. He would only have to tough it out for a little while longer.

His hollow bones stiffened with resolve. He strode confidently to the expansive bookcase that covered nearly the entire west wall of his office. Each shelf was stuffed to capacity with tome after tome, each one either added by himself, pilfered from long forgotten enemies or given as gifts or a token of favor, the collection could hardly be estimated. Any sorcerer would surely find themselves boggled by the wisdom and knowledge scripted within them, secrets of botany, tales of ancient histories an, of course, endless facts about the universe that he once spent hours observing with boundless wonder. He inadvertently took notice of some of the titles he, admittedly, had come to neglect over the years.

. . . . The reasons why weren’t important.

He instinctaully reached for one such book, the leather of the cover well-worn and aged well despite his neglect. He ran his wingtips over the embossed lettering with an absent smile. Glamorous Glamours and Superb Shrouds: A study on the guises of Hell.

Even with all his powers of premonition, he knew that there was no certainties of how things from here would go. The future was always an infinite of what-ifs and maybes, each decision in the present only a factor that either resulted in victory or calamity. He himself could be taking his first real steps toward his salvation, or signing his own death warrant.

The only certain future was the one that was always uncertain.

But, really, at this point, what else did he have to lose?

Stolas had long since made up his mind. What way this path would lead him down, whatever came after was inconsequential.

He gave himself a shake. He had stalled for long enough. Scone had their chores, and he had his.

He flipped open the book, his eyes easily taking in each and every word written inside. Enjoyable section, but not the one he was looking for.

This was going to take some time. The owl thought with a pout. With a hapless shrug, he want to take a seat at his desk. Ah well. He was used to working long hours. And this time, he was doing something productive.

With that in mind, he reach out to turn the page.

~X~

It was just another night at the Old Keep.

The decades old radio cut itself in at random from in between static and eighties Latino music. The knobs had long since pilfered so the only means to change the station was by twisting the crudely bent antenna or asking the barkeep to give it a good thwack. The bulbs in the overhead lamps stuttered every five or so minutes, the out of date lights bright enough to grant any piece of shit that wandered in the bar a momentary look at the pathetically small supply of scum-covered tables and rotten chairs. A few of them lay on the grimy, dirty as sin floor due to lack of attention or whoever had knocked it over as they had been dragged out by the surly hellhound bouncer earlier. The patterns from where their heels had been drug across the floorboards made a disturbingly clear trail from where they sat to the unhinged hole in the wall that was at one point laughably referred to as the front door.

The restroom door was cracked open as warning as to the abominable mess that lay within, but even anyone just coming in could easily tell by the vile stench that the toilets in there were never to be used or even approached under the threat of death. Any who couldn’t hold it found an easy to access substitute in the almost depleted storage room, as long as the barkeep didn’t literally catch them with their pants down. And the final touch was the scattered bottles, crushed cigarettes and condoms both torn and used scattered around with the same artistic placement as puddles on a rainy day. Even though it was a two-story building, everybody who was a familiar face knew that the upstairs was hardly any better and kept mostly to the ground floor.

All in all, the place was as classy as the rest of Hell. And the clientele wasn’t any better. A fat and smelly old sinner slumbered away at one table, half asleep in what was probably a bowl of pretzels, snoring and hacking up whatever bits were inhaled. A pair of demons, a perky incubus and a skinny imp, totally unconcerned with the shitty ambiance of the bar, rolled away unabashedly in one of the only two booths as they made out like the Extermination was just around the corner. Their moans and gasps were the only thing actually competing with the din of radio fuzz and the comatose sinner snoring. No one made any move to stop them, the sole waitress only getting close enough to pick up their ignored glasses and scrabble away before she got roped in.

The male imp known as “Copperhead” watching all this from his stool as the rundown old bar gave an amused snort. He observed as the incubus broke away from the imp he was deep-throating for long enough to lick his lips salaciously at the slender, more attractive imp to which she responded by flipping the bird. The other now perturbed imp noticed this and snapped at the incubus, sparking a two-minute argument between him and his client before they were back at it like nothing happened.

He turned his gaze back to the cracked and stained glass he had been drinking from for the past half hour. The vibrancy of his acid green eyes reflected against the drinks swirling inside, its dark ale staring back with its own pair glowing with challenge. He let out another snort. Yeah, he wasn’t drunk enough to be seeing things yet. The stuff here wasn’t strong enough for that.

Xibalba’s Keep had, like many of the bars in Greed, had risen and fallen during the years following the Prohibition. Where legions of mobsters, moonshiners and bootleggers had dropped into Hell like missiles and took to Hell like the hellish sinners they had been damned to become. Those of the few not insipid enough to get ripped apart in their first week, at least. Lucifer’s law forbade any of them from actually leaving the ring of Pride, but that did nothing to stop them from extending their hands towards the hellborn. As expected, business flourished and grew like a beanstalk, in Mammon’s realm most of all.

Sadly, also as expected, not everyone found great success; the founder of Xibalba’s keep being one such sorry bastard, some Latino con/wrestler or something along those lines. Racism was a universal concept, and Hell and it’s denizens were not the type to be shy about their views on discrimination. Poor guy’s shot came as fast as it went.

Since then, as time went on, the Old Keep has had a long, messy track record of owners, short-lived and otherwise, and not a single one was consistent enough to keep a steady stream of consumers coming in. And so the bar had given way decay, only as good as an outhouse in the middle of Sloth where folks coked themselves up in the middle of a crap.

To sum it up, a shithole no one would set foot in lest they had one already in the grave. Or, if they were looking to add someone else’s.

Which was why he was here tonight.

He had got a call through the usual way about a new job. Or at least a “discussion” for a new job. The details of it were a little too minimal for his liking, but the promissory he had been given had too many numbers for him to write it off from the get-go. From what he got from the gist of it, it concerned one of the blue bloods higher up on the food chain and that the price for dealing with them without a question.

He gulped down some more of the bitter brew. Yeah, it was a sweet siren song, to be sure. But any assassin worth their salt knew better than to start dancing to their tune. Particularly more so when the singer was willing to toss out $ouls like it was chicken feed. Any demon that willing to part with his money to that degree usually went about with the perspective view of whatever or whoever was in front of them was easily disposable. Many learned that mistake too late, but he always learned faster than most.

All the same, he couldn’t deny the tiny crawl of interest ringing at the sound of future coin jangling.

Plus, if all went well, he would have a front row seat to the death of one of those pompous, high and mighty pricks.

He gave a bloodthirsty smirk akin to the kind you would hallucinate on a king cobra just before it struck. This was one of the things he loved about his work. That this job wasn’t always about the profit, it was about the pleasure.

Hence why he decided to waste his time in this rot-gut excuse of a watering hole, half an hour early as a matter of fact, choking down second-rate hooch while he waited for his mysterious client to give the word to meet. Heh. From the whole hacha two-step this guy was dealing out, it had to be somebody with some significant cash to burn. Maybe some low-ranking noble from one those noveau riche clans made up of hellcats. Or maybe some industrialist from Envy who felt “betrayed” by some business deal gone sideways and wanted compensation or some stupid shit like that.

Honestly, it didn’t really make much difference to him. As long as he got paid, it didn’t matter what the reason was for wanting someone dead. Down here, everyone had done shit or wanted to do shit for shit reasons and there was no point in looking deeper at the shit going on between. Because no matter what way you looked at it, it was all one big mess. And you never wanted to be the one stuck in it or cleaning it up.

The radio crackled out a scrambled screech before breaking into a choppy Latino jazz number, trumpets blaring out in random blasts like its player was having a heart attack. The couple in the booth fell to the floor in a graceless heap, the thud provoking the barkeep to bark at them again to take it outside only to be ignored once again. He took it all in with an eye roll and drained the last few gulps of his drink.

He had been about to signal for another drink when another drink was placed calmly beside the empty glass. He followed the length of the hand that had delivered it and looked evenly at the waitress now standing beside him. “. . . I didn’t order this.”

The waitress didn’t wince at the accusing tone, probably used to worse from other patrons. She pointed towards the barely held together staircase leading to the second floor. “Guy upstairs in room four. Said he knew you. Asked for the special stuff we keep in the back. It’s all paid for so don’t sweat over the tab.” She quipped before brusquely walking away.

He watched her walk away before turning his attention back to the “already” paid for drink.

He felt his eyes narrow at the cleanliness of the glass. It looked five times cleaner than the rest of the glasses and cups set up messily on the askew bar shelves. He also noted that there were far less cracks and chips in it, looking practically brand-new. He picked up the glass cautiously as though it was a bomb rather than a simple drink. He tentatively swirled the contents with a subtle rotation of his wrist. Hmm. No sign of anything unusual floating floating inside or resting at the bottom.

He ran the tip of his thumb over the rim and brought it to his mouth, swiftly licking at it in a half-second taste test. Nothing added to the rim. No lingering taste of anything. No strange scents either.

He peered at the drink skeptically. It looked safe enough to drink, but so could a bottle of water with iocane mixed in.

He took another minute to consider the drink in his hand. Slowly bringing it to his mouth with the kind of caution reserved for holding an active bomb trigger, he tipped the glass into his parted mouth . . .

. . . Only to bite back the groan of satisfaction at the rich, smooth taste of the liquor now running over his forked tongue. Holy shit, “special” had been right. He may not have the palette of one of those wimpy foodie snobs who brag about artisan toast on their sinstagrams, but even he could spot the sheer quality of what he had just drank.

. . . Which meant this stuff was definitely more expensive than this entire bar put together.

He sure as shit couldn’t afford it and he seriously doubted the owner, now carelessly knocking back something that smelled like motor oil, could either. So who the hell -

A thought sprung into his head. Actually two thoughts.

‘Room Four.’

‘Said he knew you.’

. . . . . Well damn. He felt like a right fool.

He gave a low, belated chuckle. Almost missed his cue. What a rookie mistake.

Even with this in mind, he took his sweet time getting up from his seat, not spilling a drop of his drink as he swiped it off the bar top with his tail. He knew better than to leave it, if the putout look the bartender shot at his back was any indication. He sent a vindictive grin over his shoulder as he made a show of taking another savory sip.

He hoped the guy waiting in room four had more of this stuff, because he was sure as fuck wasn’t getting any more of the watered down crap at the bar.

The wood of the staircase creaked in warning and the railing was corroded and on the verge of falling apart, but he wouldn’t be a hitman if he couldn’t handle some rickety stairs.

He made it up to the second floor without incident, or the pitiful stairway falling out from under him. He made a judgmental sound at the stained planks and rabbit-sized holes in the floor, but continued on. He looked over the faded numbers painted poorly on the doors.

Room number 1, room number 2, room number something that was half a 3, 5 – Satan, who painted these? - Ah. Room number 4.

He smiled. Alright then. Rolling his shoulders, he quickly adjusted of his wide-brimmed hat so the rim of it pointedly hooded his face and straightened the bandanna tied around his neck. Can’t make a good first impression looking like sloppy seconds. He then raised a hand to politely rap his knuckles against the door.

“Please come in.” A warm, tenor voice floated calmly through the woodwork. The imp picked up faint traces of an accent, a decadent, high class posh one. Yep, definitely a noble.

He breathed in through his nose. Alright. Swallow down the sour face. Just until the $ouls are burning a hole in your pocket. For now, it’s time to turn on the charm.

He twisted the knob and casually opened the door, instantly being met with a dark room.

Before his eyes could even adjust, he could tell that there wasn’t much to the room. A table, an empty wet bar and two chairs made up the layout, all as old and tired as everything else in the Old Keep. An old-fashioned lamp did its best to give enough decent light so one could make out where to step before they crashed into the table. The smell consisted more of dust than the putrid air downstairs, but that was only a mild relief to him.

The only three things that were out of place in that termite trap of a room were the big, polished bottle of brandy sitting pointedly in the middle of the table, a glass matching the one he had set on the opposite end of the table, half-finished like his was, and the figure sitting silently in the chair farthest from the door. He couldn’t see the figure’s face, them leaning far back enough to obscure their upper body in the darkness. Luckily the light of the rusty old lamp showed enough of them so he could see the dark luster of the jet black fur of his paws.

He frowned. From what he could see, they appeared to be hellhound paws but the size of them was wrong. Delicate and tiny in comparison to the average hellhound’s. Cleaner and groomed regularly too. Maybe this guy was a crossbreed bastard or something along the lines of that, because nobles had a bit of an unspoken rule about being “public” with certain partners of opposite standing. Maybe they were one of those fancier hellcat breeds . . .

Ah, well, what does it matter?

He was a client, and he money to pay. Or at least, he’d better. It wasn’t unheard of for some clients to try and hold out on their part of their bargains, leaving the other looking like a broke-back bitch.

But Copperhead was no bitch, not in the slightest.

His features melted into a friendly smile, his eyes going lidded with the attitude of a serpent charming his prey, starting with a silky drawl, “Y’know, I’m not usually the kind of guy to accept strange drink from strange men, but I gotta feelin’ that we ain’t exactly strangers.”

A soft airy chuckle. “Your feeling would be correct.” One hand gestured cordially to the empty chair. “Care to take a seat?”

He gave a single nod. “Don’t mind if I do.” He plucked his drink from the coil of his tail, allowing it to wrap around the doorknob and pull the door shut. He sat himself down onto the chair and draped his arm over the back of it as he slowly drained the last of his drink.

“I take it the drink was satisfactory?” The other noted good humoredly. The imp sighed at the pleasant burn now running through his body.

“Hell yeah. Damn, since when does a dump like this get such good drink?”

The question had been redundant, they both knew that, but nonetheless, the other answered. “I might’ve made a small donation as to provide the current owner the means to procure it. Although I imagine not many will get the same chance as you have now to enjoy it.”

The bottom of his glass hadn’t even touched the table before the other leaned over to pick up the bottle. “Speaking of which, it seems like both of us could use a top-off.” Unscrewing the bottle cap off, he pointed the lip towards him. “May I?”

He hummed approvingly. “Much obliged.” He nudged his glass forward and watched as the glass was slowly refilled. He made sure to scrutinize the other’s arm as it revealed itself little by little. Long and fragile like a willow tree branch in winter and as scrawny as a beanpole, totally out of keeping for a hellhound. He made no comment but kept his eyes on the shape shifting in the pitch as they finished with his and started pouring more into their own glass.

“Not too often I meet a client so neighborly as to pour me a drink, let alone buy one. Guess you must come from good breedin’.” He remarked casually, but he was sure the stranger could hear the underlying question in his tone.

The other was mart enough not to rise to the bait. “You could say that.” He responded coolly. “I believe that business is always better conducted over a delightful meal or a good stiff drink. Especially when the host can foot the bill.”

“Yeah,” The imp nodded lazily. “Hard to argue with a full belly and a full cup. ‘Course I try to stay sober enough to make sure that the host doesn’t try and make off with my wallet.”

“And I applaud you for your good sense.” They replied, sipping at their brandy in a much more relaxed pace than the imp’s. “Not many in your profession do nowadays. They seem to be steadily going with the impression that they’re the ones who set the terms from start to finish. But even down here, deals are a two-way street. I can imagine that having the cognition to keep that in mind is the reason you and I are meeting here tonight.”

“Can’t take your shot at the rooster’s call, true.” He agreed. “Didn’t get to where I am now by being a cock-driven dumbass. And I imagine you didn’t either.”

“. . . I suppose that depends on how you see it.”

He arched a brow at that. The imp had expected a snarky response, or an arrogant quip. “. . . Rrright.”

An uneasy silence settled between them. Each filled the silence by taking a drink from their respective glasses.

After a bit, he broke it by shifting in his chair into a more professional posture. “Well, friend, as much as I love to shoot the shit over drinks, what’s say that we get down to why we’re both here tonight?”

The other hummed softly. “. . . . Yes, let’s.” He laced his long slender fingers together in a form familiar to a professor about to give a lecture, all traces of the sudden melancholy from before gone. “From what I understand, you are interested?”

The imp gave a smooth grin. “Oh, I'm interested, but only if I get what I’m owed.” He then fixed the other with a sharp glare, adding a rough edge to his smile. “That said, you got what I asked for, right?”

Most folk he often found were easily intimidated by his, heh, “venomous” stare. He could recall one time where a customer even pissed their pants from sheer fright at the sight.

But not this one. They made a brief, nonchalant sound as they took another sip of their brandy. “But, of course.” Setting down their glass, one hand slid back into the dark. The imp could just about make out the sounds of rustling cloth as the hand returned to the light, holding out a thick manila envelope towards him. “As requested, with a little extra, as interest.”

The imp took it and weighed it in his hand for a minute before giving an approving nod. He had yet to see the money, but he wouldn’t be surprised if he found a couple hundred thousand $ouls inside. “Not bad. Been a while since I received such a hefty fee upfront.” He began to open it -

“Or rather half of it.”

That calm retort stopped him cold. “. . . Pardon?”

The stranger either acknowledged the warning hiss and chose to ignore it, or simply didn’t give two shits or was playing the dumb bureaucrat, swirling his drink absently in one hand while the other lay upon the tabletop. “What you have there is half of the price that you asked for your services. By my estimate, with the interest included, even if you were to choose to walk away after I’ve given the details of your assignment, the amount should be adequate compensation for, what I’m sure is, your valuable time spent.”

“. . . Again, pardon?” The imp asked, gritting his teeth.

The other continued on entirely unphased by the imp’s hackles rising. “I can understand your confusion -” Yeah, THAT’S what he was feeling right now. “- But this is purely a precaution. If you choose to take on this assignment, you will have to agree to my terms.” He tapped one finger against the table’s surface pointedly. “You’ll receive half of the payment for now, and the rest will be delivered upon completion.”

The imp felt his hands curl into fists, his claws digging into his palms. Despite the flush of anger, running through him, he made sure to keep his face from giving away too much of how he was feeling towards this prick right there and then. “And may I ask, why the precaution, friend?”

“Just as you said,” The other stated simply. “I don’t fancy having my wallet picked when I have too much on the line. And as much as smooth talker as you are, and as much as you surely see me as some snotty, pretentious blue-blood, I do have the brains to keep my eyes open for wooden nickels.”

He tried to keep his cool, but still felt one of his eyebrows twitch. “You think I’m that stupid?”

“I assure you, I don’t think that in the slightest.” The bastard replied politely. “I have every intention of honoring my end of the deal, but I’m not going to pay full price for someone more than capable of leaving me high and dry if the horns are sounded. And I can promise you, there are going to be very big horns. I will not be left up the creek with what I’m about to do.”

The imp couldn’t see it, but he could feel the moment that the other’s eyes locked on to his. “Or rather, what I need you to help me do.”

A dark chill went down his spine. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt pinned by a single stare like this. Especially by no hellhound. “. . . Help you do what, exactly?”

“I need your assistance in killing a prince of demon royalty.” The stranger stated, acting like it was completely straightforward. “Or rather, making him disappear.”

He narrowed his eyes at them. “. . . I’m not sure I follow.”

“Let me be blunt then. Your role in this assignment will not be that of an assassin, but as more of an assistant, if you will.”

“Excuse me?”

“Your confusion is understandable. I know I would be bewildered if someone needed me as the podium for the book rather than the reader, but some things require more hands than you physically have. Even the power of to levitation can only do so much.”

“What the hell are you - ?”

“For this endeavor to succeed, I need you to bring me the tools that will make this facade of death as convincing as possible. By which, I mean permanently.”

The imp blinked incredulously. The emphasis on that statement was all too clear to him. “You . . . You’re talking about angelic weaponry.”

“Precisely.”

Copperhead waited only a second before scoffing. “Oh please, what the fuck makes you think- ?”

“Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Don’t act the fool with me. Your reputation with procuring and using angelic weaponry proceeds you, Mister Striker.”

“Striker” tensed at the sound of his name. After a moment, he leaned back into his seat with a frown. “. . . So you know who I am?”

The other ran a finger along the rim of their once again near empty glass. “My sources are good at keeping their ears to the ground, particularly when someone of your merit manages to get away with multiple counts of high profile murders; overlords, millionaire sinners and hellborn, a noble or two when really put to the test. If one can find you and scrounge up enough $ouls for your fee, there is next to no target that escapes from your sights.”

“I’m that good, huh?”

“I say so with the rose-tinted glasses off, my dear hunter.”

“Then drop the bullshit.”

The other demon had the nerve to play innocent. “I beg your pardon?”

“Ya’ll know so much about me, yet you really ain’t as smart as you sound.”

“Oh? How so?”

All pretenses of niceness were gone. He had entertained them for long enough. “You called for me to drag my ass down to this landfill with your word that you would pay it all upfront, only to give half of it with whatever bus fare money you call interest instead of the price I demanded for my talents. You waste my time with this Envy Capitol Two-Step when its obvious ya’ll don’t have a single sense of what it is you’re doing and you try to hide it with all those fancy airs you’re puttin’ on. And on top of it all, you just go ahead and expect me to happily play water boy to this little Houdini vanish act ya’ll seem so set on, when you’ve obviously got the means to do it yourself. That said, what in Satan’s name is your real angle here?”

“No angles. I meant what I said – I want to make a Prince one with the dead. I’d be more than happy to explain the details of it, if you’re willing to accept my offer.” A small breath like a laugh was heard. “If you think this is something beyond your skill-set, I’ll send you off with what you have in that envelope and look for someone else. You needn’t suffer the indignity of failing such a high-profile hit.”

Striker shot to his feet and smacked both hands against the tabletop, making the glasses and bottles tremble. His eyes sharpened to point where if they were blowtorches then they would cut through glass. An agitated and frightful hiss filled the air, aimed right towards this smug, conniving sonuvabitch minutes away from being drawn and quartered with his Bowie knife. The other demon was silent, but Striker knew that he had his attention.

“Listen here, friend, and you better listen good,” He spat with everything molten and sharp in him. “I ain’t no on-call thug for hire or some dipshit rando needing a hit to get a hit of coke, and ain’t no convenient replacement you can use and screw over for some killing time mind-game you’re playing with the rest of those fat cats and upper-crust vultures who call themselves Goetia! I’m good at what I do, I get what I am for and I do NOT back away from whatever or whoever it is that I’m ordered to take out! And I don’t let anybody who wants to drop me like a cactus burr get away with callin’ me a back-out bitch!”

He dug the tips of his claws into the rotting wood of the table, the sound of cracking like firecrackers popping against his skin and certainly drawing blood but he couldn’t bother to give a shit. He fixed the obscured demon with the harshest glare he could deliver. “I ain’t helping no silver-spoon fed, lily-liver, head in the clouds bird prince who shits in golden toilet and pisses on our legs and tells us it’s raining! If you expect me to just nod my head and say yes, just who the FUCK do you think you are!?”

Snap!

Striker only had half a second to see the other snap his fingers. Without warning, the light of the rusted old lamp suddenly expanded, growing more rich and bright with its reach, filling the room with light. A shiver of magic raced against his back, provoking him to turn around just in time to see a massive glowing circle of magic materialize on the door, arcane runes and letters far beyond his understanding burning like signal flares. He faltered at the sight in spite of his anger, the energy warming like coals raking over his body. “What the -?”

“You’re right. You deserve a decent explanation.” The other demon said calmly. His tone of voice showed he was entirely unfazed with this impromptu display. “Just because I’m in a rush, doesn’t mean I need to carry on with the dramatics.”

Striker turned around to ask him what the fuck he was going on now, but the other demon lifting the hood that had up until this point covered his face dissolved the need to ask like cotton candy on his tongue.

With four ruby red eyes glinting in the newly formed light, grey blue feathers darkening in the golden light and beak curved in a neutral smile, Striker felt his spine stiffen.

Prince Stolas, 36th demon of the Ars Goetia, dressed in a thick dark cloak and looking as calm as can be, was completely indifferent to Striker’s shock as he said with a straight face. “I am the prince who wishes to die, and I need your help to do it.

. . . . . . . . Fuck him running. He needed another drink.

- -

ME: Totally had to improvise the last few pages of this chapter so sorry if it’s a lil . . . MEH. But don’t worry the story will definitely pick up speed in the next chapter! And I PROMISE you will NOT have to wait long, for real this time! The love for this story is back and I am going to best of it GODDAMMIT

That said, I owe a HUGE thanks to two certain writers whose Imp!Stolas fics inspired me to get back my own. @HelluvaIolite ’s “Love Me IMPlicity” & @AjWriter ‘s “Captivating Liberty” are two of some of the best HB fics I’ve read/currently reading so far and I can’t wait to see what else they create with their mad writer SK-ILLZ! (Sorry I watched Moon Girl & Devil Dinosaur and Casey’s dialogue is contagious DX) Thanks so much you guys for giving me my spark back!

Also as a bonus, here are some of my HITS trivia for the story:

* Berries indigenous to the Ring of Gluttony. Thick, dark berries similar to black/blueberries but filled with poisonous seeds that could kill higher-tier demons in 30 mins, or lower-tier demons in 8 mins, unless removed and prepared properly. Declared illegal in the rings of Lust and Wraith for being the cause of the “Seeds of Wraith” riots.

Make sure to take note cuz you never know when I’m gonna quiz ya!

#helluva boss #hazbin hotel #stolitz #helluva stolas #stolas goetia #helluva stella #stella goetia #au canon divergence #helluva boss fanfiction #story adoption by TalosLives #tw: domestic abuse #tw: violence #tw: suicide #tw: abusive language #striker #Helluva boss oc

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duckielover151 · 1 year

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Strong World and Sexism

This is a debate I've seen around the fandom but haven't really participated in yet. I'm just shy of the 400-episode mark, so that has something to do with it. But it's been on my mind lately and was something I really couldn't ignore in the Strong World movie, which I saw tonight.

(I want to just throw in here that, as a whole, I really enjoyed this movie. It feels super fitting that the music got this huge upgrade... right after Brook joined the crew. And it looked fucking amazing. Like, did this movie make it into theaters outside of Japan? I feel like that's kind of a recent thing for anime movies... but if it didn't, it should have. I may be a decade (or more) late to everything, but I hope other fans got the joy of a theater experience for something that looked and sounded this good.)

The story was the only part that was a little weak. And that weakness mainly came from the misogynistic vibes I was getting.

Where to start? I guess I'll start with how Naruto was a huge cornerstone of my love of anime, growing up. A show that is well-known for how terribly its female characters are written. Honestly, it's become a big point of reference when judging other anime on that point. And One Piece has avoided a lot of the issues Naruto has.

While being a show that largely designs its female characters in a way that... shows off their physical assets a bit more? However you want to describe it. The girls who are meant to be seen as attractive tend to follow the same design scheme: big boobs, unreasonable curves, very little clothing to cover them.

And I want to mention that because it's something I've seen held up as an example of One Piece being sexist... and I have to disagree on that point. I don't feel like design alone is enough to be sexist. It's all about how a character wears their design. The women I've met in One Piece are all confident and powerful enough that they can dress however the hell they want. It becomes sexist when it doesn't feel like they're in control. And it's a huge selling point for me that Robin and Nami pull their weight on this crew. Robin is as effective a fighter as any of them. They literally could not survive without Nami's navigational skills, and she's begun doing her part in the battles a lot more too.

(Now, I'm not saying there are never over-the-top moments with the outfits especially... There's a scene in this movie where Nami makes an effort to pull her shirt down to cover her stomach... but doesn't seem to think twice about how her shorts don't cover her butt. Which is... Whatever. That much is fanservice, plain and simple.)

What bothered me in this movie is that it really shoved the girls into damsel in distress roles. Even Robin-- who barely has any lines in this movie-- has a moment where she's overpowered and captured. There's a distressing amount of... 'The boys get to be badass while the girls need to be rescued' in Strong World. The entire plot revolves around Nami being kidnapped. And that could have gone a lot worse... She does manage to rescue herself and only returns to her kidnapper as a way to try and sacrifice herself so they'd leave her crew (and entire island back home) in peace. And even then, she's still working to undermine his plan... At no point does she ever completely give in.

I think that just stings a little extra because it's coming right on the heels of something very similar happening to Nami on Thriller Bark. (She gets kidnapped by an enemy who tries to force her to marry him.) Which really isn't a trend I want them to continue. It's a little disappointing to see it doubled down on, because it really isn't a problem I felt the show had leading up to this point. I can't imagine them taking a huge step back with the sexism after 400 episodes of the girls being strong and respectable enough to overlook any fanservice... But I guess I'll be on guard for it.

I guess I just want to say that for how old this series is... The way it treats its female characters has actually been a really pleasant experience.

#one piece #Strong World #one piece nami #kind of a review

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theheelerbooklifereads · 8 months

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Rating: 3.5/5 Stars

A village called Elk has always been cursed during Gesela's life, but the curse is not just one curse, but many. One curse causes the well to go dry in the village, so Gesela decides she will save her town and ends up killing the toad that just happens to live at the bottom of the well. The only problem with this is that the toad kind of is not a toad, but more like a cursed Elven Prince...Due to the "toad" dying, his brothers come for Gasela for her to be punished. For her punishment, she is sent to live with the seventh brother who is called The Beast. She thinks that he will be a total monster, but quickly learns he is not, and he offers her a deal: if she can offer up his true name in seven days, then he will allow her to go free.

I mostly enjoy Scarlett St. Clair's book, but I will be honest: I absolutely hated Queen of Myth and Monsters, so I was a bit hesitant to request this book in fear that it will not be any good, but thankfully I was proven wrong for the most part.

I did end up giving this book 3.5/5 stars because I just could not get into it at first due to how the book is paced and it felt like it lacked any depth to the world and to the characters. This all could be because of the length of the book, which is only 219 pages. I do wonder if the book was longer and fleshed out with more details to create better pacing, then would I have liked it more?

I should add too that I feel like the biggest problem for me with Queen of Myth and Monsters was that it was smut after smut with barely any plot line and for Mountains Made of Glass there was a lot of smut that started to overtake the plot, but it was not as bad as Queen of Myth and Monsters.

The thing I mostly liked about Mountains Made of Glass was the fairytale retellings, which gives that whimsy feeling, but it easily creeps in with darkness. Gesela definitely proves herself to not be like the Damsels in Distress like you see in fairytales, but she is moreover the one who will do anything to save herself and others around her even when she falls in love with a hot guy.

When it comes to this book or any book similar like A Court of Thorns and Roses that have the main character try to guess the riddle to finding something out, then I as a reader enjoy trying to figure out what the answer is alongside the main character. I may be good at guessing things in let's say thrillers, but I suck at solving riddles.

If you just want a short book with a lot of smut, forced proximity, and the prisoner/captor trope, then you will enjoy this book a lot.

I think I am going to keep going with Scarlett St. Clair's books to see if I enjoy her books more or not since this is my fourth book I've read by her now.

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territry · 2 years

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leos-regression-cove · 2 years

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All The Lessons I Never Learned

12. A Long Flight

Synopsis: Regardless of Frigga's condition, Odin is determined not to let Thor miss his flight and enlists the help of Brunnehilde AKA "The Valkyrie", his right hand employee, to get the little to New York safely until Loki can step in and take over for her.

Word count: 1,974

Stand Alone?: no

Warnings: no warnings apply

Notes: 1) I have no idea how private planes work 2) I have no idea how little Thor in this situation would work.

3) Brunnehilde is Valkyrie's real name. It felt right to include it in this AU.

Please enjoy a short utility chapter as we steadily move along in our plot to bigger and better things. The fluff is coming soon. It's on its way. You only have a week until we start with it.

Read it on AO3!

It was tough for Thor to imagine saying goodbye to his parents for maybe the last time, and even tougher knowing that he had about an hour less to say goodbye to his father, and three days less than planned to say goodbye to his mother.

Despite that, he pulled it off all the same… sort of. He tried, was the point, and he lived through it.

Perhaps some of the impact was softened by the fact that Brunnehilde got back to Odin immediately, and agreed to chaperone the little one, although begrudgingly, and for an extra bonus of 50,000 krone.

Thor had enjoyed the times she had babysat for him, even if they were few and far between, and very much admired her, but this all still hurt.

Thor got his bags into the car and was buckled into his car seat all by himself, as he insisted on doing without the assistance of the driver or his parents.

He chatted to the driver about his mumma and how nervous he was for her, and Loki, and his huge trip, receiving almost no response in return, which he didn't seem to mind much.

Brunnehilde’s house wasn’t very far, in fact, it was on the way to the airport, so the little one didn’t need to spend to any more time than necessary

She got into the car with only the clothes on her back and a small backpack that was really closer to a purse, and followed Odin’s texted instructions of taking her boarding pass (previously Frigga’s) out of the little’s backpack, sitting next to him in the back seat.

She looked at her phone and chewed a pack of gum during the ride, letting Thor relay the exact same information to her that he had given the driver about Loki and his mother and airplanes.

She’d respond by nodding and agreeing.

The trip inside the airport went fairly smoothly as Brunnehilde navigated them through the lines, asserting herself and the little rather aggressively. She showed off their passports and Thor’s Visa and got the little through security and onto the tarmac where she helped him board the company’s private jet (as this was technically a business trip to some degree).

By the time they boarded, it was just barely getting on four in the afternoon, and they took off soon after, to poor Brunnehilde’s distress as she babysat a mentally three year old for twelve hours straight.

For the first thirty minutes, he looked out the window and whined, complaining about the turbulence and how his ears hurt until she gave him some of her gum and popped ear plugs into her own ears.

Then, the next four or so hours were filled with running around from the front to back of the plane, trying to stack blocks on a table tray in between meals, and chit-chatting all about Mjollnir the snake as he sat on the floor with his opened suitcase on the floor, letting toys topple out and scatter throughout the floor.

Eventually, Brunnehilde decided that perhaps she didn’t want to deal with telling the grumpy toddler to clean up his toys when they later in the evening before they landed, and instead opted to just gave him her phone to play with instead, even if it went against Frigga’s own parenting dogma, handing him a set of headphones and turning on a 24/7 children’s cartoon livestream for him.

Around 8 PM (her time), she reminded him to go potty and helped him clean up his blocks off the airplane floor, zipping them up into his big bag in an unorganized manner. After that, it was time for Thor’s bedtime, so after a short story and a tuck into the couch bed that was on board, as she turned off most of the lights, grabbed herself a drink from the bar near the cockpit, and relaxed with a movie with her headphones on before falling asleep herself.

They landed just after eleven local time, but probably closer to four AM their time, but took another hour to get through customs and everything.

Loki waited as close to the terminal exits as he could for Thor, idling in the loading zone.

Should he have had a sign? Maybe, but he didn’t. With that being said, a 6’3” little with golden hair wasn’t that tough to pick out of a crowd.

“Thor! Over here!” he yelled, stepping out of the car and trying to get through to the little as he spotted him walking by with “The Valkyrie” close behind.

Thor’s face brightened as he saw his brother’s shiny black hair through the people and he pulled on the leash enough to nearly trip Brunnehilde, embracing Loki enough to knock his younger-big brother off his feet.

“So, father sent you?” Loki asked Brunnehilde curiously as they walked to the parking lot.

“Yeah. Mostly as this little guy’s guardian,” --she elbowed Thor lightly in the arm-- “But, there’s always some conference going on or inspections that need to be done,” she shrugged.

Loki nodded in agreement. He didn’t drive much, but in situations like this, it was quite nice to have a car.

He shut the trunk, which barely stayed shut with Thor’s suitcases.

Then, there was a pause.

Thor did not immediately get in the car like Loki or Brunnehilde did.

“Everything alright, brother?” Loki asked, turning around.

“I think he’s used to having a car seat,” the other caregiver answered.

“We aren’t going far. You can sit down.”

Thor, obviously still thinking something was wrong, did sit down and let Brunehilde buckle his seatbelt.

“Okay, we’ll find you a car seat,” Loki sighed quietly with a minimal amount of exasperation as he turned away from the terminal.

Thor was shocked how busy the world seemed to be while it was so dark out. Traffic moved, but it still tended to crawl.

“But first, are either of you hungry?”

Thor nodded as he stared out the window, but Loki didn’t see that. Luckily, Brunnehilde caught it; “I think we could eat,” she said.

She was not with them for very long. After breakfast-- midnight snack--, at a small 24 hour diner, she informed Loki that he could just drop her off at his office and she’d take care of her own lodgings and foods, telling Loki it was very nice that he picked her up but she’d be going now.

He had, in turn, asked her if she was sure and that he had a couch she could stay on.

“Absolutely not,” she had said with a smile, even though neither Thor nor Loki were sure if she was actually joking or not, as it was midnight in the middle of the most populous city in America, a mostly unfamiliar country.

“Well…” Loki said after he dropped her off. “Looks like it’s just us then.”

Thor stayed quiet.

“Are you ready to see the apartment?” He looked in the rear-view mirror as he spoke only to see Thor sucking his thumb anxiously (or perhaps tiredly) and made the mental note to himself to get the little some other sort of fidget toy if he hadn’t already.

He let out a heavy sigh, “I know this is a bit difficult for both of us, but I’m sure you’d probably like to see your room, right?”

“Yeah,” Thor agreed. He was a bit jet lagged, half-asleep, and still downtrodden and anxious about leaving his parents, which put a damper on his usually fervent preschooler spirit, but that was nothing a little home tour couldn’t fix.

Loki’s apartment looked like it came out of a catalog. It had more color, more vibrance than his parent’s home, but in that chic, Manhattan, faux-rustic way that reeked of trying to look cool with painted brick accent walls and French oak hardwood flooring.

The only reason it wasn’t all white, was because Loki preferred black or, if he could find it, gold metallic basics with a green accent color, where most of those popular home renovation shows go for a polished stainless steel silver and white instead.

His bedroom on the other hand, was a messy, but colorful room with floating shelves covered with books so filled with books that the brick walls behind them were hardly noticeable, and a king sized bed, covered in a large, plush, black comforter that shockingly didn’t make the room look all that cramped.

“This,” --Loki said, opening a different door across the house.-- “Is your room.”

Currently, it housed a little bed, the toddler type, that was low to the ground with the half-rails still on, with a vague dresser and an awkward mirror that Loki had set there when he had first moved in, turning the space into a guest room, and hadn’t bothered to touch, let alone dust, since. Neither of the pieces made the room seem very large or comfortable.

“We’ll move your furniture in when it arrives, but I hope you’re alright sleeping here for now.”

Thor nodded slowly.

Then, finally was the bathroom with a bathtub for the tot and most of the proper amenities.

“Well, I guess I should ask, since I haven’t in a few hours, do you need to go while we’re here?”

“No.”

“Do you need a change then?”

Thor went red and shook his head before starting to cry, not a tantrum, but just some soft sniffling tears.

“It’s alright, this isn’t the first time I’ve done this.” Loki said, patting the little affectionately on the shoulder before taking Thor’s backpack off and looking for changing supplies. “‘Ms. Valkyrie’ told me that you made it to the potty all by yourself a few times and she didn’t have to change any wet training pants,” Loki said.

“M’ a big kid,” the little managed to say as Loki had him lie down.

“Give or take,” Loki agreed.

That may have been the wrong thing to say, but it didn’t anger Thor, just made him cry a little bit harder.

“There we are,” Loki said as he washed his hands. “Well, it’s very late for me, and very early for you, so let’s get an extra few hours of sleep, how does that sound?”

Thor nodded, wiping the remaining tears away and whatever sleep he could from his eyes as Loki led him to the soon-to-be nursery room and helped him onto the only slightly different convertible little bed.

It was maybe 1, 2 AM? Times Loki was sort of used to being up at, anyway. He went through the motions of putting the little to bed, tucking him into the papery-fresh sheets that had probably been purchased in a hurry yesterday when he finally found Thor’s shopping list, and reading him a story from one of the two or three picture books stuffed in the suitcase with his clothes.

At first, Thor was fine with it. He relaxed and let Loki read to him, but then, as Loki stood up, the boy yanked on his shirt.

“What is it now?” Loki asked, with a tone a little bit sharper than he meant.

Thor merely whimpered and brought the blankets up to his nose.

“You’re a big kid, you can sleep in your own bed. I’m just down the hall, okay?”

“Please?!” Thor whined.

Loki looked at him-- a plea in this desperate achingly sad tone was not something very typical of Thor-- and sighed. “C’mon,” he said, beckoning Thor over to him.

He flicked on a light in his own bedroom and used a couple pillows as a barrier. “You’re on this side, got it? I’ll stay over here.”

Thor agreed and made himself as small as he physically could in his spot as Loki turned off the light and reminded himself to wash the sheets when the morning came.

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early20sfailingplenty · 2 years

Note

(I apologize if this doesn't make much sense)

Can I have a blurb with Bo helping y/n with a panic attack?

If possible with the use of "Bo's gotcha"?

I've been having a lot of panic attacks lately where I get super shaky an overheated, an just kind of stare off while crying, an the thought of Bo calming me down has been helping them not last long but there bad when they hit...

Ooof I'm feeling this one hard tonight.😩 I'm so sorry you're going through this and I hope you feel better soon! I'm always here if you want to talk!💖

TW; panic attack, swearing, crying, shaking, emotional distress characteristic of a panic attack, mentions of rifles (I needed to give Bo something to do and couldn't think of anything; it's a very lazy plot device).

Please note that this was written first and foremost as a COMFORT PIECE, so any romanticism you may see within the experience depicted in this piece is UNINTENTIONAL. I've based this on the ask I received as well as my own experiences with panic attacks so it may not be relatable to everyone, but I hope it's generalised enough to be something that you can find comfort in.

AS ALWAYS, GENDER NEUTRAL READER, NO CODED LANGUAGE, "YOU" AND Y/N USED

I want 1234567890 of these forehead kisses please🥺🙏😭

Word count: 1, 342.

You had known when you had got out of bed this morning that it was going to be a difficult day. The trembling had started just as soon as your feet had touched the floor, your body full of anxiety and your mind overridden with fear of the unknown. How on earth you were going to make it through the day, you knew not, but you had to try. There were simply too many things to do around Ambrose and there was no time for you to worry about your emotions; they would come and go but the to do list would always remain, no matter how hard you worked.

You were fine...

... Until you weren't.

The shaking of your hands worsened through the day, as did your overall jumpiness. After the sixth time of making you jump in as many minutes just by walking into the room or tapping upon the nearest surface to get your attention, Vincent had gone to find Bo to tip him off about your deteriorating state. The youngest twin knew all the signs and symptoms of a panic attack and he was highly attuned to your distress. Ambrose was barely big enough for the three personalities which lived in it, so vibrant were they each in their own rights, so when one of you wasn't okay, everyone felt it.

When you became so shaky that your knees could no longer support you, you made your way over from the kitchen sink, where you had been staring out of the window, to the worn sofa in the living room. You had to sit down before you fell down, your breathing picking up just enough to catch Bo's attention, sat on the sofa was he cleaning his rifle. He barely glanced at you when you plopped down beside him, his icy blues trained on the television before you. There was some old movie on, one he had seen a hundred times before, but one he enjoyed mostly for its familiarity.

There was safety in the familiar, comfort, or there was supposed to be, but the quickening of your breathing was a familiar sound when you had woken up on a certain side of the bed and it was most definitely not comforting for the eldest Sinclair to hear. His shoulders stiffened and Bo turned to look at you, knowing before he did what he would find; you, staring off into space, crying and shaking like a damn leaf with your mind somewhere he couldn't follow.

Sometimes, Bo really fucking hated being right.

Your next breath caught in your throat and you tried to inhale, tried to take some more oxygen in, but you sobbed at the same second and seemed almost to choke, the strangled noise accompanied by tears pouring hot and fast down your cheeks as your careful facade crashed around you. You were shaking so hard that Bo's space beside you was moving, too, and you were almost bent over in half with the force of your crying. Bo wasn't as versed in medicine as his twin was but even he knew that that was negatively impacting your breathing.

"Whoa, hey," Bo put the rifle on the coffee table and turned to you, his knees facing you so that you knew he was wholly focused on you. "Easy, darlin'." His hands reached out somewhat awkwardly as he tried to move from the front so that you could see him coming towards you, but you were still staring off into space, your body trembling and you were clearly too hot. That was one of the physical symptoms your body displayed during a panic attack; a prickly heat spread across your skin and through your veins and it was usually one of the first signs you felt. The brothers picked up on your changed temperament, increased jumpiness and shattered nerves, but only you could feel the sickly rise in body temperature.

Bo's hands landed on your shoulders and the calloused pads of his thumbs rubbed circles there as he moved to crouch in front of you. "Can y'talk t'me, Y/N? What's the matter wit' you, huh?"

You shook your head and leaned forward, forward, until your forehead, so hot from the inside that you felt like your brain was cooking, so fried were your nerves, was resting against the sharp angle of Bo's collarbone. Your breaths were coming in harsh pants now and Bo was desperately trying to calm you down, his hands sliding down, down, until he was rubbing up and down your back in strong, rough but fluid movements. Up, down, up, down... you wrestled with yourself and actively focused on the movement of his hands. Up was an inhale, down was an exhale. It was something you had practiced before with him when you had had panic attacks and after the first time it had happened, when Bo didn't know how else to try to help you, he had rubbed your back and you had aligned his touch with your body in a way which was beneficial to you.

It had helped at that particular time and now with how frequent your panic attacks were, it was almost a tradition for you to match your breathing to Bo's touches. It was why he was so slow when he rubbed your back as he muttered the count Vincent had taught him under his breath. When a Sinclair was hurt, the other Sinclairs all pulled together to help out. It was how things had always been and would always be in Ambrose. If one Sinclair wasn't okay, all the Sinclairs felt it until such a time as whatever wasn't right had worked out.

"Shush, shush," Bo angled his head awkwardly as your breathing began to regulate so that he could press a kiss to your temple. "Shush, darlin', I got'cha. Bo's got'cha, huh? Yeah, y're all right. Bo's got'cha. Y'jus' focus on breathing, all righ'? Get some air into those beautiful lungs'a yours. Y'jus' breathe, honey. Bo's right here. M'not goin' anywhere, not so long as y're like this." Bo continued to say sweet nothings to you, but, oh, he meant every word.

Bo pushed forward into you so that he could wrap his arms around you into a hug when your breathing finally came down and you melted into him so much that he could feel your heart racing against his own. "C'mere, darlin', I got'cha." Bo stood, still hugging you, and moved himself so that he could sit beside you to resume his previous position to allow you to crawl into his lap and get yourself comfortable. Panic attacks took so much out of you physically that you usually napped right after, and Bo was always there for you for that, too. Hell, most of the time, he napped with you, for even in sleep, Bo would follow you.

He loved you too much to go somewhere without you, and that included those parts within you which tried to destroy you from the inside out.

"Tha - thank you, Bo. Fo - for staying. Thank you." You gripped him tightly, a gesture totally at odds with the uncertainty of your words and the dampness of your cheeks and Bo smiled to himself in relief as he felt you coming back down.

"Y'don't gotta thank me, darlin'," Bo scoffed and pressed a rough kiss to your forehead, his lips pressing so hard against your skin that you could feel the outline of his teeth through his lips. "S'what I'm here for." Pointedly did he lean back against the arm of the sofa and you took the invitation to lay across his body, wrapping your arms around him and getting comfortable. And if you fell asleep and Bo happened to drape a blanket over you to make you more cosy than you already were in the fleshy cage of his embrace, then who was Vincent to snap a picture from one of the many darkened, dusty corners of the house with which to tease his brother with later?

#bo sinclair #bo sinclair x reader #bo sinclair comfort #bo sinclair x you #bo sinclair x y/n #bo sinclair imagine #slasher fic #slasher community #slasher x you #slasher x reader #house of wax #house of wax imagine #house of wax x reader

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