Tumgik
#it was either that or fall flat on my face w/ something fragile so i rly didnt have many options
princeanxious · 3 years
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I need yall to know that, in being short, i am a danger to myself. because it means I constantly need step stools and ladders
And the problem with that is that I'm a fucking dumbass with adhd who will have no problem climbing up a three-step ladder/stool to get something, but in the 3 seconds i am standing there to get/do the thing i needed the ladder for i will forget the steps it took to get to the top.
Often, the amount of steps is two. Often, but not always. So, normally when i forget, i just end up stumbling a little.
But. My stepstool ladders at Work have three.
Which then results in my dumbass taking one short step down, often carrying something(and thankfully this has yet to happen while im carrying smth heavy) and just
Forget, that I'm on the second step, and that there's a third step to take first. And just, fuckin. Take a wide step. And fall the fuck off the stepladder like a fucking dumbass.
:/
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kayxleeee · 3 years
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Loki Laufeyson:Delusions (Loki x Reader)
Warning: NONE! Slight Mean + Sad Loki
A/N: Love this one! I always feel so bad for Loki in Thor The Dark World :(
Summary: After Loki returns to Asgard he is immediately sent to prison for his crimes on Earth. Unfortunate events occur when Asgard is under attack and you just want nothing more than to check in on your beloved.
Word Count: 2k+
*NOT MY GIF* Do not copy my work
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The news of Loki return to Asgard was both worrisome and exciting. There were rumors being spread about that he was returning as a fugitive for the destruction of not only earth, but the crimes that he had committed against  Asgard. You of course found yourself just happy to know that he was alive. He may not had been well, but sure he was very much alive.
Living. Breathing. Speaking.
Out of all Thor’s closest friends, you and Loki bounded the most, which caused you solely, to develop feelings for him. These feelings would lead to a sever fallout between you and your warrior companions. With Loki’s criminal accusations, hate and critism came from many, especially from Sif and Fandral. For you to still think highly of him,--well you were considered a traitor in their eyes.
When he returned you were forbidden to pay him any visits. Odin also ordered that the only visitors Loki received were of kin and even those visits were kept very minimal. Now with the unbearable news of Frigga’s death you worried about his sanity even more than before.
The queen has been deceased for a few days now, Thor was easily consoled  by Jane’s presents and the support of the Asgardian people who were also mourning their queen. However no one was concerned for the fallen prince, except for you. You knew that his crimes were severe, but nothing was more torturous than knowing of your mothers death and there is nothing for you to do because you are locked away without even the slightest hope of saying goodbye.
For days you try to receive information on the location of where Loki was being held. You are a warrior of Asgard, you should have known these things, but because of your so-called bias-ness for the Prince of Mischief you weren’t allowed. Your inquiries about Loki’s whereabouts in the palace were extremely noticeable and you received a lot of animosity for it, especially from Lady Sif. She called you stupid and selfish for wanting to see him. You were also accused of not having any dignity or self respect. No one would tell you directly where Loki was being held, but with enough sneaking around the palace, you finally over heard a few guards speaking of his whereabouts.
With the common criminals.
-
You have been watching two sets of guards for more than an hour. You wanted to  slip past them undetected, but you needed to wait for the perfect moment. You weren't one of the most skilled warriors in fighting but you were known for your intelligence and abilities to be clever in any situation. The plan was for you to create a diversion to get the guards away from the staircase leading down to the dungeons.  You knew that since the palace had been attacked from the inside out the guards would be on high alert. You cast a large stone, breaking a window to which the guards attention is drawn to the noise. They run into the direction of the shattering glass. As you sneak past them, the memories of Stif warning you fills your mind as you flip into the entrance running down the concrete staircase as quickly as possible.
“It’ll be the last thing you do” She threatened.
“He is a prisoner, he knows his crime.” She scoffed
“If you go to him, we will know where your loyalties lie.”
“Loki cares nothing about you, he is a man who cares simply for himself.”
You reach the bottom of the large steps, hoping you were turning down the correct corridor as you ran quickly. You notice on your way that the majority of the cells are completely empty. This worried you, but did not stop you from searching for him. You luckily reach his location without any mishaps.
“Loki!” You announce breathlessly watching as he paced around the small room with his back turned away from you.
His cell was tidy, clean as if he had not touched a single thing. He had all of his things that brought him comfort; fancy furniture, books, papers, and pens. You knew that Loki loved to read because the two of you spent the majority’s of your time together in the library. You felt at ease knowing that he at least had that. This was of course curtsy of the Queen; she asked for these items. Although he was being punished, the only thing she wanted for her dear son was that he was comfortable in his confinement no matter what he had done.
“What is it ?!” He snapped turning around to face you. He took heed in your presence and then pressed his lips into a thin line. “Ah, Lady (Y/n).” He greets you calmly, then an amused grin appears on his face. “Here to tell me the mighty King has passed on too?”
His comment took you by surprise, you assumed he would be just as grateful to see you, as you were to see him.
“Don’t be so morbid Loki!” You cut him off with offense frowning your face in confusion. “With the news of your mother passing, I would think you’d have far-more compassion for your family, for Asgard.”
“My family.” He repeats, mocking your charismatic tone placing his hand over his chest. “My Family is not here on Asgard. My family are no more than those disgusting vile creatures you fight and kill.”
“Loki I know you’re hurting, I know you have all this anger built up, but you have to know that you do have family and loved ones here on Asgard.” You say subtlety hinting at yourself. “I did not come here to be mocked.” You say in a calming voice as he walks over to you.
You place a hand on the enchanted glass as you look up to his figure continuing to speak. “I am not one for your dramatics, I just wanted to see how you were holding up.”
“Holding up?” He lets out a malice laugh. “Ha! Holding up?! I am locked in a cage like an animal!”
You slam your fist against the glass in annoyance realizing your loving reunion was falling flat. You did not come here to argue with this man, you didn’t even plan far enough to think of exactly what you wanted to say, but it was never envisioned like this.
“And who’s fault is that Loki?! Who’s fault!?” You snap matching his dramatic tone.
“My own! For trusting idiots!” He yells back and you can’t help but think what idiots he were referring to. He continues,  “Why are you even down here, Odin forbade anyone from seeing me, you can’t be THAT stupid. Or perhaps you want to cast more stones?”
“Cast stones?— I came here as a friend Loki. All this worrying I did for you, all the tears and regrets. I risked my own life and freedom by coming down here” You scoff rolling your eyes at his demeanor. “Just to be spat on by you?”
“Better I to you, then you to me.” He laughs.
“That is your problem, you always think people want to hurt you just as bad as you want to hurt them! Look at you and your brother, he mourned you, we all did, and you go and do this? Destroy and take over the only place he loves. What did you gain?!”
“Oh bullshit! That place was nothing, but a pathetic little wasteland! They needed ORDER.”
“They needed no such thing Loki, YOU needed a sense of belonging.” You say with emphasis.
“My god you’re just as delusional as my brother .” He laughs.
“Delusional?!” You yell.
“Yes.” He says calmly, pleased at how angry he was making you. He walks away and sits on his couch crossing his legs and resting his arms on top of them. “D-e-l-u-s-i-o-n-a-l, delusional.”
As he walked away you noticed a single error in his walk as if it all was an illusion. Something that only someone who knew Loki would catch if they payed close enough attention.
“Enough, no more illusions Loki. Show me your true state, I know you are not this heartless. The only person who stands here delusional is you!”
With that, what you thought was the real Loki fades away in shimmers. A much sadder scene formed before you. The cell becomes a mess, with the once neat furniture, either broken or distorted across the room. The scuff marks on the walls concluded that he had thrown the furniture with immense force. His beloved books were ripped and torn to shreds, and his once neat clothes tattered and disheveled. Your eyes meet his saddened pale figure sitting on the floor near something he recently broken. Fresh blood oozes down his foot as the glass that was lodge in him is discarded next to him on the floor.
“IS THIS WHAT YOU WANTED TO SEE!? A BROKEN MAN YOU SEE !?” His unruly hair falls into his face as he screams at the top of his lungs, veins bulging from his neck.
You immediately go to the side panel that unlocks the cell, running to his aid. You kneel beside him where there is not much debris, wrapping your arms around him and pulling him into a tight hug. He barriers himself deep into your neck letting out a silent sob. You hold him close as if you never wanted to let him go.
“I am here Loki.” You whisper to him placing a kiss to the top of his head.
You have never in your seen the Prince so weak, so fragile, so upset, so venerable. This all must have taken a huge toll on him, you couldn’t imagine what he was going through.
“ I did not want this for myself, I did not want this, not for her.” He says lowly as his voice breaks.
“I know.” You rub his back softly. “But you have to know that she loved you unconditionally with all her being, Loki.”
“I-, I don’t believe that.” He sighs with a hint of hesitation in his voice. “No one could ever.”
“That should not be hard to believe because I do, I love you too, I love you unconditionally.”
“You love me?” Asked confused he pulls away from your embrace looking at you with puffy red eyes.
“Yes.” You admit.
“You surely love as a friend correct?” He questions with squinted eyes.
“More.” You place a hand on his cheek giving him a small reassuring smile. “I’ve always loved you Loki, more than a companion, way before any of this.”
He places his hand over yours, giving you a weak smile, then leans in to kiss you. You were surprised , but quickly adapted the new feeling. The kiss was sweet and slow, so slow it felt as if time had stopped. He pulls away resting his forehead against yours.
“This probably is the best news I’ve received all week.” He says with a light chuckle. "I'm so sorry."
You smile pecking his lips once more before speaking again.
“I hope you know that for me to love you unconditionally, that I know who you are deep down. I know you aren’t all bad. I know that you had your reasons for going to earth and ruining New York, just as you had reasons for all the mayhem you have created. What was it ?” You say attempting to have him open up more.
“My reasoning ?” He asked in an unsure voice. “ I do not know.” He concluded turning way to look forward as if he was thinking.
“I find that very hard to believe Loki.” You say resting your head on his shoulder, taking his hand. “But I’m here whenever you’re ready to open up.”
It was true, you never thought Loki was all bad, you knew that there had to be reasons behind his mischief and misunderstanding. A few minutes passed of the two of you just being in one another’s presents. You imagined in other circumstances, this is how Thor felt when he Jane, as if nothing else matter other than the fact that they had each other.
“It…. His name was Thanos, after I fell from the birfrost—” He finally spoke, but it was short lived.
“(Y/n)!” You hear Thor shout from the other end of the cell interrupting. He states at the two of you intensely.
“Thor it is not what is seems.” You say imagining Lady Sif would soon be on her was as well.
“You are not in trouble (Y/n), but I need to speak to my brother, alone.”
You turn your attention back to Loki and he nods patting your hand. The two of you get up and Loki weakly walks you over to the entrance of the cell that you  previously came through.
“We can talk later, you know I’ll be here.” He looks at you with a knowing grin placing another kiss on your lips, before Turing to his brother.
You nod turning away to leave the two alone to talk. You had hopes that one day you and Loki could somehow be together, and finish that conversation, but today was clearly not that day.
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duskholland · 3 years
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Y/n has a disagreement with frat!tom, she drowns her sorrows and then frat!tom takes care of drunk y/n
ah...a classic. cw: alcohol + angst w a happy end. pls don’t do this irl--communication is key in any balanced relationship! don’t drown your sorrows <3
frat!tom night !!
*:·゚✧*:·゚✧ *:·゚✧*:·゚✧ *:·゚✧*:·゚✧
Tom: I’m sorry Tom: I didn’t mean to upset you Tom: can you just text me back Tom: please
You drag your index finger over the lock-screen of your phone, giggling slightly as you watch Tom’s texts wobble. Your eyes are tired and unfocused, your head spinning, and your objective of getting absolutely hammered has been well and truly achieved. You’d surpassed your limits an hour ago, if you’re being honest with yourself, but your bottle of tequila had been calling your name, and now you’re out of your mind. You’re just glad that your roommate is at her boyfriend’s for the night so she doesn’t have to witness your heartbroken breakdown.
Another two texts bumps up to the top of the screen, startling you.
Tom: I’m worried about you Tom: can you just let me know that you’re okay?
You sigh loudly, then begrudgingly pick up your phone. You open the texts sent from Tom, your boyfriend — or, ex-boyfriend…? — and read over them again, eyes hazy. You decide not to reply, and to instead leave him on read, because what else are you supposed to do?
With a heavy sigh, you lie back on the floor and stare at the ceiling of your dorm. You groan as you think over the events of the day again, your mind heavy and lethargic.
It’d been a stupid argument with Tom, about god knows what. Spring break, you think. He’d changed his mind last minute, and instead of going to Mexico with you and a few friends, he now wants to go back to London to spend time with his family. He also wants you to go back with him, to meet his parents and his brothers, and, in typical Tom fashion, had failed to mention that he’d changed your flights on your behalf.
It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is you’d spent a very unpleasant thirty minutes at the frat house earlier, exchanging sour words of disapproval with your boyfriend, who couldn’t be bothered to hear your side of the story. You’d ran away when you’d realised you were just going in circles, and now you’re here: red-eyed, drunk, and alone. The realisation makes you hiccup, and you feel your eyes well up again.
There’s a loud knock at the door, and you startle.
“Fuck,” you mutter, quickly standing up. You toss the bottle of alcohol under a blanket and wipe at your eyes, cursing yourself for looking like such a mess. You hope it’s just a neighbour, concerned about the breakup song playlists and the loud volume of your crying, and not an RA about to bust you for possession of alcohol in a college dorm.
It turns out to be neither, and you scowl as you open the door just to see Tom standing beyond it. His eyes snap up, his expression springing into one of surprise as if he hadn’t expected you to open the door. There’s a light blue beanie sitting on his head, but he whips it off and holds it between his hands as he rocks back on his feet and swallows
“Y/N…. Look, I’m so sorry.” He looks so small, with his figure covered in grey sweats and a white t-shirt. He has a red jacket shrugged over the top too, but his posture is slumped and diminished. His eyes are pink. “I was such a twat. I don’t want us to break up over this, and I don’t want you to hate me, either. I’m sorry.” His gaze narrows as his eyes twist over your figure. “Wait, are you drunk?”
Your eyes bulge, and you instinctively reach out to grab his arm. You jerk him into your room, chastising him in a loud whisper about the presence of your pesky RAs, and then you lean back against the door, facing the main body of the room where Tom’s now pacing.
“You shouldn’t be here,” you manage, tongue feeling thick in your mouth.
Tom finds the bottle of tequila you’d thrown in your bed as he straightens up the duvet, turning on you with a frown on your face.
“You shouldn’t be drinking on a Tuesday night,” he mutters. “Is this my fault?”
You shrug. “No,” you say. “Pretty sure I’m the one who did the drinking.”
Tom winces, then slowly takes off his jacket. He approaches you gently, extending two hands towards you.
“I’m sorry,” he says, voice exhausted. You hate how heartbroken he looks, so you reach out and join together your fingers, pulling him a little closer. Tom walks all the way to you, folding into you until he’s squeezing your hands and has his forehead pressed against yours. “I’m sorry for being a dick, and not speaking to you about spring break first.” His thumbs run over the backs of your hands. “And I’m also sorry for being a twat and not listening to you properly.”
You have to close your eyes, finding it too hard to focus on his face when it’s pushed so near to you.
“I’m too drunk to have this conversation with you,” you mutter. You drop one of his hands and feel him freeze before you shift it up to his hair. You’re quiet as you play around with his brown curls, finding comfort in the familiar softness. “I’m sorry too, though. I feel like shit. I shouldn’t have been so angry about it all…” You break off, feeling your eyes water as your voice thickens. It’s just a whisper as you add, softer, “I don’t want to lose you over this, Tom.”
He pulls back, and you’re able to meet his eyes as he reaches up to cup your warm cheeks in his hands. You aren’t angry anymore—now that he’s here, looking at you so softly, you just want to move on and fall straight back into his arms.
“You’re not losing me, darling. You could never lose me,” he murmurs. He leans in and kisses your forehead softly, letting his lips linger there for a moment. “Let’s get you in bed, yeah?”
You nod. “Okay,” you agree, suddenly feeling very attached to the idea of curling up beneath the covers and sleeping.
“Wait, wait.” Tom’s gentle hold on your waist makes you stop. “Bathroom first. You’ve still got makeup on.”
You pout as you coo, nodding. “Can you take it off for me?”
“Of course, love.”
You’re glad for the en-suite in your room. Despite it being a tight fit, Tom’s able to come in with you. He sits you on the closed toilet seat and tenderly dabs at your face, stripping back the smudged makeup as he cracks a few light jokes and murmurs soft words of praise. He watches as you brush your teeth, standing behind you with his arms wrapped around your front, lips brushing over your neck in featherlight kisses as he meets your eyes in the mirror and your heart flutters in your chest. Despite your complaints, he even convinces you to down two glasses of water.
“Aren’t you getting in too?” You whine. He’s standing beside your single bed, hands on the top of the duvet as he finishes tucking you in. You do your best to look innocent and fragile, blinking up at him through wide eyes. “It’s cold…”
Tom hesitates.
“Do you want me to?” He asks. When you nod your head enthusiastically, he smiles softly. “I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow morning and realise that it’s not what you wanted.”
You shake your head. “I won’t,” you say, knowing it to be true. “Just… if you’re worried about overstepping, don’t kiss me or anything. I won’t be mad if you sleep here.”
He smiles as if he finds the compromise agreeable, then kicks off his shoes and pulls off his shirt. You try to wolf whistle, only for the sound to come out flat and failed, and he laughs loudly.
“Did you just try to whistle at me?” He teases.
“No.”
“Are you lying?”
“Maybe.”
Tom slips into bed beside you. It’s a tight fit, but you’ve spent enough nights together on your single mattress to know exactly what you have to do. You don’t hesitate to curl into his side, throwing a leg over his body as you rest your face against his arm and press your hand to his chest. Tom reaches over and flicks off the lamp before wrapping his arms around you, holding you close.
“I love you,” he says, the moment it’s dark and you’re both settled. “I love you so much, baby.”
You coo, unable to control the unruly smile that tugs at your lips.
“Love you too, Tom,” you murmur. “You’re so warm.”
He chuckles, light fingers rubbing circles over the top of your arm. “And you’re just lovely.”
You melt, burrowing your head further into his side. Beneath your palm, you can feel his heartbeat, pulsing gently.
“You know, the only reason I was so mad earlier was because I was scared of meeting your parents,” you admit, voice soft. “It’s not because I don’t want to spend time with you, Tommy. I do. All the time. But it’s scary to think about how I could do something to fuck this up. It’s scary sometimes... to think about how much I love you.”
You feel his lips touch the top of your head.
“Do you want to know a secret?”
“Yeah.”
“I’m scared too. That’s why I changed the flights without speaking to you. I was scared you wouldn’t want to come with me and take the next step with me.” Tom breaks off, sighing. “I’m a fucking idiot, though. Still should’ve spoken to you about it.”
You hum gently. “As long as you look after me, and make sure I’m okay, then I’d love to come and meet your family.” You tilt your face up and lean closer until you’re able to deposit a clumsy kiss to his sharp jaw.
“Of course I’d look after you,” Tom assures. “But you don’t need to be scared. They’ll love you, because I love you, and I think you’re the most wonderful person in the world, Y/N.”
You curl in closer, stifling a yawn. “Love you too.”
“Precious,” he mumbles. You feel him urge you nearer, warm kisses falling over your head again and again. “Go to sleep, babe,” he urges. “I’ve got you.”
You sigh contentedly. “Will you still be here in the morning?” You whisper, relaxing fully into his hold.
“‘Course. I’ll even get you breakfast.”
You smile against his chest. “Fuck yeah,” you murmur. “G’night.”
“Night, princess.” Tom rests a hand on your arm, and you sink into it. “Sweet dreams.”
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mimik-u · 3 years
Text
Togetherness
Summary: The aftermath of Steven transforming into a huge reptilian monster brings back old memories for Pearl, who remembers another time Steven was scared so many years ago.
A/N: This piece was written for the Pearl-focused I am a Pearl! mini-zine a couple of months ago! It was a great opportunity to get to explore Pearl's mind space after the events of "I am My Monster" and how her friendship with Greg has evolved over the years. ;w; Thanks to the mods for a great zine experience! <3
AO3 Link / Zine Tumblr Link / @iamapearlzine
Steven is sixteen years old when he erupts into a scaly, pink monster—fifty-foot tall and inconsolable.
Everyone tells him that they love him, but because words are rarely ever enough, they show him that they do; they embrace him; they hold him; they press their fingertips into his reptilian skin. His scales are cold and sharp against Pearl’s palms, keratin hard and impenetrable. She tells him that he shouldn’t have to keep anything from her, all the while burning with shame that he’s kept so much from her.
He’s felt responsible for her fragility and loved her enough to tiptoe around the Diamond in the room.
His mother.
His mother and the complicated history between them.
The love.
The torture.
The grief.
The love.
(Because what is grief after all but a manifestation of love? A reminder, its echo, and its painful, lingering, lovely ghost.)
Connie kisses Steven, very lightly, very softly, and he falls from the sky, a boy again. 
Pearl wraps him in a blanket.
Garnet carries him into the wreckage of their home.
And approximately one hour later, they’re all standing on the deck, waiting for Priyanka Maheswaran to finish her professional assessment of him as the sun sinks into a honey-colored sea.
Pearl cradles her face in her hands, elbows sinking into the railing, trying to retrace every missed sign in the blackness of her own head. She sees his skin glowing pink in the darkness—at the Reef, in Little Homeworld, just moments ago in the living room…
So many flares in the night.
And Pearl had watched them all fizzle.
Steven is six years old when he moves into the newly minted beach house, and he tells Greg that he’s afraid of the silence. Nearly all of his life, he’s been surrounded by noise—the gentle rumble of the van’s motor, the susurrant murmur of the sea, wind, rain, buskers playing guitars on the Boardwalk, the whoosh of the rollercoasters at Funland. 
His dad’s snores echoing off the tin ceiling.
His dad’s laughter.
His softly-sung lullabies, too.
The beach house is really quiet at night, Steven tells Greg who tells the Gems, and he doesn’t like that…
He’s trying really hard to like it, though.
Maybe things’ll get better next week.
Pearl never looks at Greg as he delivers this news, tapping her fingers against the side of her leg as she sits at the kitchen table, ankles primly crossed. He stands in the doorway—right beneath Rose’s painted image—wringing his hands and looking too awkward to be allowed. She resents him for this—for his awkwardness, for his intrusion into their lives, and for everything else, too. 
(Namely for Rose.)
She inwardly knows that she’s being unfair. 
That loathing a person on the basis of his existence is morally suspect.
Wrong.
But what are rightness and wrongness to emotions? To the sheer primality of grief?
Grief is irrational, she rationalizes to herself—she self-justifies; it knows nothing of ethicality.
“Why didn’t Steman tell us this?” Amethyst asks, absently scratching her nose. “If it’s noise he wants, I got an old drum set he can knock himself out on.”
Pearl frowns, well-remembering the ten straight years Amethyst played the drums through the nineties. Rose loved it; Pearl spent many hours alone in her room to decompress. 
“He’s still intimidated by you three,” Greg shrugs kindly. “And shy. You just have to give him reason enough to trust ya with stuff like this. Tucking him in at bed at night, y’know. Checking under the bed for monsters.”
“There aren’t monsters under his bed,” Garnet says, practical as ever. “They wouldn’t fit.”
Greg chuckles, running a flat hand across the back of his neck as he peers between the three gems. When he and Pearl lock eyes, she meets his stare coldly, her mouth pressed into a thin line.
“But Steven doesn’t know that,” he mumbles, glancing away, his cheeks flushing. “You gotta shine a flashlight down there and show him there’s nothing there.”
“Doesn’t that seem patronizing to you?” Pearl asks, taking little care to disguise the condescension in her voice. Across the room, Garnet’s visored stare finds her—blank, inscrutable, and arcane—but Pearl knows her fellow gem well enough to understand that this is chastisement, silent and brutal.
Arching a thin brow, she ignores Garnet.
She demands an answer from Greg.
“Maybe,” the man concedes, but when he acknowledges her gaze again, there’s a little defiance in his eyes, an edge in his scratchy voice. “But maybe not. That’s what being a parent is sometimes. Patronizing the kid! Playing along. Showing him that you’re listening to what he needs. Letting him know that you’re there… haven’t you ever been afraid before, Pearl?”
“No,” she protests immediately, bristling.
“Pssh,” Amethyst snorts. “Last week, you jumped ten feet in the air ‘cuz you saw a snake.”
“You did,” Garnet smiles wryly. “I was there.”
Pearl scoffs, trying and failing to ignore that her cheeks are suffused with blue blush…
… and that Greg is staring at her with an almost distinguishable emotion in his eyes.
If she didn’t know better, she would say it was pity.
Dr. Maheswaran tells them that Steven is okay; he’s tired and sore—transforming expended a lot of his energy—but he’s ready to see everyone now. She tells them to be quiet and to maybe go in one by one, so he doesn’t get too overwhelmed.
Firmly, she warns them that it’ll take more than a good night’s sleep for him to heal .
And she doesn’t mean physically.
“Here’s a number of a good therapist I know,” she says, placing a card in Pearl’s hand. “Her office opens at nine.”
Pearl folds her fingertips over the edges of the glossy card stock but doesn’t quite glance down to look at the name—too fixated on watching Greg stand in front of the doorway, palming the screen door as he seemingly steels himself to go in. 
He’s aged so much in the twenty-something years that Pearl has known him—from his nearly bald head to the branching lines creasing the corners of his eyes—but for some reason, it is only now, in this ephemeral moment, that she realizes how old he is.
She doesn’t mean physically either.
As the others gather around Dr. Maheswaran, asking her questions, voicing their concerns, Pearl takes one deliberate step and then another.
Garnet tells Steven that it’s okay—there are no monsters under the bed—and when she shines a flashlight beneath the mattress, Amethyst is there, shapeshifted into a tiny kitten, purring at the child sweetly.
“See, dude?” She laughs, bounding out from beneath the bed. In an instant of blurred matter and color, she becomes herself again, her bangs sweeping inelegantly over her eye. “No monsters under the bed, only cute kittens.”
“Only kittens?” He repeats, grinning that famous gap-toothed smile that everyone adores. His legs are nearly swallowed by his oversized shirt.
“Kittens and dust bunnies,” Amethyst confirms, knuckling his curls playfully and smiling broadly when he laughs. “G’night, Steman.”
“Night, Amethyst!”
“Goodnight, Steven,” Garnet murmurs, lifting the six-year old into her arms and gently placing him onto the bed. She tucks him beneath the covers. She tenderly kisses him on the head.
“Nighty night, Garnet.”
And then it’s Pearl’s turn. Garnet and Amethyst head towards their temple rooms, and Pearl settles down on the edge of the comforter, balancing her left ankle on top of her right knee.
“Don’t forget about M.C. Bear Bear!” She teases softly, reaching over and placing the stuffed animal next to Steven’s arm. “He needs a snuggle buddy.”
Steven nods in agreement, his brow furrowed seriously over his eyes.
“Yep,” he says importantly. “I’ll be sure to hug him tight.”
“Excellent,” she says primly.
“Excellent,” he echoes playfully.
She lightly skims her knuckles across his soft cheek, smiling when he giggles a little, always ticklish…
… but then, when she withdraws her hand, letting it fall away from his face, the moment that immediately follows is quiet.
Too much so.
So quiet that Pearl can hear the softness of Steven’s breath, quiet enough that Greg’s words from earlier haunt her in the absence of noise.
Haven’t you ever been afraid before, Pearl?
Contrary to what Garnet and Amethyst may believe, she isn’t afraid of snakes —pestilent creatures though they are.
She’s surprised by snakes.
And afraid of much bigger things—five-thousand-year old secrets and equally ancient insecurities, for instance.
Six thousand years ago, after all, she was coded to believe that her highest order in life was to be a slave.
And sometimes—if only sometimes—she fears that her weaknesses were ingrained then, in the very moment she emerged from a shell and was called a pearl
One of so many.
Disposable.
Programmable.
Objectified.
Sometimes, she barely knows what it means to be herself, much less what it means to be a parent .
Indeed, Greg Universe of all people seems to have the idea down better than she ever could.
So, yes, Greg, she is afraid.
(Afraid of failing Steven.)
(Terrified that she’s already failed her. )
Patronize him, Greg suggested.
Play with him.
Show him that you’re listening.
Let him know that you’re there.
“Greg?”
Pearl places a light hand on Greg’s arm, startling him from his trance as he turns around to face her.
“Pearl!” He exhales, his breath coming in short bursts. “Y’scared me!”
“I’m sorry,” she says sincerely, not quite moving her hand away yet. His skin is warm beneath her fingertips, soft like wave-washed sand. “I just wanted to make sure you were okay.”
“Yes,” he returns immediately, and then—taking one look at her imperiously raised brow—just as quickly rectifies himself. “No. I don’t know. I’m freakin’ terrified, Pearl. I feel like a failure of a parent. I don’t know what to tell him. But I gotta go in there anyway.”
He says it all very rapidly, as though he’s talking to himself.
Encouraging himself.
And putting himself down to do it.
“I’m his dad,” he concludes, his voice breaking, tears standing in his dark eyes. “I’m his dad, and I didn’t… I wasn’t there for him, and I should have—“
“ Shh, ” Pearl cuts across him gently, patting his arm as tears threaten to slide down her own face. “Shh. There are so many hypothetical should haves that we’ll all have to face soon when it comes to Steven. But not today, Greg .”
With her free hand, she conjures a tissue from her gem and hands it to him, unflinching and kind, even when he needs to wipe his nose.
“Today,” she murmurs, her voice inhibited, a hundred emotions thick, “we just let him know that we’re here.”
“Pearl?” Steven asks.
Pearl blinks rapidly, coming back to herself; she’d been lost in her own thoughts, nearly consumed.
“Hey,” she smiles, placing her hand on top of Steven’s own. His skin is so warm and soft; she absently wonders if her alienness feels sharp to him… hard… cold… “Here’s an idea—how about I sing you a lullaby before you go to sleep?”
“You know how to sing?” Steven’s eyes widen incredulously, his mouth shaping itself into a delighted smile.
“Don’t look so surprised,” she laughs playfully. “When we were younger, your mother and I used to sing all the time—hymns from our home planet and the like…”
A pause, infinitesimal, hesitant. 
“...I could sing one for you if you’d like?”
“You could?” The child dares to be hopeful; the very emotion shapes the pitch of his question, the light in his eyes.
He has his mother’s eyes.
Dark and full of stars.
“I could,” Pearl repeats. “I’d sing as long as you wanted me to.”
“How about fooooorever?” 
“Let’s just start with until you fall asleep,” Pearl laughs. “That’s a part of forever, yes? This moment?”
“If you say so, Pearl,” he wrinkles his nose skeptically.
“I know so, Steven.”
As she sings him to sleep in her mother tongue, Pearl admits that this must be something that Greg knows, too.
The importance of hereness to a child.
Togetherness on scary nights.
73 notes · View notes
violetsoju · 3 years
Text
page 30彡★
kageyama tobio · fluff · 3.2k
a/n: came up w this idea based on a tiktok vid of this trend that randomly popped up on my feed (which i can't find anymore T_T) do let me know if you enjoyed it! ❤️
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“Hey, Tobio.”
The mop of raven hair doesn’t look up to you, eyes fixated on the jiggly onsen tamago on top of the curry tonkatsu.
“There’s this new trend going on.”
He hums in response, fingers gripping onto a pair of wooden chopsticks, manoeuvring the fragile soft lump towards the spoon. Just a few more steps till being cradled snugly in the deep end of the cool ceramic spoon.
“And we’re gonna learn the moves and film it right here after this.”
His fingers twitch. One of the long pointy chopsticks loses its cool and stabs the tamago right in the core, streaks of yellow bleeding across the crisp golden brown tonkatsu. Its counterpart desperately tries to put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding, but too much yolk has been lost, and more jabs were made in the frantic rescue mission. Not even the string of ‘shit’ muttered could save the day. So long, dear onsen tamago.
You’re finally met with piercing blue eyes glaring at you.
“No. And look at what you did to my onsen tamago.”
“You should’ve scooped it up with your spoon instead of pushing it with your chopsticks. Common sense much?” You thank the waitress for the hot steaming tempura udon. “Plus, you’re supposed to break the yolk and coat the luscious essence over your rice, unless you’re a freak and eat it in one go.”
Kageyama’s scowl softens when a piece of fried tempura lands in his bowl in exchange for a piece of tonkatsu. A glint of delight gleams in the two pair of eyes at the first bite of delicious food, taste buds tingling in satisfaction.
It’s a rainy Wednesday night. And rainy nights call for warm comfort food to make up for the gloomy wet weather brought by the pitter patter parade of fat rain droplets. So after a spontaneous text message, here you are, with an old close friend of yours, inside a small cosy shop hidden in an alleyway without any prior arrangements.
“And let me repeat myself. I’m not going to do any dumb dance trends with you again.” Kageyama restates his point firmly.
“Come on, you had so much fun the last time! Even Tsukki sent a good job sticker in the group chat.” You reason.
“You mean he enjoyed seeing me almost tripping over my feet.”
“That was the highlight, to be honest.”
He smacks your chopsticks away with his at your attempt to snag another piece of tonkatsu, not giving in into your pout.
“Anyway, I was just kidding. You’re in luck this time because it’s not a dance trend.”
Kageyama raises an eyebrow at you suspiciously, tilting his head to ask you to continue on.
“This time it’s a trend where you grab your nearest book, turn to page 30, and the first sentence will describe your love life. Interesting, isn’t it?”
“Just when I thought you’ve outgrown these ridiculous nonsenses.”
“Says the one who still insists on drinking a box of strawberry milk before matches.” You jab your chopsticks towards his direction accusingly.
“That’s different because it actually works. And it’s good.” He counterattacks by returning your gesture.
“I hate to say this but, point taken.”
He triumphantly snickers as you sigh in defeat.
“Aren’t you curious on how my love life is described?” You question, blowing off the steam from your spoon full of udon.
Kageyama chomps on another piece of pork cutlet, unamused at your question. “If you’re generous enough to share, I’d be honoured.”
“‘He smiles’”
“What?”
“That’s the first sentence on my page 30. ‘He smiles’.” You reply matter-of-factly, taking a sip of your hot green tea.
“What’s that even supposed to mean?” His brows knit in confusion, hands momentarily forgetting the spoonful of curry rice in hand.
“Use your imagination, Tobio. Awaken your romantic cells.” You gesture with your hands dramatically, earning a deadpan look from the boy seated across you.
“Does it mean whoever’s smiling is the love of your life? Or someone who’s always smiling?” Kageyama rests his cheek against his left knuckle, trying to connect the dots together.
“Well-“
“Wait a minute! Don’t tell me it’s Suga-san. Because if it is, I won’t allow it because Suga-san is way too good for you.”
He yelps as you not-so-accidentally dip your chopsticks stained with broth into his green tea.
“Shush, we both know how much Suga-san adores me. And everyone else.” You smugly take another bite of your fried tempura as he frowns in disgust after drinking the now broth infused green tea.
“I guess it’s feeling of love at the sight of his smile? Like feeling all warm and fuzzy seeing him smile.”
“Is there someone who makes you feel that way with their smile?”
You swirl the udon with your chopsticks mindlessly for a moment. “Maybe there is.”
You look up to the pair of blue eyes staring back at you, holding the intense gaze firmly, neither side backing down to break the tension.
“Do I know him?” Kageyama falters, a hint of anxiousness cracks in his voice.
“Since when were you so interested in my love life?” You laugh awkwardly, hoping to conceal your nervousness.
Despite the surrounding bustling chatter, the world suddenly falls painstakingly silent, with the irregular beats of two young hearts thumping deafeningly and out of rhythm.
The raven-haired boy succumbs first, looking back down to his half empty bowl. You continue swirling your bowl of udon, mentally slapping yourself at your answer and cracking your head to come up with something to save the mood.
“Well, I could help to scan him for you, if you want. Boys know boys better after all,”
You snap back up to look at the boy seated across you, eyes not meeting yours. This is a surprise.
“Plus, you can save the tears and snot to yourself because I might not be free to attend to your midnight crying sessions. If it really happens.”
A surge of warmth radiates throughout your body at his words. Definitely not from the hot bowl of udon.
Kageyama still has his eyes on the bowl before him, looking anywhere else but you. He tries to keep himself busy by scooping more rice, groaning as he further destroys the onsen tamago, unaware of the faint blush painting his cheeks. Definitely not from the hot bowl of curry, too.
“Don’t worry, he isn’t a jerk. I’m sure you’ll like him too.” You chuckle, adjusting your chopsticks to pick up more udon.
Oh, Kageyama Tobio, what exactly should I do with you.
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽.* :☆゚. ───
Scroll. Refresh. Switch apps. Repeat. Sigh.
You’ve been stuck in this constant loop for the past hour. Instead of getting much needed sleep for the next day, you subject yourself to the chains of the device held in your hand, despite the drooping eyelids and strained arm muscles.
What’s so fascinating about social media anyway? If it’s not friends or random acquaintances posting sinful food pics of ootds, it’d be someone ranting about either their work or love life, or memes you’ve already seen before. Sometimes you wonder if you’ve been casted a spell by social media.
Crying out a yelp as the gadget lands right in your face at the slip of your hands, you massage your nose bridge and forehead from the impact, grimacing in pain. It’s not easy being a slave to social media, huh.
Tossing your phone to the side, you roll over to lie flat on your back, sprawled like a star fish on your bed. A long sigh escapes your lips, eyes staring blankly at the bare celling above. Maybe you should really call it a day.
A beep from your phone tells you otherwise.
Tobio [23:17]
I did it. You owe me one box of strawberry milk.
[23:18]
IMG_20210402_961222
You immediately plop yourself up to sit cross-legged on your bed, tapping on the notification to open the message. As expected of Kageyama Tobio, it was a full-page picture of a book, with a small number 30 on the top left-hand corner. But unexpectedly of Kageyama Tobio too, the page wasn’t from those volleyball books or magazines stacked in the corner of his room. Looks like the mini ramble session you gave him on the way to the metro station worked.
“I know volleyball is the love of your life too, but we’re talking about your actual love life here! So no volleyball books or magazines, go rummage Miwa-san’s book shelf for one random romance novel. Just one. She’ll thank me for taking care of your love life.”
Sliding both your thumbs outwards on the screen to zoom in, your lips press together to form an ‘o’, brows arching in fascination at the first sentence.
She knows.
Interesting.
Your fingers dance across the screen swiftly.
me [23:20]
Ohhh interesting. See, it’s exciting, isn’t it?
Tobio [23:21]
I guess so
me [23:22]
Do you think it describes your love life well?
To actually imagine Kageyama Tobio having something that he loves as much as volleyball is, an odd and foreign feeling.
Tobio [23:24]
I’m not sure tbh
me [23:25]
Well spill the tea so I can help you analyse it
Tobio [23:25]
No
You swear you would throw punches at him if he was beside you now.
me [23:26]
Tsk tsk, so who’s the girl you’ve been hiding from me
Tobio [23:27]
Since when were you interested in my love life?
The use of your own words against you has you clicking your tongue in amusement.
You were contemplating between a civil or sarcastic remark when a new message bubble pops up.
Tobio [23:29]
But do you think she knows?
me [23:30]
About what?
Tobio [23:31]
Nvm, forget what I said
Seriously? This conversation is by no means, ending like this. You tap on the video icon on the right-hand corner of the screen hastily.
It takes a few rings for the familiar face to appear on screen, face a little too close to the camera, brows furrowed, lips pursed.
“What the heck, do you know what time it is?” Kageyama huffs in annoyance, running his fingers through his dishevelled black hair.
“Says the one who sent me such juicy information at this hour.” You bend your legs up, resting your hand on your knees for a better angle.
He throws his head back exasperatedly, muttering something inaudible along the static noise from the speakers, resting his head on a wooden frame you recognise. He still hasn’t changed his bed that he has long outgrown, complaining about soreness in his legs and arms that dangle off the edge every night.
“How do you expect me to go to bed with you hanging me like this? You have the worst timing ever.” You raise your hands in protest.
Kageyama buries half of his face in his palm. “I shouldn’t have listened to you.”
“But you get a box of strawberry milk from this! It’s worth it.” You gesture a finger gun to him knowingly.
He moves two fingers away from his face, peeking to see you through the screen like a child. Heaving a long, heavy sigh, he shifts his weight to sit up properly, half of his face still cradled in his palm.
“So, ‘she knows’, huh. Back to your question. What do you think she knows?” A tinge of excitement and fear bubble up your throat.
Kageyama avoids your gaze, looking to the side. “Well, I mean, about my, er- my feelings, I guess?”
“You mean your heart.”
The sentence has his eyes back on you, vivid blue eyes clouded by the shadows of dimly lit room.
“Yeah, uhm, well, I guess.” His voice trails off.
“Well, have you told her before?” You keep your voice steady.
“No, of course.” His words come out like a whisper.
“Then how is she going to know without any words or actions?” It comes out like a blunt statement, but somewhere deep down, a wave of relief washes over you.
“But I’m always there for her. Whenever she needs me, wherever she is, I try my best to be there for her,” Passionate flames ignite across the vast blue ocean. “I know something is on her mind when she bites the insides of her cheeks, when she flicks the tip of her thumb with her index finger constantly, or when she plays with the piercings on her ears. I’m not one with words, but I stay by her side when she needs me to, listening to her rambles or vents, or wiping away tears that stain her cheeks soft like mochi.
“I set notifications the night before to give her morning calls during her exams or important days because she tends to snooze the alarm on days like these. I always have extra band-aids ready on hand because she always somehow cuts and hurts herself, which hurts my heart too. Heck, I even learn ridiculous things that would be the death of me just for her, because nothing compares to the sparkle in her eyes when she flashes her precious smile, brighter than the sun that takes my breath away every time. I-”
Kageyama stops midway, face painted with horror as if he just let out a million-dollar secret. Panic flares in his eyes, mouth agape in incredulity as his body rigids, dumbstruck with terror by what rolled off his tongue so smoothly. You wonder if the line got disconnected because he turned into a static image, with a full-blown flustered look on his face.
You wave at the screen. “Tobio, you still there?”
It takes a few seconds for the raven-haired boy to snap back to his senses and regain his composure, coughing awkwardly in attempt to calm himself down. Small patches of blush blooming furiously on his cheeks peek out from his hands covering his mouth.
He looks cute.
No, he’s cute.
He’s always been cute.
“I- Er- Ye- Yeah, I’m still here.” Kageyama struggles to find words from his tad-larger-than-average vocabulary vault that has seem to disappear into thin air.
“Gosh, breathe Tobio, breathe. Come on, take a deep breath with me. One, two, three.”
He exhales deeply at the count of three with eyes shut close, hoping that all his jitters have been expelled away in the air.
“There you go. Feel better now?” Your lips tug up gently as the boy on the screen visibly relaxes, shoulders loosening from the tension, face free of creased lines.
He opens his eyes slowly, blinking a few times to adjust his vision before returning a soft smile to you. “Yeah, I do. Thanks.”
“Anytime.”
A tranquil silence blankets over the both of you. This time, the steady beats of two young hearts thump in tune like a metronome. Two young souls gaze at each other, basking in the calmness and comfort of the sincere warm smiles that felt so much like home; but too proud to admit they were like lovesick fools, brushing off the feelings that were screaming loudly to be heard, feelings that they were afraid to face.
“Do you think she knows?” It’s a genuine question, one that takes a mountain high of courage to come up with.
“I’m sure she does.” It’s a genuine answer, one that takes a of couple hundred meters of might to emerge from the deep ends of the sea to come up with.
And you both hope that you’re on the same wavelength.
“So back to square one. Who’s the girl?”
“None of your business.”
“Another piece of crap from you and I’ll leave without you at the metro station tomorrow.”
“Sorry.”
─── ・ 。゚☆: *.☽.* :☆゚. ───
When you reach the designated exit of the metro station the next day, a pair of eyes as blue as the day immediately catches your attention among the crowd, feet shuffling on its own accord towards them. As if there was a detector sensing your presence within him, the owner of the beautiful pair of orbs turns to you, raising a hand in greeting.
Kageyama gives you a smile, a smile that says, ‘I hope my smile makes you feel warm and fuzzy’.
You smile back at him, with a smile that says, ‘I hope you know that I know your heart’.
It’s hard to shake off the pride to be damned, but the two lovesick fools find themselves discarding it slowly, bit by bit with each step taken, together.
【☾】
Kageyama is a creature of routine. He always has his day planned out in detail and hates it when it doesn’t go according to plan, or when something pops out of the blue. But there are a few which he can make exceptions for. So when he receives your text asking for dinner after his training session, he agrees in a heartbeat.
He felt his heart sink deeply in his guts when you said there was, indeed, someone who made you feel warm and fuzzy with their smile. But who was he to have his say when his status was merely just a close friend?
Miwa thought he had lost it when he barged into her room without notice that night, scanning her bookshelf for novels, specifically of the romance genre. It was more nerve-wrecking than retaking exams back in high school with Hinata while flipping through the pages, and it didn’t help much when he finally found the particular page, with the first line inked in black staring back at him in doubt.
He doesn’t know why he sent the picture of the page to you. What exactly was he expecting?
Worse, he doesn’t even know why he started blabbing about how he was always there for you, how much he cares for you, and how much you mean to him. It all just came out so naturally that he could actually score an A+ for impromptu speaking.
But when your eyes were filled with concern while calming him down instead of making fun of him or pestering him for more, something flutters in his mind. Maybe it was from the rush of adrenaline from before, or maybe it was his heart that had leaped out from his chest taking over. He brings up the question once again, with more confidence this time.
He knows you’re not one to lie with your eyes. And he sees the kindness and honesty in them.
A ray of hope flickers in him.
So today, Kageyama musters up every ounce of courage he has, and tells himself it’s now or never: to close the gap he has longed for so long between two hands that swayed side by side. Instead of retreating his hands away when they brush against yours, he curls the tip of his fingers with yours delicately, as if your fingers would melt at his touch.
He hopes that he made the right decision.
And when your fingers curl back, intertwined with his, he knows he has made the right decision, and that his question has been answered.
She knows.
And the fact that he’s the one behind the smile that makes you go all warm and fuzzy, he swears it feels like he could run for miles and miles without running out of breath, soaring even higher than the clouds in the skies. None of the perfect sets he has set in his lifetime could compare to the satisfaction and bliss he was feeling right now.
Because you had set his life ablaze the moment fate brought the both of you together, and you’re his end game.
147 notes · View notes
onenerdtwonagas · 3 years
Text
((So I got the idea of an au where Orpheus and Uriah meet because the pantheon is still worshipped and occasionally, human tributes are offered. Whether it’s for pleasure or sacrifice is up to the deity in question. Uriah is forced into being his society’s offering. What does the god want with him?))
“Move it.”
Uriah stumbled as he was shoved forward, his wrists bound tightly in front of him. One of the elders pulled him along like a dog on a lead, the other prodding him from behind as the line of offerings to the god moved on. He hadn’t volunteered for this; they’d picked him to avoid sending one of their more ‘valuable’ members of their society.
‘What will it matter to the god?’ they had mused. ‘If a god wants a sacrifice or a plaything, it won’t make a difference whether they’re high born or not. They’ll be glad for a body either way.’
Uriah stared down at the ropes around his wrists, so tight they burned into his skin. He didn’t want to be there. He knew others volunteered for such positions, but he had no grand illusions of a being of higher power being interested in him beyond a ritual or base need, as the elders had surmised. He’d likely be dead by the following morning.
Maybe that was alright. Maybe, after years of endless work and abuse, death would be a peaceful release. Supposing the god didn’t want to make him suffer for it...
“Next.”
Perhaps if he remained calm and obedient, the god would grant him at least a quick and painless passing—
“Next!”
“Pay attention and move, wretch!”
He almost choked as the rope around his throat pulled tight, yanking him forward.
“What offering do you bring to the Night God?”
“A living tribute,” the leading elder answered.
A nymph with ethereally pale skin looked down at him. They seemed to contemplate the young man for a moment before sweeping an arm forward into the temple.
“The god will decide whether to accept your offering or not. Proceed.”
Uriah swallowed thickly as he was moved inside, lined up amongst other living tributes. Some wore ornate robes or jewels. Their skin and hair were pristine. Nobility. They scoffed down at him and turned up their noses, all seemingly assured they would be chosen instead. It didn’t matter much to him; either way, he resigned himself to one form of discomfort or another.
Nymphs lined the sides of the pillared hall, organizing the material offerings already given. Ornate fabrics, pelts of rare animals, jewels, precious metals, heavy tomes and so many other things that Uriah couldn’t identify. His gaze slowly traveled from the nymphs and their duties to the throne on the other end of the hall, and he felt a chill run through him.
There sat the night god, in all his splendor and strength. Orpheus, he was called. His powerful body looked so elegantly poised as he occupied his throne upon the tiered steps, his glistening scales draping over them and seeming endless in their length.
“Your living tributes, my lord,” a nymph announced to him.
The god peered down with his head propped up by one hand, cool, luminous eyes scanning every mortal that was presented before him. He didn’t seem to have a terribly strong interest in any one of them in particular—
The quiet of the hall was disturbed by a short yelp as Uriah was forced forward, stumbling to his knees.
“Kneel before your god, boy!”
“Quiet in the presence of our lord,” one of the god’s servants barked, but Orpheus held up a hand to silence him.
He rose from his throne and descended the stairs, his four clawed hands folded behind his back as he began a closer inspection. Yes, yes, they were all very pretty...but were any of them of any real substance? Was there something more to them than appearances? How many times had he picked a tribute for them to merely be greedy and vain? Too many. Far too many. In truth, he was tired of such offerings, but when people insisted on sending them...
He paused at the end of the line, looking down at a fragile-looking man on his knees and his head hung low. The elders shrank back as he lingered, his eyes flickering to them in a form of silent question.
“H-He was a servant to the scholars of our citadel, my lord,” one of them stammered. “We have no nobles to offer, but we hoped he would please you.”
Orpheus merely blinked at them, his face expressionless. They fidgeted and took another step back. His eyes slid to the ropes on the man’s neck and wrists. It seemed a little much; he wasn’t exactly built to fight, so preventing him from fleeing wouldn’t have been hard. Perhaps the men were simply cruel.
“You.”
Uriah flinched.
“Look at me.”
He trembled slightly, his gaze flickering up before his nerves overcame him and he stared back down at the stone floor. Star-speckled scales came into his field of vision as the end of the god’s tail slid across the floor and curled beneath his chin, lifting his head properly. It slithered up along the side of his face and pushed his hair back and away from his eyes.
“That’s better.”
Uriah winced, suddenly aware of the raw strength this being possessed. He stared up at the god in helpless silence, watching his eyes wander over him. The god’s vision lingered on his bindings once more, and Uriah let his gaze drop in shame.
“...You will do,” the god said quietly. Even so, his voice had a power of its own. As the other tributes began voicing their protest, the god snapped his head in their direction and growled. He glowered at them, eyes piercing.
“Silence. Leave.”
The god turned to his servants.
“I will take no more offerings today. See that the others are sent away.”
Uriah let out the air he hadn’t been aware he’d been holding in his lungs. The god chose him? Out of so many other more beautiful people?
The tail that had held his chin released him and instead curled loosely around the end of the rope tied to his neck. The god beckoned to him with a hand, but did not pull.
“Come with me.”
Uriah stared at him, hesitant. He glanced back over his shoulder as the nymphs ushered out the last of the other mortals. He was alone, left to whatever fate waited for him. The god didn’t speak, but repeated the gesture for Uriah to follow. He couldn’t very well disobey a god.
Uriah remained silent and did his best to avoid stepping too close to Orpheus’s tail as it wound along behind him through the halls of the temple. He tried not to let his mind wander, but that only made him more tense. It was ridiculous; he’d consoled himself with the idea of death not even an hour before. Why was he so afraid it then?
At last, the god led him into a room far away from the reception hall, quiet and unoccupied by any others, not even the god’s nymph servants. Uriah swallowed thickly as he briefly observed what he assumed was Orpheus’s personal chambers. He felt himself shaking as the god gestured to a flat stone near the wall.
“Sit.”
Uriah obeyed. The god watched him for a moment, then approached. He held the loose rope that hung from the man’s neck contemplatively, and then brought a second clawed hand close to his throat.
“W-Wait!”
The god froze and blinked at him, perplexed. Uriah stared up at him pleadingly.
“If... I-If you’re going to kill me, just—just please make it quick,” he stammered. “I-I’m not afraid of dying, but...I d-don’t want it to hurt...”
Orpheus continued to look at him blankly. Dumbfounded, even. The hand that hovered near Uriah’s throat remained still a moment more. It rose and stroked through Uriah’s hair, and down to rest against his cheek. Uriah squeezed his eyes shut and stifled a whimper, and then...
He felt the rope fall away from his throat. The god’s palm dropped from his face. Uriah hesitantly opened his eyes again, looking up at the god uncertainly.
“That’s one. Now, about these...”
Orpheus’s used two hands to cradle Uriah’s, the other pair feeling the knots for weak points. The human barely dared to breathe.
“You...Y-You’re not going to kill me?”
“Of course not. What in heaven’s name gave you that idea? Now hush. Let me get these off of you.”
“I-I don’t under—“
“Unless you fancy the idea of me accidentally cutting your wrist open and you bleeding out, dear one, quiet would be appreciated,” Orpheus sighed dryly. Uriah held his tongue.
The god’s claws deftly cut through the cords, one at a time, until the final binding slipped loose to the floor. Uriah felt relieved to no longer feel them digging into his skin, but the mildly bloody marks weren’t exactly pleasant to look at. Orpheus tutted.
“They had no need to be so cruel to you...”
Uriah inhaled sharply as his wounds were touched and instinctively pulled away, but Orpheus held him in place. He lowered himself and placed a hand over each wrist.
“Shhh. Be still.”
Whatever language he murmured, Uriah didn’t understand it. It flowed like water and whispered like the hissing of a serpent. It was soothing. Lyrical, almost. Orpheus moved his hands and bent his face down towards Uriah’s injuries, uttered several more lilting words, and kissed his skin. Uriah shivered as a chill ran through him, up from his injuries and to his core. The cuts in his wrists sealed themselves shut as both of them watched.
“W-W-What was th-that?” he asked through chattering teeth.
“Magic,” Orpheus answered simply, satisfied with his work and rising. He slid over to a massive pile of cushions and woven blankets, and tossed a few aside before deciding on a weaving made from bright threads and brought it to Uriah, draping it around his shoulders.
“The chill will wear off soon.”
Uriah grasped the edges of the blanket and pulled it tighter around himself as the god situated himself across from him, using his coils for a seat. He couldn’t bring himself to look at him. Orpheus watched in silence for a few moments.
“Now, what made you think I would kill you, hmm?”
Uriah fiddled with the fibers of the blanket.
“You may speak freely; I won’t harm you.”
“...Well, I-I know that’s w-what some gods want. S-Sacrifices,” he answered, still shivering. “A-And compared to the others, I-I-I’m not really much to...t-to look at, so... F-Figured that was the o-o-only use you’d h-have of me.”
Orpheus cocked his head.
“You sell yourself short. Perhaps I find you aesthetically pleasing. Are you saying I have bad taste?”
“N-N-No, my lord, I-I didn’t mean—“
“Orpheus.”
Uriah looked at him.
“You can call me by name, dear one. I give you permission.”
His smile was kind, and patient. Uriah felt the warmth of the blanket finally beginning to help. Still, he folded his arms around himself and tucked the blanket against him tightly.
“I-I’m just a servant. I n-never had any say.”
“Were you brought by force, then?”
The man nodded.
“I see.”
Orpheus thought in silence. He gazed at the bundled mortal across from him, taking in his freckled skin and red, curled hair, and his vibrant but gentle green eyes. There was a humble sincerity about him that was oddly endearing. He could see himself growing fond of this one, doting on him in ways he wasn’t used to... It had been an awfully long time since he’d had a companion.
“I don’t believe you told me your name, dear one?”
“Uriah.”
“Uriah,” Orpheus repeated, testing it on his tongue. A soft name. A sweet name.
“Well, Uriah, suppose I have an offer for you. I am not in need of sacrifices, but of company. I’ve been alone for some time, now, and as I haven’t found anyone new on my own, I thought that, perhaps, accepting tributes would be one way to do it.”
“Oh. That’s...something.”
Orpheus rose from his coils and knelt in front of him. But even lowered as he was, he still looked directly into Uriah’s face with ease. He placed a hand on the mortal’s knee.
“But I am no tyrant. I will not keep you here if you do not want to be here. Do you have a home you would like me to return you to?”
Uriah grimaced and shook his head.
“No. I was separated from my family some time ago.”
“My condolences.”
“You... You’d really want me here?” Uriah asked, looking at him with doubt. “I’m not sure I can offer you what you want. I-I don’t even know what a being like you would want with someone like me...”
Orpheus turned his hand over.
“Give me your hand, Uriah, so I can make a promise to you.”
Uriah’s hand wriggled free from the blanket and rested in Orpheus’s palm. He placed a second hand over the man’s, stroking the back of his hand with his fingertips.
“I promise that as long as you are here, as long as it pleases you, you will have every comfort. In exchange for your company, I will give you my protection and my affections. I will never harm you; if I touch you and you do not wish to be touched, I will stop. You’ll never need to fear me. I promise, on my honor as a god.”
Warmth rose to Uriah’s cheeks as Orpheus held his hand and stared up at him, soft and serious all at once. He hadn’t ever been offered even a fraction of what this god was giving him. His chest fluttered.
“If... If you really mean that, then... I’ll stay.”
Orpheus smiled and bent his head to kiss Uriah’s hand. The tingling left behind wasn’t the chill of magic, but pleasant warmth. The god rose and brushed a hand through his hair.
“Very well. I will inform my nymphs so they can prepare space for you. You’ll be needing new clothes as well, I can imagine.”
“Th-Thank you.”
His claws combed through Uriah’s hair once more, and he turned to go.
“Umm... O-Orpheus?”
“Yes?”
“I-I-I haven’t, uh, that is... I...haven’t ever been with a...a-a man...before,” Uriah stammered, his face burning. “W-With anyone, a-a-actually...”
The god blinked, and then smiled with a soft chuckle. The end of his tail curled playfully beneath Uriah’s jaw.
“All things in due time, dear one,” he said gently. “Let’s get to know one another first.”
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The Whore || John Shelby x reader
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⤠ MASTERLIST⤟
Anon requested: “11&19 with John boy? cause I miss him “ (I miss him too, my poor heart aches)
Summary:  n.11 & 19 from prompt list: “Please, please, please” + “I’ll burn this fucking place down” Warnings: swearing, a lot of angst, prostitution, nudity, violence, mentions of abuse, mentions of rape, misogynistic talk, graphic description of signs of physical abuse
Author’s notes:
Behind each one of these works there are sleepless nights and something really close to multiple mental breakdowns, so, please, take a minute to send me a message about it, I need actual feedbacks to understand how to improve my skills and grow ♡
So, this request’s been in my mind for ages, and even though I’m not happy with its final part ‘cause it sucks, I’m literally obsessed with this idea, I love it so much that I’ll probably write a long fic about it, right after Contagio, but it will depend on you babes, because, first and froemost, I need to know what you think about this piece. ⤟ IMPORTANT
Please, if you’re a victim of any kind of abuse, talk to someone who can help you, nobody should go through something like that alone.⤟ IMPORTANT 
I edited the gif and added the text, it’s not an actual scene from the show, but I thought it could be a good idea, a small detail that could be added to my works. What do you think about it? Pls, let me hear your opinions babeees ⤟ 
I’m sorry for being this late, but I’ve been really busy in the past days and writing is never just easy, it demands concentration and effort, plus I don’t want you to be disappointed, so I’m always extra accurate while working. I hope this is worth the wait!
If you want to be added to my tag list, please, directly message me
I’m Italian, English isn’t my first language, so I apologize for every possible mistake I made. Also, please, help me improve my writing by telling me if there’s something wrong
ENJOY!
Birmingham was somehow silent that night, John noticed the unusually empty streets around him, as his feisty pace easily led him towards a well-known destination, his confident steps resounding in between the damp walls of those sordid blocks made of innumerable overcrowded flats. The unmistakable stench of stagnant urine viciously permeated his nostrils, soon causing a disgusted expression to taint his angelic face, while he avidly took the umpteenth drag of smoke from his Cuban cigar and finally stopped his unceasing walk in front of the most renowned brothel in the entire city. For about three years by then, day after day, his life had been perilously circling the drain: things had got totally out of hand, fate had pitilessly thrown him into profound despair, giving life to an apparently endless spiral of darkness and desolation, which was gradually corroding his fragile self, brutally strangling him, rapaciously plundering each of his already strained vital breaths. And, nevertheless, it was beyond hard to blame him for such catastrophic outcomes, after all, he’d scarcely survived the battlefield, only to find himself with a handful of nothing, left alone to deal with a dead wife and four children to raise on his own, while his guts crawled with excruciating grief and ravenous acrimony for the whole world, having him develop a tendency to self-destruction that was just as concerning as it was well concealed.  As a matter of fact, in spite of his private hell, he still remained a Shelby, and a Shelby wasn’t meant to be soft, nor weak, none of them could afford to succumb to their affliction, never, not for a moment. They had to be invulnerable. 
Or, at least, they had to look invulnerable, for truth was that John was scared, utterly frightened by all those unmerciful changes.  Deep inside he felt like a hopeless, undefended child, forsaken by God and discarded to wander that grim world without any destination other than death and misery, thus his blood boiled with virulence and venom, having his heart clench with blind wrath and his devastated young soul desperately long for sort of any distorted kind of unattached affection. That was basically the main reason why his bed was incessantly warm, or more accurately, warmer than it had always been before, because, needless to say, John Shelby had actually been an authentic ladies’ man since his first cry. His stunning beauty constantly teemed on everyone’s lips in Birmingham, there was not a single woman in the whole town who hadn’t dreamt of sleeping with him at least once in her life. Therefore, John was more than happy to please them all, literally, welcoming them with wide open arms, even during his past marriage; and, on those rare times when no girl went to knock on his door, he had now grown accustomed to seek relief into whorehouses, rather than sleep alone and become an easy prey for his ferocious demons.
So he eventually ended up dropping his smouldering cigar on the uneven asphalt of the most rundown place in Small Heath, “Le Belle Donne”, an Italian house of tolerance, quite dilapidated and about to fall to pieces, but which often happened to have his favourite prostitutes. Indeed, ever since the Peaky Blinders had defeated and subjugated Sabini’s clan, they’d occupied a prominent position among the country, to the point that several other Italian gangs on their territory, including the Changrettas who owned that brothel in particular, had finally given in to the Shelbys. As a direct consequence, to put it simply, John and all his brothers had, in a very real sense, earned the full right to abuse of whatever business the wops held.
“Hey, man!”  Johnny resonantly barked as he entered the hall, maintaining a pretty intimidating attitude and a menacing look on purpose, in order to strike even greater fear in his newest flunky. “C’mon, show me what you got” That rough order cunningly glided onto his lower lip, immediately followed by his hot tongue, while his famished gaze travelled around the room, examining the face of each harlot standing there with meticulous attention, without however finding something that could come anywhere close to seriously rapture him. Robert Turrini, the whoremaster, was a bizarre bloke, for his physical appearance could be probably described as both disturbing and amusing: his revortingly corpulent stomach wobbled and his short legs dangerously stumbled, when he made haste to stand up and accommodate his toughest client. “Mr. Shelby, what an honour and a pleasure to have you back!” Those sycophant words fled his moist and malodorous mouth, and nonetheless, his stubby fingers inexorably betrayed his true thoughts, since they were either nervously torturing each other or, as only alternative, convulsively running through his greasy, mangy bangs. “Please, sir, follow me, these are for yokels and boozers, nothing to do with gentlemen like yourself” Once again, Turrini’s shrill fawning tone relentlessly grated his ears, making clear reference to the bunch of second-rate whores who could be found at the entrance; thus the lame pimp quickly moved, his hand anxiously beckoning John to tread upon his heels, then headed towards an eerily narrow corridor, so scanty that it was almost impossible to cross, if not walking on the bias. The secret lounge was illuminated only in part by a squalid red light creating a gruesome atmosphere, a dull silence tyrannically reigned into that small space, although you were not alone, but practically glued to another girl; both sitting on a minuscle sofa, your elbows touching, still none of you dared emit a single sound. Everything felt like lead upon your papier-mâché ribcage, that horrible sensation forcing your traumatized brain to involuntarily keep counting the seconds until that heinous burden would’ve potentially staved in your sternum, definitively annihilating your splintered heart. As a result, when the ramshackle door opened and a high-pitched squeak scraped your skin, you really thought to be about to die. Your torturer made his entrance, and right after him, another man came in, yet you couldn’t spot his face, since the peak of his cap designedly casted a mysterious shadow on it. “These two right here, they're real young, real fresh” Robert flaunted his goods along with a nefarious grin, rubbing his soiled paws with evident greed. “Behold the finest offering of flesh and bone on the market” A sadistic snicker repugnantly accompanied his speech, instantly causing John to frown, visibly disgruntled with the way that man deliberately talked about human beings. Luckily, it was a known fact that the middle Shelby was used to treating his women with all due respect: whether he paid them or not, he always made sure they were comfortable with him and never shrank from giving them some good time as well; therefore, a vexed glare was shot in the direction of his gross interlocutor, before his crystalline eyes briefly fluttered around the place, then bumping into your elegant figure almost at once.
Your bloodstream seemed to benumb on the spot as the stranger’s confident stare entangled yours, his rawboned features being now fully displayed, for he had lifted his chin a little in order to properly look at you, and you only, despite Clarissa’s desperate and petulant attempts to get his attention with malicious smiles and ridiculous pet names. Even though your dazed mind had just been ruthlessly brutalized by the sudden, ablaze assault of his glacial irises, a few moments were enough for you to realize how profoundly different he was from all the low-down rats who usually came through that horrible place.
Each sharp, still somehow delicate, trait of his face was brimming with delicious youthfulness, a less keen eye might have even confounded his freshness with actual naivety, but not yours; you were far too clever to make such a coarse mistake. Furthermore, the midnight-blue posh fabric of the classy suit, remarkably folding his majestic body, left gaunt doubt that he was, in all likelihood, a considerably rich man, which was beyond disorientating you, since the price to pay for some tawdry delight in that brothel was outrageously derisory, to say the least. And ultimately, as much as it killed you to conceive it, he was without question one of the most enchanting men you had ever seen, to the point that you found yourself subconsciously wondering the possible reason why a heavenly creature of his kind would’ve needed to buy a miserable hour of dissembled love. 
“There she is” That malleable murmur, filled with longing and gratification, furtively sidled past John’s roseate mouth, as its corners seductively bent upwards and his gaze persevered in its praiseworthy commitment to scrupulously linger your finest shape in sheer adoration. Lace and organdy sublimely merged on the light crimson negligee you were wearing, your immaculate form appeared as a beguiling paradox into his dilated pupils, being your long legs lecherously left exposed, while every inch of your porcelain skin, from your lean neck to your groin, was painstakingly disguised by that unholy material, dark and inscrutable, albeit thin enough to allow him to glimpse the inviting turgidity of your nipples. His breath shuddered in awe when he went back to contemplate your aphrodisiac facial features, flushed cheeks and plump lips having him ache with desire, and then your doe eyes flooded by melancholy, strangling his soul with no mercy, entrenching into his brains the treacherous conviction that, at the end of the day, he would’ve gladly dilapidated his fortune, if only to venerate you from afar. “Oi, sweetheart!” His low voice finally rumbled within the walls of that small space, overwhelmingly vibrating into your abdomen, while you forced yourself to swallow the painful lump obstructing your throat and stand up, promptly responding to his command, aware as you had become that rebelling against your pitiable destiny would’ve served no purpose at all. Holding your client’s hand behind your back, but keeping your head down during the whole route, you silently guided him up the spiral staircase to the best room in the house, like you had previously been instructed by your pimp. His jacket and hat were quickly hung on the apposite coat-rack, leaving his muscular top covered with just his white shirt and blue vest, an alluring grin was flashed in your direction and you detected a libidinous sparkle in his irises, as he healed the rift between you at a slow pace. “What should I call you, sweetheart?” He knowingly used the same flattering pet name once more, whispering that barely audible question into your ear, for he was now behind you: his large hands laid around your waist, gently making your back and his vigorous chest fit together, while his skilled mouth brushed forthwith against your nape, drawing an ardent contrail of ephemeral pecks up until your jaw. “Just y/n” You gasped in response, the marked contrast between his warmth and your bitter cold body, along with crippling dread eating you alive, caused your scrambled stomach to squirm and your eyelids to distressingly shut into a frown. “Well, that’s a pretty good one, I’m John, by the way” A lovely, yet hinted giggle fleetingly filled your ears together with that little compliment; there was no record of mockery in his tone, though, it simply sounded like he wanted to be nice to you, without any aspiration of personal gain, and you almost blushed, caught off guard and no longer used to any form of kindness. Nevertheless, it was a matter of instants before another wet, long kiss was pressed on your jawline, making you startle with evident apprehension and, at a later time, definitively back away from him, as soon as you sensed his touch abandoning your hips only to climb your sides, till he reached for your nightgown’s collar and his fingers began to fiddle with its round buttons. “No, I’ll do it!” You curtly gave notice, as you temporarily lost control of both your speech and actions, placing your hands above his in order to shrug them off, then turning to face him with short breath, your open palms shielding you. “I got it” A noticeably softer voice supplanted your preceding rudeness once you gradually metabolised how much damage your incautious reaction could’ve done.
“Aye, aye, darling, as you wish” But John just chuckled, tenderly humouring you, while his forearms jokingly lift in surrender to your commands, although, truth be told, your strange behaviour had left him a bit bewildered, well-nigh confused. Carefully moving backwards, he cockily made himself comfortable on the edge of the double bed, sitting right in front of you with splayed legs, his yearning stare never deflecting from you, and started to unbutton his waistcoat along with his shirt and undershirt, until his statuesque torso was completely nude, in all its glory, as the moon transpired through the curtains and shed its faint rays on his every contour, superbly enhancing all of his muscles.
Without reprieve, he ogled up at you in pure adoration, devastatingly astonished afresh by your dazzling beauty, eager to feel your afire flesh around his, literally hanging on your every word or move, while a provocative smirk steadily rippled his lips. Still, he kept questioning why a seraphic vision like you was slowly withering away in that authentic hell on heart, adamantly squandering your blush of youth amidst that rabble of unrestrained putridity. It made absolutely no sense, and he couldn’t get rid of that pernicious thought haunting his mind ever since he had first seen you: you looked nervous, extremely defensive, almost paralyzed with fear; you seemed so different from all the whores he’d had before, hence his instincts, however obfuscated with cupidity, were screaming that something was wrong.  And when he watched you turn your back on him again, so to avoid his penetrating gaze as you reluctantly got undressed, it was enough for him to understand that his execrable hunch was right. Nevertheless, by the time his head managed to eventually reconnect to his mouth, it was already too late, the soft textile of your nightdress ineluctably fell to your feet, leaving you naked under his starving leer.
John choked on his own breath; for the very first time, he felt like a fledgling kid at his earliest experience, no matter if nothing could be further form the truth, in some turbid, cryptic way, you were able to make him vulnerable. His craw went hellishly dry while he continued to gape at you in awe, the sinuous curves of your flawless glutes, the meandering line of your superlatively arched back covered in part by your soft hair, your tensed shoulders and your refined legs, everything about you caused his mind to go entirely black, words stifling in his throat. Yet, as soon as you moved to face him and his sight was blessed with the full view of your voluptuous figure, something altered the light in his cerulean eyes, suddenly making it dark and gloomy. His jaw slightly dropped under the weight of that violent dismay: in conjunction, an obnoxious sense of nausea cruelly shot him in the gut and blind anger virulently assailed him, for your front bust was completely martyrized.
“What the hell...” That unmeant babble died in the gelid air, his shocked orbs demarcating the strokes of your damaged silhouette: your neck and collarbone were horridly plastered with several violet fingerprints, as if someone had mercilessly strangled you over and over, greenish bruises with the shape of full palms circled both your arms, there were conspicuous signs of ligature around your tiny wrists. Worse still, his eyelids had to squeeze a little in order to bring into focus the multiple oxblood dots stigmatizing your soft breasts, until he noticed in horror how those round specks were effectively cigarettes burns; all of the oxygen bluntly withdrew from his lungs, when he dwelled on the multiple blue and black marks barbarically desecrating the protuberances of your ribs. But what irremediably drove him over the edge were the two ghastly scars digging stretched grooves in your lower stomach, in parallel with your bulging pelvic bones and down almost to your livid groin.
Prey of that deleterious humiliation, you observed raw disgust contaminating his features and, with no apparent reason, the dormant hatred you had for yourself began to ferment inside your belly. “I-I’m sorry” you forced yourself to swallow your imminent tears, unexpectedly, the awareness of not being able to please him somehow inflicted more suffering on your mangled soul “If I’m not to your taste, y-you can...” The young man quickly stood up and, before you had the chance to finish your nonsensical sentence, he readily grabbed his shirt, approaching you with dispatch, his cold irises burning with an implausible mixture of fury and concern. “I don’t fucking care right now” His voice was unsteady, rolling down his tongue in fatigued panting, as his hands hastened to wrap his shirt around your shoulders, his trembling fingers struggling to put the buttons through the eyelets  “Who did this to you?” In truth, he was talking to himself rather than with you, noticeable impatience worsening his mad tone, yet you persistently steered clear of his inquiring look, more than determined to keep your mouth shut, forasmuch as your dizzy head was already helplessly spinning, along with your heart rabidly hammering against your sore ribcage. You were having a hard time figuring out what was going on, everything around you was so confused, you didn’t even know whether to trust him or not, you only wanted to close your eyes and forget about that lucid nightmare. “I’m not asking you, for fuck’s sake! Tell me who it was!”  That searing order tersely brought you back to reality and cleared how easily his rash temper could reemerge; indeed, all of a sudden, no trace was left of that kind, cheerful boy who earlier that night had succeeded in making you genuinely blush, on the contrary, when he cupped your cheeks and vehemently shook you, in a desperate effort to get your attention, his rough, authoritative command unbendingly hit you, and the sweet child within him ended up being thoroughly smothered by the scary, ruthless gangster that he truly was. That unforeseen contact had your feet automatically stagger backwards, your eyes fell to your tiptoes and your teeth started skewering your lower lip, while your exhausted brain resorted to its last ounce of strength, thereby obligating you to spit out a bit of your sorrow. “Three months ago, the man I once called father sold me to settle one of his debts with the Italians” Your thorax seemed to shrink to the point of absurdity once you became aware that it was essentially the first time you allowed yourself to say it all out loud. However, the presence of that compassionate stranger still represented for you a substantial barrier to surmount, leading your unquiet glance to franticly move from the grime on the floor, to the broken window on your left, anywhere, but never daring to meet his. “ I tried to run away, I swear I did, but they always caught me and-” 
A large knot callously plugged the bottom of your palate, causing you to hesitate for a minute, gently rubbing your own arms, in attempt to comfort yourself . “Robert has a short fuse, he g-gets pretty brutal when you don’t cooperate” Those disenchanted considerations carried an involuntary grin, it was nothing more than a spasm, but hid the unmistakable sign of an imminent cry, and John’s attentive irises certainly did not let it go unnoticed, yet he chose to stay quiet, because the last thing he would’ve wanted in that crucial moment was to scare you even more. “He beat me to death, each time harder than the time before, and then he let those men-... He-e kept me tied to that bed for days to teach me a lesson” Copious tears were now unremittingly streaming down your flushed face, your heart aching with raw affliction, preventing you from breathing properly, one of your palms instinctively went to cover the space between your breasts, in a vain whirl to ease that excruciating grief. “Oh, God” John simply sighed, he was precariously theetering on the verge of tears as well, thick veins untamedly pumped in the proximity of his temples, till his solid shape ruinously keeled over the longest side of the bed, his elbows piercing his own thighs, as he hid behind his clenched fists and finally permitted himself to indulge a couple of muffled sobs. Innumerable atrocities had clouded his eyes and soul during his brief life, he himself was capable of unspeakable acts of cruelty, still, that was absolutely intolerable, hearing your story was taking a terrible toll on him. Try as he might, he couldn’t conceive how somebody could have been so hopelessly evil, to abuse in such a heinous way a defenseless creature as pure as you were. That thought was irretrievably disturbing him, rancorously eroding his bowels, almost depriving him of his sanity.
“U-until I stopped fighting them”  Your last, indescribably anguished whisper struck the fatal blow, it unrelentingly plunged into his chest, sending an unbearable jolt of pain through his poisoned veins. For a brief instant, his expression, together with yours, harshly turned into a mask made of neat despair, as if your synapsis had been ravelled and both of you were enduring the exact same ache, at the exact same moment.
“I’ll fucking kill him!” Then, all at once, something apopletic inside him violently detonated, he berserkly stood up, roughly tripping over the beside table and everything placed on it. “Fucking kill that filthy bastard with my own two hands, bloody hell!” His hoarse yells made your bruised skin cringe and his furious steps covered the whole length of the room in the space of a scant minute; he was literally seething with murderous fits of rage, teeth grinding with irrepressible choler. “No!” your desperate voice erupted afresh and you hurried to reach for him, your hands unconsciously enveloping his cheekbones “Please, please, John, please, stop!” For the first time, his name slipped out of your aching throat in between those pathetic pleads, your wrists forced him to look at you, in attempt to dissuade him from his homicidal purposes; the mere thought of the potential disastrous consequences to his calamitous ire totally asphyxiated you, rampant panic assaulted your frail mind and, soon after, you found yourself hyperventilating and simultaneously rambling a bunch of incoherent words, your fingers gradually tightening their grip on him. “He’s gonna get so angry at me, he’s gonna- he-he’s...” “I’m a fucking Shelby, he does not draw a damn breath unless I say so” He firmly grabbed your chin with just two of his fingers, guiding your depleted pupils to entirely focus on his confident stare, and he growled that undisputable fact a span away from your nose. Petrified by that new awareness, you fell utterly silent, only gawking in his direction, while he put his undershirt back on with ease and rapidly grasped his cap. “Just stay here, do you hear me? Don’t move until I come back” An incandescent kiss was impulsively pressed to your forehead, no other words were spent, before he disappeared behind the door of your private hell. When your persecutor saw his special guest unyieldingly storming towards his desk with a truculent expression exuding fervent disappointment, he jumped on his feet, ready to find a solution to whatever problem had possibly arisen; one thing was sure, he never would’ve guessed what was about to happen. “Mr. Shelby, what’s wron-” John’s fist savagely collided with his jaw, nipping his cloying speech in the bud, without giving Turrini a second to process what was going on, another punch pitilessly smote him, and then another one, and then another, until hot, plenteous blood gushed from his multiple wounds. “You son of a bitch”   Animalistic groans left his rabid maws, sheer hate rushing through his brains, as he violently tossed him to the ground, immediately beginning to kick his torso with all of his brute force. “Mercy! I beg of you, sir, have mercy!” His victim’s prayers and harrowing screams barely titillated his ears, everything he could think about was your tragically marred body, hence an unbridled desire to give him a taste of his own medicine completely took over. “Where was your mercy when you were torturing her?”  Expertely holding his hat in the most efficient way, in a fury, John went down on his sacrificial lamb, promptly disfiguring just one side of his face, in order to take a quite theatrical pause from his wicked work.
“When she was imploring you to stop?”  Robert was now crying out loud, overwhelmed by that merciless agony, reduced to just invoke the glacial scynt of death, since nothing in his entire miserable existence had ever caused him more intense pain, than the coarse perception of a finely sharpened razorblade brutishly lacerating his flesh once more, inch by inch.
“Now bend your ear to this” despite his wrenching laments, John rudely lift him up by seizing the blood stained collar of his jacket “if anyone else but me goes near her fucking room again, I’ll burn this fucking place down!” And with that first, deadly threat the pimp’s head was brutally slammed into the wall, an umpteenth whine of contrition escaping his mouth filled with blood, nevertheless, no time was left for redemption.
“You lay a finger on her again” his skull was doggedly crashed into the bricks once again, a crimson spatter smeared the pale plaster covering them “I will break your neck” John’s knuckles clasped, having his red right hand effectively strenghten its hold on his neck, nearly killing him on the spot. However, fortunately for the whoremaster, Johnny would’ve not put an end to his sufferings, nor he could've simply taken you away, deep inside, he knew he needed to discuss it with his family, first and foremost, with Thomas, for the unstable equilibrium reached by the Peaky Blinder was far too fragile to start a new war against the Italians. Thus, with great difficulty, he forced himself to keep his mind clear and put a lid on his beastly instinct. “From now on, no one of you dirty swines is allowed to even look at her”  Throwing him to the floor, the middle Shelby delivered one last kick straight to his fat abdomen, and disrespectfully spit on him, marking with his salt slaver the end of his brutalized prey’s calvary. “By order of the Peaky Blinders”   As soon as the crackling door snapped open, your heart seemed to explode, your eyelids bolted with pure fear, whilst you pulled your knees closer to your clavicles, an ancient prayer lingering your lips together with heavy breaths, as you prepared for the worst. But the worst never came. “Y/n, hey, calm down. It’s all right” John’s husky voice echoed in your ears, and, you could’ve sworn it, that was, without the slightest doubt, the most beautiful sound you had ever heard. Your head abruptly tilted in his direction, an oxymoric mixture of fear and hope twinkling into your watery irises, deep pants still rocking your tiny self. “It’s me, it’s just me” Keeping his arms up to indicate his innocuous purpose, he carefully approached you. Almost immediately, you noticed the several scarlet handprints staining his pale top, eloquent sign that he had tried to wipe his palms on that ivory material as best as he could. Yet, you were so profoundly relieved to see his friendly face, that, to be honest, the sight of fresh blood didn’t upset you at all. It was like you had fallen into a fugue state, every single thing around you was so distant, your numb senses were only able to concentrate on John’s lean silhouette kneeling in front of you. “ No one will hurt you anymore, darling” his hands gently went to caress your thighs, while his worried gaze tirelessly sought yours and he spoke those soft, reassuring words “You need to trust me”. And you did want to put all of your faith in that young man. His delicate flair easily awakened you from that ostensible slumber, building a rousing fire inside your belly; without a thought about your unforeseen actions, you threw your arms around his strong neck, your knees producing a dry sound as they collided with the wooden pavement, still you didn’t care and you held him tight, letting out loud cries and drowning into his muscular chest, finally revelling in the feeling of that warm embrace. Soon, he entangled his callous fingers with your velvety locks, subconsciously narrowing his solid shoulders, as to shield your frangible figure from the outside world. “I'll get you out of here soon, I promise”
tag list: @spidey-pal​, @shadow-of-wonder​, @stassaurus​​, @peachlle​, @livvtheangel​, @myjbphase​, @namelesslosers, @crazyonesarethebest​, @vxxn128​, @keithseabrook27​, @spaghettirogers​​, @writingstudent​​, @hp-hogwartsexpress​​
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Text
Shinso’s bestfriend
Request 
Summary:  Hi can a request a Shinso x reader, where she has a quirk that allows her to fly and she control natural wind (can’t create her own). Maybe she’s reckless and sees good in everyone. She’s with class 1-a and takes interest in him after the sports festival. Maybe Shinso teams up with the squad to help get her back during the Bakugo Rescue. He can see her try to reason with Shigaraki that he can be good and get hurt as result, maybe when she’s safe a fluff filled confession? Thank you babe XO
Warning: fluff, angst, language
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"That was amazing," she said as she watched him exit the infirmary she was leaning against the wall. He scoffed at her and turned his back towards her walking away. "Really with a quirk like that... Don't tell Midoriya, but you should have won." He stopped turning around. She began to speak again, but he used his quirk.
"Tell me what you really think of me."
"I like you're quirk and think you're amazing. Although you lack physical strength, one day, you will be an amazing hero."
Shinso didn't know what to say or do he was speechless. No one really believed in him, but this girl knew nothing about him besides what she saw today and that one time in the hall. And she thought he could do it and he for the first time ever actually believed someone. He believed her.
When she finally snapped out of it, he was long gone. It was when her fight was announced that he learned her name. (Y/n) (L/n).
After the sports festival, Shinso continued to see (Y/n), and the two became friends, although Shinso would never say that out loud. They spent more time together outside of school away from everyone else. The two eventually became best friends. Shinso genuinely enjoyed his time with her giving any time that wasn't in training or focused on school to her.
"Hey," (Y/n) said, pulling Shinso from his thoughts, she handed him his ice cream, "where did you go?"
"Got lost," he said as she sat next to him on the beach with her ice cream.
"I'm happy to have found you." she giggled.
The two sat in silence. Usually, the silence made him uncomfortable as it often came when people were scared of him and his quirk. But with (Y/n) it was comfortable and content, her simple present always put him in a state of peace.
As the sun began to set, Shinso turned to her, knowing she'd like some sappy stuff like this but found her sleeping peacefully next to him. She had managed to curl herself into him without realizing it.
Sitting back on his elbows looking down at her, he couldn't help but reach forward gently touch her cheek, almost like he was afraid of touching her like she was so fragile and could fall apart with a simple touch as if she wasn't real. He held his breath as she moved in her sleep, pushing her face into his hand. Opening her eyes slightly, she rolled over on to his shoulder, hesitantly he lays back and wraps his arms around her waist.
He couldn't explain this feeling. It felt so good to have her in his arms brought a blissful pleasure he could not describe.
A couple nearby walked passed the two and whispered, "Aw, they look so cute together. Young love."
Love. He was in love. My god, he was in love with his best friend. -
He didn't tell her about his newfound feelings, and he continued to act normal even though he was viewing her in a new light now. Or at least he thought he was.
"Hey, are you okay?" He looked at her confused, "You've been looking at me weird. What is it?"
"That's the dress. It looks good on you. But do you think you'll need one for training camp."
"No, but I thought it looked cute. Can't I buy something cute?"
"You can. Sorry, I just assumed we were shopping for your summer training camp."
"Are you still upset with me? I can't blow off training camp; I need it." (Y/n) said, "And you need to train too. We should use our time apart to get stronger."
"I'm just worried is all. Bad feelings."
"Don't stress, you'll get lines" she said, smoothing out the lines on his forehead until he relaxes. She leaned down foreheads touching "I'll change back and buy this, and then we'll go get lunch. How does that sound?" he leaned forward, their lips barely touching. He pulled away.
"That sounds good." - Now looking back, he wishes he'd taken that kiss then and there. Now looking at the tv, he wished she had stayed home, but she went camping, and she didn't come back. The villains took her snatched up in the dark without anyone noticing. It wasn't until they tried to account for everyone afterward that they noticed she too was gone with Bakugo.
How could they be so blinded? How could they leave her? How could they not see?
- (Y/n) was a good person. Everyone knew this. Everyone saw this. She saw the good in everyone she thought of everyone as a good person, even those who weren't, and she always tried to help everyone and pull the good out of everyone. And with him, she did manage to pull the good out of him, and she did with most people. But not with this guy never with this guy.
Bakugo yelled out as Shigaraki reached forward to (y/n) she was smiling happily at him tilting her head in the cute she always did when she was sad and tired to hide it. He placed four fingers on her cheek and tilted her head down. Shigaraki chuckled "so naive" his four fingers slide down her neck and on to her chest "to think you could change me "He placed all five fingers on her chest and pushed.
(Y/n) watched as her shirt fell to ash, and her skin began to crack and peel. She gasped, trying to step back, but he wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her in between his legs pressing his palm flat on her chest as more of her skin fell away. In her moment of panic, she couldn't even scream just gasping and trying to pull away.
"now, now, where are you going? I thought you wanted to help me?" he teased as more skin started to peel and fall apart half her chest gone and her shirt becoming more of a jacket than anything else.
Bakugo screamed and thrashed as he watched (Y/n) fall limp in his arms and fell to the floor unconscious. He pulled at the chains trying to break free, but nothing happened. Even the others standing to the side found the scene distasteful the boys screams also pulled at their hearts strings as the girl's words managed to touch even them. She was trying to help. - "I'm coming with you" Everyone turned to find Shinso.
They didn't know about him besides the fact that he was in general education, had a brainwashing quirk, and was (Y/n) 's best friends. He had come to the hospital asking questions about (Y/n) asking who was with her before she disappeared, what happened, who took her. Unfortunately, no one had answers because no one was with her last she was alone, and no one noticed she was gone until someone did a headcount. Her missing had gone unnoticed. And that angered him.
"you're going to save them. I'm coming with you."
"Listen-"
"No. You shit heads didn't even notice she was gone. What's to say you won't do it again, take up the blonde dick and leave her behind?"
"We would never..." Midoriya went still as Shinso's quirk took over
"Shut up. I'm going to save her with or without. We can work together or not, and it would be more beneficial together. But I'm going either way." Shinso released Midoriya and turned to walk away from the others soon after followed him.
They stood shaking in complete terror fear coming over them—the shear power they didn't know what to do. There was nothing they could do. They were so helpless, helpless children in the middle of an epic battle. A blood battle that had just begun and already had many casualties how fortunate for them to survive. Even if they did survive at that moment, they all imagined their death.
Shinso was brought back to reality when hear Bakugo shouting (Y/n) 's name—looking through a hole in the barely standing wall. And he saw. Bakugo was standing in the middle of the wreckage holding (Y/n) 's limp body to his chest. As Shinso went to move, Iida grabbed the front of his shirt along with Midoriya's holding them back and stopped them from making any risky decisions.
"We have to do something. We have to save (y/n)," Shinso said, trying to pull away from Iida, but he pushed him harder.
"Stop, there is nothing we can do."
"wait," Midoriya said, "I have a plan." - The rescue was successful. The plan had worked amazingly. Bakugo flew out of the wreckage with (Y/n) in his arms. Of course, with the amount of explosive Bakugo released, she received a bit of ear damage, but she was alive, and that's all that mattered. Now she was in the hospital recovering.
Shinso knocked on the door frame.
"Hey, what are you doing here?"
"Can't I come to see my best friend?"
"Yes, yes, I'm sorry I didn't expect anyone today. The nurse said no visitors today."
"You can say I persuaded her"
She smiled, shaking her head. She pulls the blankets up to her chest. "Um...a lot happened. I heard you helped save me. Thank you"
"Always"
(Y/n) tried to small her bottom lip quivering. Shinso reached forward, taking her hand and squeezing it gently. "Why? Why are you always here? Always by my side, I knew it must get annoying, frustrating. This cheerful stupid girl always by your side."
"No, I like it. It's a change of pace from my gloomy life. You bring color to everything."
"Yeah right-"
"I love you, I love you and... "He got up and began to leave.
"No, please don't go" He turned around to see her trying to get out of bed. He quickly rushed to her side and pushed her back on to the bed. "Please stay."
"You don't have to say anything back. I'm not expecting anything from you."
"I love you too. Have for quite a while. I liked you since we first met, and it grew from there."
"I don't know when I fell in love with you." Shinso said, "But I remember when I realized it. It was that day on the beach when You fell asleep in my chest. The weird feelings started, and I was looking down at you, and I thought you looked so beautiful and ... I just... I could imagine my entire future with you... Is that weird?"
(Y/n) giggled "no, it's not. It's beautiful. Thank you"
"Why are you thanking me?"
"For putting up with me?"
"I mean, you are a hand full. Don't worry. You can just use the rest of your life to make it up to me."
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excidium · 3 years
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@ladysluck​  liked for a Chat Blanc starter.
        It had happened again. And just like the first time, it had been something that both Chat Noir and Ladybug had failed to find out before they were confronted with it. Despite their many years of fighting against the masked supervillain, nothing could’ve prepared them for what reveal came upon stumbling into his lair.
       However, this time... Things had been different than in the timeline Bunnix had previously pulled in this Ladybug to save. Deja vu would not serve her well here, as the circumstance in which it happened had varied greatly. They were older, and their identities had yet to be revealed -- due to the fear of a reveal leading to this exact situation. If only they had known that their love for each other was never the problem. The problem was and would only continue to be Gabriel Agreste. The man who had found out his son’s identity before Ladybug, and the man who would stop and nothing to bring back his lost love. Even if that had meant using his own son to make that wish come true.
      Chat hadn’t warned his partner of what was about to happen, even though he had his own suspicions as they had crept up closer to where their opponents supposed hideout was. He had recognized and felt nauseous upon realizing that Hawkmoth’s layer was inside of Agreste Mansion. He said nothing as they snuck inside, and he had said nothing as they had broken into the secret underground layer. Ladybug couldn’t worry about him. If Hawkmoth was his Father, he needed to be brought to justice. Had she known that her partner was Adrien Agreste, he was afraid that she wouldn’t go through with it to spare him ( to prevent his inevitable breakdown ). He needed to be strong. Strong for her. Strong for Plagg. Strong for the city that he swore he would protect. He would not allow that distant timeline to become reality. Or so, he wished that he wouldn’t.
      Once they had finally cornered the man, he attempted to gain control of the situation. However, Chat was much wiser and more in control of himself than his younger self had been the first time around. The moment he had tried to bait him by saying his real name to reveal his identity, he only flattened his ears in response and gave a very agitated “Father” in response. While clearly upset, the only part of him that was moving was his tail -- which was swishing back and forth erratically to signify that he was either incredibly agitated or upset. This was the last way he ever wanted his identity reveal to happen between him and Ladybug -- but what was done was done.
      However, he didn’t remain unphased for long. If he had, he wouldn’t have been human. When Gabriel realized that his first attempt at manipulation had failed, he moved onto phase two -- revealing that he was trying to bring back Emilie. That was what had got to him. Not the fact that his abusive Father was a supervillain -- no. Gabriel had willingly destroyed their relationship over the years due to his inability to cope with the loss of his wife. Him being a supervillain wasn’t the most surprising thing to him, even if it still shook Adrien to the core. The fact that he had lied to him about his Mother’s disappearance, and was keeping her locked away in their basement on life support, was what got him.
     Eyes grew wide in shock, ears whipping forward from their aggressive positioning. ❝ Mother?! ❞ He says in a near whisper, before taking the bait and running towards the pod. Gabriel’s frown twists into a putrid smile, but he waits to make his move. Chat places one of his clawed hands on the glass, tears running down his face as he looks inside the life pod at Emilie’s unconscious body. His emotions quickly begin to unravel. ❝ Why are you doing this? ❞ He asks as his voice cracks, his ears returning to lay flat against his head. ❝ Isn’t it obvious? I’m doing it for us. To bring our family back together. To make us whole again. ❞ There’s a sharp inhuman growl that rips through Chat’s throat as he turns to face Gabriel. ❝  She wouldn’t have wanted this! I don’t want this! ❞ He was angry, but was also pleading with his Father, as if he still had a shred of hope in him that he would come around. That was his last mistake as Chat Noir.
   ❝ Whether she would approve of my methods or not is irrelevant. The ends justify the means. Do you or do you not wish to see your Mother again? ❞ He’s reading his staff to Akumatize him, but Chat isn’t paying attention. He’s too busy looking like he’s lost, scared and confused -- and that’s because he is. There was no wonder why the Chat Blanc of the alternate timeline was as powerful as he was. The more distressed and upset one was, the more powerful their Akumatized form was. In many ways, Gabriel had picked both the best and worst target for his final stand.
      Gabriel places a hand on Adrien’s shoulder, then opens the dome at the top of his staff to let the Akuma free. ❝ Now. Be a good son, and retrieve Ladybug’s Miraculous for me. ❞ Chat doesn’t have any time to react before the dark butterfly makes its way into his bell, spreading its dark magic throughout the object. The familiar purple hue spreads over his face, and he cries out in pain as he tries to fight it, scratching the glass of the dome Emilie is being kept under with his claws. Unfortunately, the horrible sound of scraping glass isn’t enough to wake her and talk some sense into her husband -- the damage has already been done. There was no coming back from this. ❝ Chat Blanc, I give you the ultimate power of destruction, and the ability to unlock your true potential. Use it to bring me Ladybug’s Miraculous. ❞
    ❝ Mom... Ladybug... I’m sorry, I can’t- ❞ He falls to his knees as the cloud of black and purple overtakes his body, dissipating moments later to reveal white where black once was. He doesn’t move from where he is, but his now sharpened claws scrape against the ground and dig deep into it. Hawkmoth frowns, looking down at his son’s broken form. ❝ What are you waiting for? Seize he- ❞ Before he could finish his sentence, Chat lunges at him with his claws ready to kill. Hawkmoth narrowly dodges, one of the sharp finger tips catching his exposed cheek and drawing blood immediately upon contact. Chat lands in front of him on all fours, pacing erratically like a caged animal as he bares his sharpened canines at his Father. ❝ Not me, her! ❞ He sounds almost panicked -- the most emotion he’s heard from his Father in a while. G̶o̵o̵d̴.̷ ̶H̷e̷ ̶d̴e̸s̷e̶r̶v̸e̴s̷ ̷i̸t̸.̶
     ❝ Get out of my head! ❞ He yells before lunging at him again, swiping at him as his ears lay flat against his head. This was a much different outcome than before -- and it hadn’t yet ended with the destruction of the moon. There was still time to stop that from happening; if it would ever end up happening at all at this point. Hawkmoth stumbles backwards from the onslaught of attacks, but being unused to actually engaging in combat himself... He’s too slow. After a few panicked swipes that make him stumble backwards into the garden, Blanc’s claws come into contact with flesh. Their suits were made to be indestructible -- but they’re not impervious to the holder of the Miraculous of destruction.
     Crimson waves of blood splatter onto his white suit and hair, staining it a bright red. His claws drip with the substance as Hawkmoth falls back to the ground, gasping for air as the wind is knocked out of him. He’s in shock that his son had turned on him, and that even his ultimate plan had failed. If Ladybug had been begging him to stop, he hadn’t heard her. The only thing he had heard were the demands to steal his partners Miraculous, and it had filled him with blind furry. However, the reality of what he had just done hit him like a freight train. Adrien Agreste nor Chat Noir were murders. They were both very gentle souls who would always rely on empathy and understanding over all else. What he had just done was very uncharacteristic of him, and something that he wouldn’t have ever done had he not been Akumatized. And while Gabriel was still alive, there was rapid blood loss. Blue eyes widened in horror, and he stumbled away from his Fathers body before falling onto his butt in front of the fallen villain. L̴e̷t̵ ̴h̶i̸m̸ ̷b̶l̴e̸e̶d̶.̶
     He breathes heavy as his fragile psyche only continues to break, tears running down his face as his eyes stay wide. He stares down at his bloody hand, chest rising and falling rapidly. He feels like he’s going to be sick again, and everything is much too loud. Everything is too bright. He feels like the world is closing on him, like it’s judging him for being a bad son. Whether by the voice shouting commands at him in his head or through his own recollection, he remembers all of a sudden that he hadn’t come here alone. No, he had come here with -- ❝ Ladybug! ❞
     He cries out alarmed, then looks around for her in a panic. He looks genuinely frightened, but looks could be deceiving. He was mentally unstable, and him attacking his Father with the intent to kill was evident of that. Still, he needed her. She had to help him, she had to reverse this. ❝ Ladybug, help! ❞ Even though Hawkmoth was saying nothing, the terms of the forced agreement were still intact. The directions were ringing over again and again in his head, almost preventing him from thinking. He now understood why all of his victims obeyed him with no hesitation -- this was the very definition of torture.
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huronnade-moved · 4 years
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Completely AU drabble ahead.  Set in a universe where, though the Crossover between Huron and Vide happened, Deeana is strictly Kuro’s squadmate.  No cheating, no relationship drama.  Also, though the drabble is written in English, all dialogue is in Hural.
                                                           _____  . ( 🞮 ) .  _____
       The theatre tended to be quiet after hours.  The only sounds that filled it were quiet breathing and page turning.  Occasionally, the quiet would ebb away with gentle voices, ciclicle carriages of conversation running their course before the atmosphere returned once more.  Neither were bored;  both were enraptured by the ambience that had always existed between them, even after they’d long since parted ways.  
     Tonight felt different in some way, though.  For some reason, the air felt even more charged than usual.
     ❝ Well, ‘s gettin’ late.  I should head home, ❞   Kuro muttered, folding his book closed and hopping from his perch on the end of their stage.  Murr tried not to swallow too hard at the feeling of their knees brushing as he did so, heart leaping into his throat like a bear-trap attempting to catch something.  It didn’t take long for it to sink back down, landing like a stone in his gut.  It always sucked when Kuro had to leave.
     ❝ Yeah, I getcha.  Ya probably gotta be up early, huh? ❞   Though he forced his voice to echo its usual ease, there was an undeniable pang of longing attached limply to the end.  Please just stay.  Just tonight.  I’ll never trouble you again if you just stay with me tonight.   ❝ Thanks fer comin’ over. ❞
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     ❝ Y’don’t gotta thank me every single time, y’know, ❞  Kuro replied with a brow arched high, shrugging his coat on as he attempted to make eye contact with him.  Though Murr’s face was often cloaked in static, much like everyone else he tried to look in the eye, there were moments where his image would come through,  like a transmission finally reaching its designated station after a hell of a delay.  Those times were what Kuro hungered for.  Though he wouldn’t admit it out loud, Murr had grown into a beautiful man.  It confused him greatly.  He’d never looked at men like he was looking at his friend before;  he didn’t think he had any interest.  There were a lot of things he didn’t understand upon this whirlwind of a person inserting himself back into his life.  Perhaps this was his punishment for wounding him so:  an eternity of questioning.   ❝ Yer my best friend.  Of course I’ll come ‘n’ see y’whenever I can. ❞
     ❝ It still seems important enough ta be thankful fer. ❞   Though Murr’s face was concealed by that pesky shadow that hung over his shoulder, Kuro watched as his friend turned his head, breaking assumed eye contact almost nervously.     ❝ I know what it’s like ta not see ya fer ages, so I’m happy ‘n’ grateful when I do. ❞
     There was a strange pause, one filled with energy neither of them could place.  Unsure of the cause, Kuro took in his slightly elevated heartbeat with some amount of chagrin, cursing himself for being so easily afflicted.  So he’d had a crush on Murr in his youth…  so what?  They were changed people, far past the awkward phase that they’d left each other on.  Things were different now.
     If that’s so, why do you feel hot under the collar?      Shut up.  I don’t.
     His hand hovered over the theatre’s door-handle, heartbeat thundering in his ears as he thought about how best to bid his friend goodnight.  Why are you even thinking about this?  Just say goodnight.  His lips parted to speak, though no sound came out;  his frame remained like a pillar in the doorway, hulking and dark.
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     ❝ Uhm…  everythin’ okay? ❞
     ❝ ... ❞   Was it?  He couldn’t really make heads or tails of the feelings currently swarming him.  For months now, he’d felt the tension in him rise to an unbearable level.  He’d spent countless nights lying awake thinking about the terrible things he’d forced Murr to endure after leaving him without a word.  He’d also spent a few wondering what Murr would look like in the throes of orgasmic ecstasy, quivering like a ripple in a pond, drooling like a dog in heat--  stop it.  Stop thinking about that.   ❝ … I just…  I don’t wanna go home, Alé. ❞
     He listened to Murr’s wordless stammer, enchanted by the sound, before he allowed his hand to fall from the handle.  His body turned slowly in the other man’s direction, head feeling foggier by the second.  You’re so close, yet so far away.  I don’t deserve you, not after all I’ve done, but by God I want you.  I don’t think you even realise.
     ❝ W-Well, ya don’t have ta…  I don’t mind leavin’ the door open fer you... ❞
     ❝ Don’t leave. ❞
    Though he couldn’t see his face, he knew for a fact that Murr’s cheeks had turned red.  It was in the way his torso shrunk;  the way his arms went rigid by his sides;  the barely audible stutter as he stared at him, somewhat stupefied, wondering what he could even say in response.  Eventually, he settled on a flustered:   ❝ I-I wasn’t goin’ to! ❞
     ❝ Good. ❞
     ❝ What’s with you all of a sudden…?  Yeesh... ❞   Murr tugged lightly at his collar, attempting to get air beneath it.  Suddenly, he felt trapped in this beloved place, as if he’d poked a bear with a stick and had nowhere to retreat to.  He attempted to mentally talk himself down, turning in place so that he could hop back up onto the stage.   ❝ We can keep readin’.  Or we can…  talk. ❞
     ❝ Talk, ❞   Kuro echoed, tone slightly inquisitive as he began to bridge the distance between himself and the stage.  All of a sudden, he was unable to focus on anything except his friend’s appearance, lit from behind by the dim stage lights as if a small piece of Heaven had opened up and chosen him.  For the briefest of moments, Kuro saw his face.  The way his mouth was pressed into a thin, confused line, teeth gently worrying his lower lip, had a pang of heat rising in his stomach.  As he came to stand in front of him, head inclined slightly to look at him, he uttered a meek:   ❝ Let’s talk, then. ❞
     ❝ O-Okay.  Well-- ❞   He fell quiet, shoulders rising like a child’s when they were being scolded, before he suddenly exploded:     ❝ Well now ya’ve gone ‘n’ made it tense!  I can’t think of anythin’ ta say!  You go!  You say somethin’! ❞
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     ❝ Nhm…  yer so fuckin’ adorable sometimes, Murphy. ❞
     ❝ What…? ❞
     ❝ Murr.  I can’t keep bullshittin’ like this. ❞   He wasn’t entirely sure of what he was doing.  All he knew was that he felt positively untethered.  His heart was a fragile thing, tampered with by darkness and shadow, but right now it pooled with light, emotions oozing like drip from a cake.  His hands came to rest on either side of his friend’s body, sandwiching him between his own frame and the stage supporting him.   ❝ Y’know, that crush I told y’about way back when?  I--  ain’t think it’s quite dead yet. ❞
     ❝ B-But you said... ❞
     ❝ I know what I said, ❞   Kuro interrupted, almost grunting.   ❝ I moved on.  I let go of y’when I made the decision t’leave y’behind, right?  Was a load’a shit, Alé.  I just didn’t wanna make things fuckin’ weird. ❞
     ❝ ‘n’ now’s a better time ta make things weird…? ❞
     ❝ Is it weird? ❞   The silence that hung between them was heavy, as if they were both afraid of the answer to the question.  They’d spent so long convincing themselves that they’d moved on, that they could see different people and let go of their childish fantasies, that being stripped of this thin lie left both of them feeling naked.  After another thoughtful pause, wetting his lips nervously, Kuro continued, before his bravery failed him.   ❝ Would y’really mind if I just…  I don’t know, leaned up ‘n’ kissed y’?  Would y’stop me? ❞
     ❝ I-I don’t know…  Kuro, please just stop, this ain’t funny... ❞
     ❝ This ain’t a joke, Murr. ❞
     ❝ It seems like it is ta you! ❞   Though he couldn’t exactly blame his friend for feeling doubtful, Kuro would be the first to admit that Murr’s scorn stung some.   ❝ Is this all my feelin’s mean to you…?  Is it just some punchline?  Some stupid tease?  You know how I feel about you--  you know I never stopped--  c-carin’ about you, ‘n’ if you don’t know that then you suck as a detective. ❞
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     Kuro was somewhat flabbergasted.  Though he’d been able to read between the lines on occasion, Murr was nothing if not a convincing actor.  When they’d told each other that they’d gone on with their lives, Kuro had almost wholeheartedly believed him.  There had been rare traces of doubt in him when the other had slipped up, revealing a little too much about what still resided in his heart, but for the most part the Sheriff was almost certain that there was absolutely no chance of salvaging what they once almost had in their youth.  He suddenly felt very bare, heart racing, and though he wasn’t sure if he was crossing a line or not, he found himself unable to resist any longer.  He pushed his head closer, their lips making the briefest of contact before he felt Murr jerk his head away.
     ❝ Stop it.  J-Just stop-- ❞   He was unable to finish as Kuro grasped at his collar, tugging him closer once more.  This time, their mouths connected with more certainty, and Murr’s cut off whimper was promptly smothered.  The exchange was short, though they lingered close to one another long after it had been broken.  In a quiet murmur:   ❝ Kuro... ❞   It sounded as if he was going to tell him to stop again, so the Sheriff pressed close once more, kissing him harder.  The shred of doubt previously on Murr’s tongue ebbed into a small, relieved noise, his hands-- fingers previously turning white due to how hard he was gripping the edge of the stage-- coming to rest on his shoulders as he finally allowed himself to give in.  In a positively precarious whisper:   ❝ S-Stop… nm.. ❞
     Consent was something that Kuro took incredibly seriously  ( especially after his unfortunate run-in with his own witch of a rapist ),  but he could tell by the way that Murr clung to him, by the soft sounds that left him whenever they reconnected, that he didn’t want him to stop;  that it was a pleasantry he was uttering in an attempt to save face;  that he was as relieved as he himself felt.
     ❝ Stop…? ❞   He asked in between kisses, hands flat against the stage.  The warmth of Murr’s palms on his shoulders was like fire, and he rolled one lazily in an attempt to provoke curiosity.  Curious Murr was, but not without caution.  His hands traced up his neck with hesitation, the drag of his fingers driving Kuro crazy.   ❝ Is that…  what y’want? ❞
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     ❝ Mm… no... ❞   Murr whispered back, sliding from his seat on stage and onto his feet.  It was much easier for him to press close, lips pressed fervently against his yet again, his tongue suddenly introduced into the equation as he wrapped his arms around his neck. Kuro hummed softly, meeting him halfway, an arm coiling around his waist.  They grew wild from there, impatient, centuries of longing and pining escaping them in the form of wandering hands and exchanged saliva.  They couldn’t get close enough, bodies on fire, hearts hammering, any trace of distance unbearably painful.  It prompted Kuro to back Murr up against the stage at one point, body pressed into his, and Murr mewled sweetly while simultaneously pulling at his hair. Such an abundance of personality made Kuro shiver.  Although Murr was trembling vigorously, hands shaking, voice quivering, his mouth was hungry, body receptive, movements demanding more;  his fiery disposition would never be stamped out, not even by a man more domineering than he was.
     At one point, Kuro felt his coat slip from his shoulders, and suddenly Murr felt closer than before.  It prompted a charged change of course, his hands filing beneath the other man’s finely pressed shirt and making contact with his waist.  His skin was warm, soft, and not even their furious pace could distract him from said facts.  When he was feeling a little calmer, he’d have to take a moment to pay close attention to him.  His body, though smaller than his, was lean and well-built, muscles clenching whenever Kuro’s fingers brushed over them.  Even when the pads of his fingers curled around to the smooth canvas of his back, the thews tensed and squeezed in time with his soft gasps and shudders.
    ❝ Fuck...  more--  touch me more... ❞   The needy plea fell hotly against his throat, a mix of tongue and teeth scraping along his skin, growing more and more familiar with the taste.  The way Kuro rocked his hips into his had a breathless moan tumbling from him, face pressed tightly into his neck a moment later in an attempt to squash the sound.  My voice sounds weird right now.  He silenced the thought with a feverish buck into the other man’s body, listening to him grunt, feeling him attempt to push closer still.  At one point, Kuro dipped his head low and recaptured his lips with his own, a deep, passionate kiss ensuing as the pair held onto each other for dear life.
     It was a touch to his belt that awoke Murr from his drunken haze, a lick of sense returning as an abject bolt of fear ran through him.  He wanted this, he wanted this perhaps more than he’d ever wanted anything, but the truth was that, at this point, he was afraid to lay with someone far more experienced than himself.  The last thing he wanted to do was disappoint him.   ❝ K-Kuro… ❞
     Either he didn’t hear him or he chose not to listen, lips dragging down his throat, a myriad of kisses and nibbles left behind.  Murr’s head spun, throat willingly exposed, his hand clutching the back of the other man’s head as he wrestled with his inner thoughts, trying to decide whether it was a good or bad thing that he was half-hard in his dress pants.  Maybe you can do this.  Kuro wouldn’t hurt you.  Kuro would never force you to do something you didn’t want to do.  Kuro would look after you.  Kuro would make you feel good--  so good--  like you always dreamed of--  but when he felt his pants loosen around his waist, belt tugged free from its position, he knew in his heart that he wasn’t ready yet.
     ❝ Kuro…  ahn--  stop-- ❞     Though he shuddered delightfully at the hand that brushed along his outer thigh on its way to his hip, it also provoked the first push that Murr had thought to administer.  It wasn’t hard, just enough to stop the other man from going further.   ❝ Stop...!  H-Hold on…  I’m n…  th-this’s goin’ too fast... ❞
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     When Kuro went still and held his silence for a moment longer than his anxiety could take, Murr thought for sure that he was going to turn cold.  To his relief, the Sheriff pulled back panting, eyes unfocused, but he’d clearly resigned from the task.  After a couple of seconds staring at him, trying to regain some level of concentration, the Sheriff cleared his throat and backed away slightly, reaching a hand up in an attempt to flatten his mussed up hair somewhat.
     ❝ Gods…  shit--  sorry.  I--  didn’t mean t’overstep no bounds.  I just--  lost control’a      myself. ❞
     ❝ You don’t have ta apologise... ❞ 
     For the first time in a while, Murr felt like they were looking each other in the eye.  Unbeknownst to him, they were.  His face had become visible to Kuro in the moment, desire and a deep-seated form of love slicing cleanly through the dark and revealing him to him.  He looked beautiful, already wild hair thoroughly dishevelled, russet cheeks flushed pink, lips parted in order to allow him to breathe--  very lightly reddened in the wake of such a feverish advance.  For a moment, he wasn’t sure what to say, content to stare and heave for air, lungs aching, fingers itching to feel him once more, heart ablaze.  His eyes flitted downwards briefly as Murr shifted to readjust his belt, fingers fumbling briefly before he managed to loop it back into place properly.  Are you as excited as I am?  Is it hard to focus?
     ❝ Uhm…  I’m sorry.  I want to, w-with you, but…  I’m…  I…  don’tknowwhatI’m doin’... ❞
     ❝ Yer a virgin…? ❞
     ❝ SHUT UP! ❞   Murr crossed his arms tightly across his chest, frame shrinking somewhat.  With a tad more venom than he meant to apply:   ❝ Some of us don’t handle our grief by screwin’ everythin’ that has a pulse, idiot. ❞
     ❝ Ahah…  noted. ❞   Though, something about Murr’s reluctant confession had a pang of warmth blossoming in Kuro’s chest.  With a hint of a smile:   ❝ So, I’d be yer first…?  Hypothetically? ❞
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     ❝ W-Well…  yeah. ❞   He listened as Murr cleared his throat, a hand curling around the back of his neck.  He tried not to focus on the blooming mark just above where his body tapered off into inky blackness, eyes attempting to fix on his face once more.  The static had returned.   ❝ I just…  I don’t know.  I was--  preoccupied with other stuff, ‘n’ I never met anyone else that was special ta me.  Kinda hard ta when yer isolated up in the woods.  Please don’t make fun of me. ❞
     ❝ Heh.  I was more surprised that nobody had jumped on y’yet.  I mean, look at y’. ❞
     ❝ Oh, please... ❞   he muttered dismissively, blush deepening.  His hesitation was stark, bleached with uncertainty before he finally found his voice.   ❝ What does this all mean?  I don’t…  think I could take a fling, no matter how much I want y-- ❞
     ❝ I ain’t want a fling, Alé, ❞   Kuro interrupted, albeit softly.   ❝ ‘m sorry I jumped the gun.  Maybe we should’a talked more about how we felt first.  But I do…  have feelin’s fer you.  I thought they’d go away, y’know?  As we progressed with our friendship?  But the truth is that they’ve just gotten stronger.  I just--  couldn’t resist anymore.  ‘m sorry if it’s awkward now. ❞
     ❝ It ain’t!  I just…  know yer history... ❞
     Kuro frowned, then sighed.   ❝ Listen…  no matter what y’may think’a my choices, yer gonna be my first in a couple’a ways too.  I’ve never…  y’know…  with a man so, we can be fuckin’ useless together. ❞   He huffed, feeling slightly embarrassed himself now.   ❝ Let’s not get caught up in all that.  I’m sorry I rushed.  But this ain’t about sex or whatever.  I--  I don’t wanna be just friends, Murr.  ‘n’ I know that I don’t really have the right t’say that but-- ❞
    ❝ Shut up. ❞    It was Murr’s turn to interrupt, though he did so with his whole body, arms wrapped around his dearest companion, head finding his shoulder instinctively.  A small smile formed on his face, and for the first time in a long time, Aléjandro felt happy.  ❝ Just shut up, Kuro. ❞
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crystallized-shadow · 5 years
Link
Day 13 Pairing: Indra/Madara Rating: E Word count: 2263 Prompt:  “You own my heart.”
Warnings: Mentions of past abuse.
Follow the link or read it under the cut!
“You’re late Madara.” The dark-haired man freezes in the hallway, he should have been the first one back, so what was Indra doing home already? He debates hanging out in the hallway for a little longer, but quickly decides against it. Madara isn’t surprised to see Indra sitting on the couch, clearly waiting for him. “Where have you been?”
“Completing the chores you left for me,” Madara says with a frown, standing before Indra, his eyes on the ground; he knew better than to try and do anything before the human was done with his spiel.
“You sound unpleased with your work,” Indra comments, idling playing the with bright red jewel on his necklace.
“I am!” Madara snaps, his anger making him ignore the subtle threat. “All you do is send me out to kill scum! I haven’t felt challenged–” A sudden throbbing in his chest has Madara collapsing to his knees, gasping for breath.
“I could free you from this contract,” Indra muses as the pressure around Madara’s heart increases, “would you like me to?”
“N-no,” Madara manages to gasp out, one hand keeping him from falling face first onto the floor while the other clutches uselessly at fabric over his chest.
Indra watches Madara whither for another minute before he releases his grip on the red jewel, releasing the pressure in Madara’s chest. The older man remains kneeling, shudders racking his body as he struggles to get his breathing under control. Indra gets up from the couch then and walks over to Madara, running his hand through those silky black locks. “Are you sure? I would hate to keep you here if you are so unhappy.”
“I’m sure,” Madara pants, keeping his eyes fixed on the ground, “I forgot my place and spoke in anger, I’m sorry.”
“And where is your place?” Indra asks with a grin, he always found Madara’s reluctance to admit his place cute and enjoyed every chance he had to see Madara like this.
“At your feet,” Madara growls, hating that the human forces him to admit it.
“Why is that?” When Madara doesn’t immediately answer, Indra grabs a fistful of his hair and yanks his head up so their eyes meet. “Say it.”
“You own my heart,” Madara says, eyes dropping to the jewel. Millenia ago, when Madara was a much angrier demon, a much younger and dumber one too, he’d thought casting off his heart had been a good idea. Nothing could hurt him any longer, not the loss of his brothers or the betrayal of his closest friend. It wasn’t until the humans had found his heart that Madara realized his mistake, with the fragile organ outside his body even a lowly human could kill him with ease.
“That’s right,” Indra praises as he resumes petting Madara, “and as long as you’re good I won’t crush it.”
Madara remains silent, knowing he doesn’t have anything to say that Indra wants to hear. The human continues to pet him for a little bit, before he returns to the couch, beckoning for Madara once he’s comfortable. The demon makes his way over and doesn’t put up a struggle when he is pulled into Indra’s lap, his back to Indra’s chest. It would be a lie if Madara said he hated this, Indra was one of his better captors and being allowed to actually touch his own heart was always a relief, let him confirm that it was still there.
“Would you even know what to do with your heart?” Indra asks awhile later, startling Madara out of the light doze he’d fallen into. Leaning his chin on Madara’s shoulder, Indra notes just how tired the demon looks and wonders when the last time he’d seen Madara look relaxed was.
Madara silently ponders the question for a long time, it wasn’t first time he’d been asked that question. His previous captors took great joy in asking Madara questions like that, it was their way of reminding him didn’t have his heart. He doesn’t sense any ill intent behind Indra’s question, the human just seemed curious. “I don’t know,” Madara admits quietly, deciding to be honest; Indra rarely hurt him and usually seemed to care about his wellbeing. In fact, he only asserted himself as Madara’s master when Madara stepped too far out of line.
“What do you mean?” Indra asks in a quiet tone, wanting to know more about the demon. He’d only become Madara’s master a few years ago, his father passing on Madara’s heart to him when he’d become an adult.
“I can’t remember the last time I felt my heart beat in my chest,” Madara mutters, placing a hand over his chest where his heart should beat, but feels nothing.
“Why did you get rid of it?” Indra doesn’t miss the way Madara tenses at the question and he hopes he won’t have to remind Madara who’s boss again, he’s never liked hurting the demon.
“Why does it matter?” Madara asks in a flat tone, “I got rid of it and your family found it, that’s all that really matters.”
“It matters to me,” Indra presses and Madara stands up abruptly, glancing over his shoulder to looks down on the human with dead eyes. He only meets Indra’s gaze for a moment, too many years of conditioning to make that mistake again and turns his head back to face the wall.
“I am your servant, nothing more,” Madara states, having recited these words a million times already, “you already know everything you need to.”
“Do you truly feel that way Madara?”
“I feel nothing,” the demon states and it’s true for the most part. Even the anger he’d felt earlier came less and less frequently; the longer he stayed detached from his heart the less he felt anything. “If that is all, I wish to retire for the night.”
Knowing the demon can’t leave until he dismisses him, Indra can’t help but stare at Madara’s back. He knew that deep scars littered the muscular flesh, he’d seen his father and grandfather whip Madara before to keep him in line. “You can feel pain.”
“Do you intend to whip me now?” Madara asks in the same bland tone, “beat me bloody to remind me I’m beneath you?”
Instead of responding, Indra brings the jewel to his lips, muttering a soft spell against the smooth surface. The jewel glows brighter, burning hotter than Indra’s ever felt it before, and he waits, watching Madara to see what effect the spell has on him.
Madara continues to stand with his back to Indra, waiting for the first strike to come. Instead of being struck, he feels his body heating up, something foreign settling in the pit of his stomach. Ignoring whatever is going on, Madara refuses to turn around, waiting to either be struck or dismissed. He’s uncomfortably warm now, even his cheeks feel warm, and it’s getting harder to think clearly; what had Indra even asked him?
Indra has to give Madara credit for remaining still for so long, his spell was a rather potent one and it was impressive that the demon wasn’t begging yet. When he hears Madara start to pant, Indra smirks and slowly walks over to the demon, hugging him front behind. “Are you feeling okay Madara?” Indra purrs, his lips brushing against the shell of Madara’s pointed ear and the demon moans.
“W-what did…” Another moan cuts off Madara’s words as Indra trails kisses down to his neck. “…you do…?”
“Just a simple spell,” Indra says, his chuckle washing over the sensitive patch of skin at the base of Madara’s neck, “to show you that you can feel more than just pain.”
“M-make it stop…” Madara whimpers, unsure what to even do with all these new feelings, “t-too much!”
“Do you really want me to stop?” Indra questions, lightly biting down on that patch of skin as he skims a hand down Madara’s chest to the bulge in his pants.
A loud moan is torn from Madara’s throat and his knees buckles under him at that simple touch; if it weren’t for Indra’s arm around his waist, Madara was sure he’d be on the floor. Before he can even try and come up with an answer, Indra grips him through his pants and slowly starts to move his hand. “Ah!” Madara tries to squirm out of Indra’s grasp, not understanding what is happening to him and wanting to get away.
“Are you enjoying yourself Madara?” Indra purrs, kissing back up the demon’s ear so he can tug on the other’s earlobe. He doesn’t miss the hitch in Madara’s breathing or the way he’s started thrusting into the hand still slowly stroking him. Indra is a little surprised by just how sensitive Madara is and a sudden thought has him smirking. “Madara, have you done this before?”
Madara hears the dark pleasure in Indra’s voice and he bites back a whimper as he shakes his head. He’d never been interested in anyone before he’d cast off his heart and after he’d become a servant anything like that was out of the question. Indra’s hand instantly stops and Madara has half a second to think he’s done something wrong before he’s spun around and pulled into possessive kiss. Having no idea what to do, Madara lets the human lead the kiss, a breathless whine leaving him when Indra pulls back much too soon. “P-please…” Madara mutters, he’s not sure what he wants but everything is hot and he knows Indra will help him.
“Of course,” Indra grins, sweeping Madara off his feet and taking the demon to his bed. He wastes no time depositing Madara on the bed and stripping off their clothes. As much as Indra would have loved to tease Madara some more, the demon was just too cute when he blushed, finding out he was going to be Madara’s first left him feeling very impatient. Grabbing the lube, Indra joins Madara on the bed, sliding between the demon’s spread legs. Spreading a generous amount of lube on his fingers, Indra gently presses one into Madara’s entrance.
Madara watches Indra through a haze of his own lust, unsure what the lube is for, until he feels a finger slip inside him, drawing a loud keen from him. Without even realizing he’s doing it, Madara thrusts back against Indra, panting harshly when a second finger joins the first. Just when Madara thinks his body can’t possibly burn any hotter, Indra brushes something inside him that has him howling in pleasure.
“So vocal,” the human chuckles, grazing the bundle of nerves again. Two fingers quickly become three and then four before Indra decides Madara is ready for something bigger. The needy whimper when he leaves Madara empty nearly derails Indra’s thoughts, but he focuses just long enough to slick his cock with more lube before he sheaths himself deeply in Madara’s almost unbearably hot channel.
Madara’s scream is wordless as his entire world narrows down to the feel of Indra thrusting into him. The human’s pace is erratic and if Madara wasn’t so far gone he’d be proud of having such an effect on the man. Madara gives up on trying to hide his whimpers and moans, feeling too good to care how he must sound. Just when he thinks it can’t get any better, Indra shifts Madara’s thighs to over his shoulders and bends him over just enough that the next thrust nails his prostate so soundly Madara comes with a garbled shout of Indra’s name.
Indra claims Madara’s lips in an almost vicious kiss as he fucks the demon through his orgasm, he wasn’t anywhere near done with Madara yet. He’d wanted Madara like this since he’d hit puberty and Indra intended to ruin the demon for anyone else. Indra presses forward, nearly bending Madara in half as he continues to batter the demon’s prostate with brutal thrusts. “Swear I own your heart,” Indra mutters against Madara’s lips, the jewel in question falling onto Madara’s chest due to the angle. “Swear it!”
Madara tries to fight the words, which is hard enough to do with the waves of pleasure crashing over him already, but then Indra strokes his still painfully hard cock and they come tumbling out. “You own my heart!” Madara exclaims, “I swear it!” He feels the smirk against his lips before he comes a second time, and everything goes white. Madara feels something warm coating his insides before everything becomes too much and he passes out.
Madara slowly comes to some time later, feeling fingers carding through his hair. He feels warm and content for the first time in a long time and doesn’t want to move, but there is a distracting thudding in chest. It takes Madara an embarrassingly long moment to realize just what that thudding is, but he jerks awake instantly, a hand flying to his chest.
“Welcome back,” Indra chuckles, watching Madara try to process what’s happened. The demon stares dumbly down at his hand for a long time before he slowly meets Indra’s eyes.
“Y-you…” Madara mutters, nearly numb with shock, “why?”
“I don’t want to be your master Madara,” Indra explains softly, placing his hand over Madara’s so he too can feel the heart beating in Madara’s chest.
“Then what do you want?”
“I love you Madara,” Indra says, pulling the demon into a gentle kiss, “and I want you to be able to love me back one day if that’s what you choose.”
Too overcome with emotions, Madara just kisses Indra back.
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softhaos · 6 years
Text
NEIGHBOUR!AU WOOZI
masterlist other members: s.coups | jeonghan | joshua | jun | hoshi | wonwoo | dk | mingyu | the8 | seungkwan | vernon | dino
you’ve never been a clean person who has their shit under control
especially when it comes to keeping your own room clean
so how are you supposed to keep a whole apartment tidy
when you first moved into your new place that solely belonged to you,,, you thought everything was great because
you were a grown ass adult
to an extent at least
and you didn’t have your parents lecturing you and ordering you to tidy up your room,,,,, you are now an independent person who doesn’t need any help and can function on their own
or so you thought
two weeks in and your place has turned into the dumpster from hell
you did wash the dishes,,,, somewhat and did the laundry,,,,,, somehow
but because you are too lazy to take out the trash, you keep trying to stuff all of the garbage into the same trash bag even though there is no room to fit in anymore
okay you admit keeping a flat clean is a challenge
your tidiness may not be topnotch but your likability towards your neighbours makes up for it
except with one person,,,, namely the one who lives right next to you
alias lee jihoon
it’s not that you hate him or vice versa (you hope)
but more of,,,,,,,, he doesn’t talk a lot and you don’t see each other frequently
which surprises you as you even meet neighbour seungcheol more often and he lives like three levels below you
and it’s hard to build up a conversation with jihoon
there are two ways how a poor attempt to crack his shell will end up
either he shows his disinterest 
or you can already tell by his body language that he feels uncomfortable and doesn’t want to talk
what am i saying it’s almost the same
but what you DID pick up was that lee jihoon is NOT an asshole
he may be quiet and hard to approach but he is not detestable!!!!!
whenever one asks him for favors he usually,,,,,, 
R E J E C T S
you tried your luck several times
it always ended up with the same result but different words
“no”
“ask someone else”
“how about n o”
“i’m busy”
“that’s not my forte”
“oh look at the time i gotta go!!!!”
“jihoon,,,,, it’s eight in the evening and  f r e e z i n g  what do you want to do outside”
“i got a gig”
“but it’s a holiday,,,,,,”
“look that was me trying to reject you nicely now pLS STOP ASKING ME Y/N”
oKaY lee jihoon is an ass
you wonder,,, have you done anything wrong???
bc even when yOU offer yOUR help to HIM he shuts you down
“it’s fine!!!!!!”
“this is fragile i don’t trust anyone holding this”
“jihoon i’m not a klutz i swear you’ll trip and break it yourself”
“that’s what mingyu told me too and when i accepted his help that one time, he was the one who tripped and broke it so  N O”
this dude can get grumpy
but when he is super extra grumpy and lets it all out on you he’ll realize his mistake and apologize
point proven that jihoon is not  e n t i r e l y  an asshole
remember you are a messy person?
well your parents decided to visit you on saturday
and they announced their surprise visit the day before
and that equals to you being DOOMED
your place is still a whole dumpster and all you have in the kitchen are frozen pizza, ramen noodles, eggs, condiments and candy
which means you are DOOMED X2
you know that you’re not able to clean the mess and go shopping in one day,,,,, it’s too much
hell you’re probably busy cleaning all night long into the morning because yes THATS HOW MESSY IT IS
you need help and  p r o n t o
since mingyu has the reputation of being the cleanest one in the entire apartment block you try to ring him up,,,,,, but he’s currently not in town dsakjhdkj
and you don’t even try to ask seungcheol bc he’ll pull a dad on you and lecture you
knowing that all the others have their own schedules and you’re not all too close to them it seemed inappropriate to ask them
which only leaves jihoon as your last hope
so you rush over to his door and bang so long until he opens the door with an exasperated sigh like he already knows what you’re about to ask
“JIHOON PLS HELP ME IF YOU VALUE MY WELLBEING”
he’s about to slam the door shut but you manage to keep it open with your foot
“I AM SERIOUS LEE JIHOON”
“you asked and this is my answer y/n”
“my parents are coming over and i need to seem like a functioning adult who is able to take care of themselves and their apartment but i don’t have any food left and i can’t go out shopping anymore so pls help me!!!!”
he blinks as he processes your words and then asks
“aha,,,,,, and you want me to,,,,,?”
“can i pls have some of your food???”
“are you  c r a z y  OF COURSE NOT!!!!”
of that took the last straw
and the door falls in its lock in front of your face
you bang on his door and whine around being the extra and desperate person you are
but as you realize he’s not going to fall for it you give up
this is a challenge you have to get through your own
even if it is going to cause you a lot of pain
aka your mom’s i tOLd yOU sO
when it comes to food you just have to improvise and say you had a huge gathering a few days ago and used up all of your food
yeah that seems like a good excuse
they’re definitely going to buy it,,,,,,, you hope
you were right with your prediction that you’d need the entire day and morning to clean up your place
and you have enough time left to go take a shower
tbh you’re still very anxious about the food problem
but well now it’s too late to think about it it’s time for improvisation
cue someone rings the bell and ofc it’s your parents
they’re quite impressed that you managed to have a clean place wow
and everything seems to run smoothly
until your dad decides to be  t h a t  guy and ask when it’s lunch time
“yeah about that,,,,,, i was thinking about something simple like pizza!”
and your mom sends you a suspicious look
“y/n you love to cook tho,,,,”
“i’m feeling a bit tired that’s why”
“well then we can all cook together!!”
oh  s h o o t
your dad has the AuDACitY to head to your kitchen
when the doorbell suddenly makes a sound
you quickly run over and your jaw almost drops when you see the person in front of you
bc your parents are nosey and curious they stand behind you to see them
“hey,,,, i’m not too late am i??”
it’s jihoon with like 3 grocery bags in his hands
but what’s more
jihoon is fucking  s m i l i n g
like a shy type of smile and you are sO perplexed because??? what went over him ????
your mom was first to react
“y/n i didn’t know you were in a relationship??? whatta surprise hELLO I AM Y/N’S MOM AND YOU ARE?? WAIT A SEC,, COME IN FIRST”
“mom we’re not-”
“it’s alright,,,, hello i’m jihoon,,,,,,”
did he just indirectly confirm that you were  d a t i n g
in front of you parents
but they don’t seem to mind actually they are dELiGHTed
while your mom pushes him into the kitchen and asks him all kinds of things your dad stays behind with you and gives you the pat of approval
“looks like a nice guy,,,, how did you two meet??”
“dad we’re neighbours”
“i see,,,,,, love comes in all different kinds of situations huh”
not him too sdkjhdskj
somehow it ended up in the four of you cooking lunch together,,,,, what
“play along” jihoon mumbles quietly before he returns to chopping the vegetables and then asks in a normal conversational tone
“babe can you boil this already?”
did he just call you  b a b e
in front of your parents
WHY DOESN’T YOUR DAD OR YOUR MOM SEEM TO MIND WHY ARE THEY FINE WITH THIS 
nonetheless you roll with it
and after a while you get used to it as well as with jihoon’s sudden touches like squeezing your hand reassuringly
and by the time you’re all at the table you nearly forget that the couple thing was just a front
and jihoon’s actually laughing at your dad’s lame jokes once in a while and you swear your mom is just  w h i p p e d
by the time your parents are about to leave
your dad has some friendly talk going on with jihoon and your mom quietly remarks
“y/n tell me asap when you’re thinking of sealing the deal with him i can’t wait to play wedding planner!!!!!!”
and you’re like mOM PLS
if they only knew
and then they FINALLY leave
but ofc mother couldn’t leave without hugging you and jihoon first
when you turn around jihoon expression went from happy back to the indifferent and grumpy asshole jihoon
you start to go slow and test the waters
“uh, thanks for that you were my lifesaver!!!! but uh,,,, you didn’t have to say that we were a couple”
“i just went with what i thought would be most believable,” he deadpans and wants to leave to but you hold him back
“what is it???”
“was it then really necessary to call me babe????”
and boom he stays silent but instead he turns red
a small smile makes its way to your face
“can it be that you like me hmmm?????”
“you owe me 20 bucks y/n i sacrificed that much money for your food”
“what if i say i like you too hm ???”
he scrunches his nose in disgust but sadly for him it just looks so adorable because by then he is flaming red and you can’t take him seriously anymore
“don’t get ahead of yourself,,”
he turns to leave but in the last moment he faces you
and tugs on your collar
and pull you closer to him
and plants a peck on your cheek
“you know what? forget the 20 bucks”
THEN he quickly leaves your place and your smile turns into a grin followed by a victory dance
point proven that jihoon is NOT AN ASSHOLE AT ALL
although he says not to pay him back the 20 bucks
you still don’t tbh oops
instead you ask him out
and for the first time
he says yes
643 notes · View notes
veritascara · 6 years
Text
Ghosts
Hera Syndulla & Sabine Wren
Kanan Jarrus/Hera Syndulla
Teen/2.8k words
When the dust on Lothal has settled, Sabine returns to their ship to sleep. She finds Hera there already, who delivers some shocking news.
A/N: Many thanks to @anoray for being my excellent beta babe again! And @uhura-ismylastname for listening to my eternal griping.
Thank you to everyone who continues to follow along with this series. I love and appreciate all of you! Fair warning that this is one of the most painful of the series, but after the next story things will start looking up for Hera again.
All stories in this series can be read together or as stand-alones.
Read on AO3 | Part 4 of Ad Astra
*******
Slowly, Sabine climbed the ladder up to the Ghost’s main deck, her body and mind weary and ready to crash from the late hour and events of the day. The destruction of the Imperial dome had been followed by hours of planning and rallying the Lothalian people into some semblance of organization. She admired Ryder Azadi’s stamina, but building a government from scratch was not her forte, and all she really wanted right now was her own bed.
She pulled her helmet off and traced the few familiar steps through the corridor to her cabin in the darkness. This hall was always dimly lit during the Ghost’s night cycle, but tonight it felt especially gloomy—dark and full of ghosts, like all the stories her mother had told her as a small child of warriors from ages past hovering over the living to see that their legacies lived on and wills were carried out.
Sometimes she hated those stories. They felt too real in the silence, like if she were to just listen, she’d be able to hear their voices, spy their forms in the shadows. She strained her ears, but in the ship’s powered down mode all she could hear was her own breathing. It sounded too loud.
An odd sight in her peripheral vision caught Sabine’s attention just as she reached her room: the door to Kanan’s room across the hall was wide open, the entrance yawning and dark like a cave—or a sepulcher. She was sure that room hadn’t been opened in a couple weeks, not since before . . .
Her hand hovered over the controls to her door for a moment. She felt torn. Her fatigued limbs begged for sleep, but her curiosity won out, and she turned to step across the corridor and peer inside.
It took a minute for her eyes to adjust to the deeper darkness within his room, and she moved further in with careful, quiet steps, only the tiny red and white indicators set in the walls to light her way. Nothing seemed out of place on first glance, but then the sound of someone else’s rhythmic breathing caught her ears, and she squinted to look closer. There in the shadows, sitting against the wall on the lower bunk with her knees pulled up to her chest, was Hera. Her head rested on her knees, with her lekku hanging limp beside them.
Sabine’s heart fell. Hera had disappeared two hours ago, citing the need to check the ship’s systems—of course she’d be here.
Just Hera and the ghosts.
Cautiously, Sabine backed up a couple steps to the doorway to leave Hera to sleep in peace, when her helmet in her hand hit the door frame and clattered to the floor. “Kriff,” she muttered.
Hera’s head shot up. “Oh! Sabine.” She quickly shifted forward to sit up on the edge of the bed. “What do you need?”
“No, no. Sorry.” Sabine motioned with her hands for Hera to stay down as she bent to pick up her wayward helmet. “I just saw the door open and wondered why. Going to get some sleep now.”
“Yeah, another early morning tomorrow.” The forced cheerfulness in Hera’s voice melted away, leaving it flat, rough, betraying the depths of her exhaustion . . . and emotion. Hera must have been in Kanan’s cabin ever since she’d said she was going to the ship, Sabine thought. It certainly wasn’t a place she wanted to stay in.
“I’ll just–” Sabine stepped backwards, carefully centering herself in the doorway this time.
Hera didn’t move or respond. Her eyes remained fixed on an indeterminate point on the far wall, her face as blank as the gray metal surrounding them. Sabine imagined her own looked rather the same. She paused her steps.
“Hera,” she said, watching as the other woman lifted her head slowly to look at her. “Are you . . .” She paused for a moment, not knowing what to ask. Nothing felt adequate. At all. “Are you okay?”
Sabine winced. Could she have asked a stupider question?
Hera didn’t answer for a few moments and dropped her gaze. “Not really,” she said with a sigh.
Sabine let out a deep breath and looked down at the floor. “Me either, I guess,” she admitted, hugging her arms to her chest. It felt good to say that out loud—necessary.
Neither said anything for another minute, and Sabine felt frozen to her spot, hovering in the doorway between the worlds of the living and the dead and unsure which was which. She could hardly have moved if she’d tried.
“You can come in, if you want,” Hera offered.
“No, I–” Sabine began to protest, not wanting to bother Hera any more than she had to, but then stopped and bit her lip. If anything, it didn’t feel right to leave Hera alone like this. And if she were to admit it, she really didn’t want to be alone herself. Suddenly, the thought of being alone felt overwhelming, incomprehensible. “Yeah, okay.” She shuffled forward in the darkness towards the bunk. Hera scooted back and to the side to make room for her then resumed her curled up position against the back wall as before.
A couple minutes later, Sabine wondered if she had made a mistake. Hera said nothing further. The quiet grew between them until Sabine could hear her own heartbeat pounding in her ears, and she strained her vision for something to see in the darkness to distract her. The tiny lights near the floor illuminated Hera’s face just enough to see the unblinking glassiness in the Twi’lek’s eyes as she stared at the wall again. Even awake, her lekku drooped as if they’d somehow deflated. Her passive stillness unnerved Sabine and made her guts churn. It felt wrong. Hera was motion. Hera was action, always forging on, even in the most dire moments, strong as durasteel.
And now she seemed as fragile as ancient glass—like she might shatter into a thousand shards with the slightest blow.
Sabine looked away.
The barren, gray panels around her stared back, and not for the first time, Sabine wished Kanan had let her paint his room with something, anything. The barrenness of the space grated on her senses. But neither Kanan nor Hera had ever let her touch their cabins, although at least Hera’s had her own handiwork to adorn it.
Maybe she should paint something in here now, for Kanan. But wouldn’t that would be weird if . . . if they . . .
No, she couldn’t picture anyone else in this room, nor someone else in Ezra’s bunk either. Even now, their presences lingered in these spaces. If she closed her eyes she might be able to hear their voices again, hear their steps coming around the corner. There were Kanan’s heavy boots, and there was Ezra’s laugh. Maybe today they’d do some saber practice, invite her to join them. Nothing crazy, just a little fun, maybe a round of sparring. She had to keep in shape to stay ahead of Tristan, after all.
A deep sigh from Hera next to her interrupted Sabine’s train of thought and startled her back to the present. She turned her gaze to see Hera sitting with her head tilted back and eyes fixed on the base of the bunk above them, her lips pursed together. Then she spoke, hardly more than a whisper.
“I’m pregnant.”
Those two simple words made no sense in Sabine’s mind, and she struggled to find any coherent reply. “W– what?” she asked, shaking her head. Surely, she must be falling asleep.
Hera didn’t say anything for another minute, and Sabine let herself breathe again, almost certain she must have misheard, but then Hera said softly, “You heard right.”
Sabine gaped at Hera. The bottom dropped out of her stomach, and a thousand jumbled thoughts flooded her mind, most of them fueled by confusion or just outright shock.
“Hera,” she blurted out the first one that came to mind, “How did that even happen?”
Oh, karabast, why did she have to ask that?
Hera flopped her head towards Sabine to stare at her, her eyebrows raised.
“I mean . . . not that,” Sabine protested, feeling her cheeks burn with embarrassment. “I just thought . . . you two always seemed like the type to be careful.”
Hera let out a small snort that might have been a laugh, and Sabine’s tension eased a bit.
“We were.” Hera paused and Sabine felt Hera’s eyes meet hers, resignation lurking therein. “My implant died,” the other woman confessed.
“Oh.”
Hera didn’t volunteer any more information, and Sabine didn’t really know what else to say, despite feeling the weight of that last statement and all the things it implied like a loaded detonator waiting to explode in her hands. She reached up to her own arm to rub the similar gadget that resided there, wondering if there was any chance hers had suffered the same fate—not that she had ever needed it to perform that particular function—not really.
“What are you going to do?” she finally asked quietly.
“I don’t know,” Hera said.
“Huh, that’s a new one, coming from you.”
“I know.” Hera paused, then added, “I mean—guess I’ll have a baby. Who would have thought?”
This time it was Sabine’s turn to force out a laugh. And really, who wouldn’t? The situation felt simultaneously so dire and so absurd that to laugh was the only appropriate response, otherwise she would probably find herself falling apart. Because, despite all the times she had prided herself on her imagination, she couldn’t have pictured this. Not even a little bit. Hera was the last person in the galaxy Sabine would have pictured popping out a kid in the middle of a war.
But she kept this to herself.
“How long have you known?” Sabine asked, even softer than before.
“Just since this afternoon,” Hera whispered.
“Oh.” Sabine’s eyebrows shot up in surprise that Hera would actually tell her something so new. Of course, there was no one else she could tell it to . . . not anymore.
Certainly not the person who really deserved to know, whose presence now loomed even larger in the room than before.
“I’d suspected for a couple days, but didn’t have the chance to take a test until today,” Hera continued on. “Now I just wish . . . I wish that I could tell him.”
Hera paused and took in a shuddering breath, while Sabine waited silently, sensing that Hera wanted to say more. Her behavior tonight continued to surprise Sabine—this openness perhaps most of all. Sabine feared that if she even made a sound, the spell would break, and Hera might never speak on a personal subject again.
“Although the way he was acting that night he probably already know—that idiot Jedi.”
Sabine couldn’t decide whether Hera’s words were laced more with fond remembrance or hidden bitterness—or perhaps a little of both. But the subject set her mind to spinning as Hera rambled on, “We’d never seriously talked about having a baby–”
How could Kanan have known? If Hera had only just found out, she couldn’t have been pregnant very long, and the fire was two weeks ago . . .
“–there was always the rebellion, and it was too dangerous–”
Ugh, her knowledge base of reproductive biology was severely lacking. And thinking about it in relation to Kanan and Hera was just . . . weird.
But she was fairly certain there was no way even the best technology could have told them something like that so soon. If Kanan had known, it really had to just be some Force thing, then. Idiot Jedi, indeed.
“–we had a family already. We had each other. We had you–”
But that would mean that Kanan knew exactly what he was leaving behind. Not just their family, as Sabine had understood it for the past four years, but his own biological child. Something inside of her blazed at that thought—Kanan abandoning his own flesh and blood. The way her family had her, a still-healing wound deep inside whispered.
No, not the same. Not the same, she tried to tell herself. It was to save us, to save Hera—and the baby—too.
But couldn’t there have been another way? There had to be? Why had it ended this way? With Hera left alone to raise a baby in the midst of fighting a war.
(“There’s always another way,” Hera had said earlier. But she’d been wrong then too.)
“–and we had Ezra.”
We had Ezra.
Sabine’s anger flared even hotter. Kanan had died saving them, and now Ezra had sacrificed himself as well. For the greater good, for his people. She of all people should be able to appreciate that, but just right at this moment she didn’t care.
Only Hod Har’an, may he be damned, might know where in the galaxy Ezra was at this moment—if he’d survived the jump into hyperspace or its aftermath. Angry tears threatened to escape her eyes, and she squeezed them shut tight, only to see the smoking hulk of the Chimaera playing behind her eyelids, its bridge and engines smashed by ravaging purrgil.
“–all we needed. I guess the Force thought I was wrong. About all of that.”
The Force. That was the crux of all of this, really. The Force had guided Kanan. The Force had guided Ezra. It had orchestrated everything. And just now she hated it alone more than anything else in the galaxy.
The Force should have shown them another way. It should have. It should.
Sabine realized that Hera had fallen silent beside her, and she turned her head and opened her eyes to find Hera gazing at her, her eyes solemn in the dim light.
“I’m sorry. I know this has been just as hard for you,” Hera said.
“No, it’s–” Sabine began to protest, but she couldn’t think of words to say, at least none that were honest. And she paused, gulping down deep breaths of air to fill her suddenly oxygen-starved lungs. She spent a couple minutes peering into the darkness, trying to reorient herself to the world around her and banish the evil specters that haunted her mind. The threatening tears abated slightly, and she compelled her thoughts away from her own grief back to Hera, who deserved them far more.
“I’ll be there for you, Hera. Always.”
“I can’t ask that of you, Sabine,” Hera said, but there was no conviction in her voice. Her words rang hollow.
“Hey.” Sabine plastered a small smile on her face, trying to appear as cheery as she could muster. She fidgeted with her hands in her lap, itching to reach out for Hera, but uncertain whether she could—whether she should. “We’re family, it’s what we do,” she finally said.
Hera let out a weary laugh, and Sabine joined in, but the relief only lasted a moment, and Hera quickly turned her focus away back to the bunk above her. Her chin quivered and voice shook as she whispered into the darkness, “I miss him, Sabine. I don’t know how I can do this without him.”
Sabine opened her mouth, wishing that words, meaningful, helpful ones, might come out, but none came. The only voice that might help Hera right now belonged to the Force. And though it was all around them, they could never truly touch it.
Hera’s eyes closed, and her jaw trembled more. Sabine watched as silent tears tracked down her cheeks, glittering like falling stars as they reflected the tiny lights around them. The sight startled Sabine, and it suddenly occurred to her, for the first time, just how young Hera looked—young and scared.
Because Hera was young. For all the storms Hera had mothered her through, Hera was still only twenty-eight years old, a mere eight years older than Sabine herself. In another life, they could have been sisters. And maybe that’s what they were now, or would be when the winds ceased blowing and shifting sands settled.
And they were still in this together.
Sabine’s anger melted away, leaving a gaping emptiness in its place, and the tears that continued to fall from Hera’s eyes began to fill her own as well. Tears for everything they’d lost—some that she’d held bottled up inside for weeks, some for what had taken place just today.
“Me too,” Sabine said. “I miss them too.” The confession made her feel small. And then the tears began falling, wave after wave punctuated by hiccuping sobs.
In the darkness, she felt Hera’s slender fingers wrap around her own, clasping their hands together, and she gasped in a deep breath, feeling the warmth of Hera’s gesture slowly threading its way through her being. Sabine squeezed back, hoping with all her being that her hand might tell Hera everything she couldn’t bring herself to say out loud.
Hera sighed. Neither woman spoke again nor released the other’s hand. Silence said more than enough. The ship creaked and groaned around them, likely in response to a gust of wind, but Sabine imagined she knew better. She was commiserating with them—with the grief of all those hidden in her belly.
Just Sabine and Hera. The baby.
And the ghosts.
33 notes · View notes
duskholland · 3 years
Note
idk if this one has been done yet, but what about getting in a fight with mob!tom and he says something that really upsets her but tries his best to make up for it because he knows he fucked up?
getting angsty on this monday, I like it! I had fun with this. I went less tom trying to make up for it and more him undergoing the biggest grovel session of his life lmao. lowkey got a bit emotional writing it fhjdhf. enjoy !! cw: angst (w a happy end)
– it’s mob monday !! –
The argument builds quickly, escalating from a minor spat to an all-out explosion in the blink of an eye. What had started out as a small grievance about Tom’s inability to make time for you had snowballed, and now you’re standing opposite him, angry tears glistening in your eyes.
“You’re being unreasonable!” You exclaim, voice coming out hard. The palms of your hands hurt from the clenching of your fingers, small crescent-moon shapes from your nails pressed into your skin. “Why won’t you just listen to me?”
Tom’s face is a deep shade of volatile red, his hair unruly and untamed from the number of times he’s run his hands through his curls. He’d abandoned his smooth-talker facade minutes ago, now fully leaning into the side of him that you only usually see when he’s around his opponents.
“I’ve tried listening to you, Y/N, but you aren’t paying attention to what I’m saying,” he says, voice staccato. He clasps his hands in front of his chest as he groans, his face the picture of frustration. “I can’t change my schedule for you, alright? If you actually paid attention to how I live my life, and the lifestyle that I lead, you’d understand that. I can’t be like all your other boyfriends. I have responsibilities that are bigger than you.”
You bring your hands to your temples, trying not to cry as you stare at him.
“I don’t want you to be like my ex-boyfriends,” you respond, “I want you to be a good boyfriend, and pay attention to me when I tell you that I miss you.” Your voice softens slightly, and your glare loses some of its ferocity. “It gets fucking lonely living in this house, Tom. For such a big mansion, there’s barely ever anyone around, and when you’re not here…” You wave a hand through the air. “I feel alone.”
“Then move out.”
Immediately, your blood runs cold. You feel your heart drop straight to your feet, and your arms fall to your side, defeated.
“What?” You croak. A fresh flood of tears well up in your eyes as you stare at your boyfriend, who’s still looking at you like you’ve done something to cause him grievous bodily harm.
“If you hate living here, and you hate dating me so much, just move out, Y/N.” Tom shoves his hands in his pockets, shrugging. “Seems to me like that’d be a good solution to your problem.”
You shake your head, in disbelief at how quickly your boyfriend of two years has pivoted.
“Are you being serious?” You say, blinking at him. “Are you actually trying to kick me out right now? Just because I care about and want to spend time with my boyfriend?”
Tom stares at the ground, and you see his jaw twitch. You give him a few seconds to say something, anything, and when he fails to do so, you stalk over to the wardrobe. It’s only when you pick up a bag and start to throw your things into it that he seems to realise how angry you are.
“What are you doing?” Tom asks, sounding panicked. He walks towards you, reaching out for you, but you move away. Your eyes sting with tears, and you feel a few stray droplets roll down your face as you shake your head.
“I’m leaving,” you mutter. Your hands shake as you sling the bag over your shoulder and go into the bathroom, picking up your toothbrush and a few other things. “Going back to my flat.”
Tom shakes his head. “Please don’t do that, love.” He sounds desperate all of a sudden, and when you glance at him in the mirror, you see he’s deflated--shoulders shrunk, eyes wide. “I… I didn’t mean it, I was caught in the moment. You don’t need to leave.” He reaches out for you again but you dodge him.
“Don’t touch me,” you mutter. You hastily pull on the zip of the bag before walking back into the bedroom. “Don’t come over either. I don’t want to see you until you’ve figured out what you want from me and what you want from this relationship.”
He trails after you, keeping a safe distance, but you can almost feel how badly he wants to reach out and take your hand.
“I love you,” Tom pleads. “Please don’t go. We can work this out together.”
You shake your head. You’re walking fast now, just glad that you’d held onto the keys of your old flat when you’d moved in with Tom.
“We need space. I need space.” You find yourself at the front door, and you turn around to stare at Tom. He flinches as he takes in the sight of the tear tracks on your cheeks, and the angry hurt in your eyes. “Just… Leave me alone, Tom.”
You turn and you leave, letting the heavy front door slam behind you.
––––––
Your first day apart passes by in a blur of anger, upset, and heartbreak. Your best friend comes over and you talk to her, well into the night, venting about everything you’ve been unable to air to Tom, given his remarkable absence from your life. It’s not that he’d been pulling away intentionally, rather, his job had taken him away from you, over and over and over again. Every time you’d brought it up casually, he’d shot you down. It was just a matter of time before it overflowed like that.
One day stretches to two, then three. Tom makes an appearance on the fourth.
You know it’s him just from the way he knocks on your front door: three strong knocks, syncopated in his favourite rhythm. You carefully, quietly, tiptoe to the door and lean up to peer through the peephole, feeling your breath hitch as you see his figure, distorted by the glass. He looks tired and unkempt, wearing a hoodie and some jeans instead of one of his suits. His hair is all over the place, and there’s a shadow of stubble grazing his chin.
“Love?” He calls out, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I know you’re there.”
You swallow, continuing to spy on him as you say nothing.
Tom sighs. “I’m so sorry, Y/N... I feel like shit. I shouldn’t have said what I said, because I didn’t mean it.” He breaks off, and you watch as he pinches at the bridge of his nose. “I know you want space, but I… I miss you. And I love you, so much. So, so, so much, love. I’ve never loved anyone this much in my life, and it’s terrifying.” He breaks off, chuckling harshly. “So I don’t know why I decided to fuck things up. Guess I’m just fucking stupid, eh?”
You rest your forehead against the door, frowning as you listen to him talk. You’ve never heard him sound so defeated before.
“Anyway, uh… I just wanted to come around and tell you that I’m sorry. I’ll never stop being sorry for what I said. I don’t want you to move out, I want you to come back.” Tom chuckles weakly. “I don’t ever want you to leave. I can’t imagine what my life would look like without you in it, so… If you want me to, I’ll give it up. I’ll give it all up.” He pauses to suck in a breath, his voice becoming thick. “We can, uh, sell the house. Move somewhere nice. Maybe get a townhouse somewhere, or, uh, a cottage, or whatever you want, darling. I could get a normal job.” He breaks off to laugh humourlessly. “Don’t know what I’d do, but… I’d do it. For you. I’d do anything for you. So… just think about it, please.”
Tom pauses, and you watch as he reaches up to rub at his eyes. His voice cracks as he adds, “I love you.” After a final repetition of the words, he sighs and steps back. “I’ll, uh, go now. Just… Know that I’m sorry. And I love you. So much.”
He turns to leave, and you suddenly realise he’s about to walk away. You reach up and rattle the chain on your door before turning the handle, throwing it open, and stepping out into the hallway. Tom turns to look at you, and you’re shocked to see his bloodshot eyes, bright red nose, and the tear tracks that stain his cheeks.
“Tom,” you say, voice gentle. “It’s… It’s okay.”
He slowly steps back towards you, moving hesitantly until you offer him your hands. You tenderly loop your fingers together, feeling his cold digits.
“It’s not okay,” Tom mumbles, looking at you with those wide brown eyes you love so much. “I was such a dick, love. I shouldn’t have said it.”
You squeeze his hands. “You shouldn’t have,” you agree, “but it’s okay.” You gently pull one of his palms to your mouth and kiss over his knuckles a few times. “I said some things I shouldn’t have too…” You sigh gently. “I miss you, Tom.”
You’ve felt it every day. A hollowness in your heart. Tom always makes your life brighter, even when he’s not around. He leaves your mug out by the kettle when he leaves every morning, and he makes sure the fridge is stocked with your favourite fruits. Tom’s the one who neatly arranges your shoes on the shoe rack by the door, and makes sure the thermostat is set right. He always tidies up the bathroom and puts your favourite teddy right in the centre of the bed, every single day. You miss his smile, and his arms, and the love he has for you that exists even when he’s not there.
“I miss you too,” he says.
He looks so fragile that you pull him in for a hug, burying your nose in his neck and inhaling the soft tones of faded cologne. Tom clings to you, his hands digging into your back and holding you firmly. You swallow as you tilt your mouth towards his ear.
“Can I come back home?” You ask. “I don’t want to do any of this without you.”
Tom hums. After a moment more, he pulls back, but he keeps his hands wrapped around you. He looks into your eyes, a very shy smile moving out over his lips.
“I would love that,” he says. “The house isn’t the same without you.”
You move your hands around his neck and kiss him very softly, feeling a part of you flicker back to life as his gentle lips nudge up against yours.
“Thank you.” You card your fingers through his hair. “I love you.”
And there’s still so much you need to talk about and work through, but Tom pushes his forehead against yours and stares at you with so much determination that you know you’ll get there, you’ll be okay. You know that he loves you.
He kisses you again, just as gently as the first time.
“Love you too, darling,” he promises. “Love you more than anything else in the world.”
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killmongerdreams · 7 years
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baby fever [parenthood series #1]
 summary: Bucky wants a baby. || fluff & nsfw || [future]dad!bucky x reader ||
warnings: your heart will grow like the grinch at this sweet content, nsfw, smut, trying for a baby, fear of parenthood, [intentional] unprotected sex, mentions of prenancy, mentions of Steve/Natasha and their baby Sarah
note: I’ve been posting dad!bucky fics here and there, so I decided to make a legit series and stuff about it called ‘Parenthood.’ This series will show everyone how Bucky’s little family was started, and how they progress through milestones and all of that. Here’s the first part called ‘Baby Fever!’ 
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The want first comes around when Steve and Natasha have their baby. 
She’s a tiny little thing, seeming so frail and fragile being held in Natasha’s arms. Bucky can’t help but gasp when this kid opens her eyes. They’re bright blue, curious and so innocent as she looks around for the first time. 
Something tugs at Bucky’s heartstrings as he watches the way Steve and Natasha tear up, looking down at her with elated smiles. They sit in their own little bubble, seemingly oblivious to the audience they have in the room. 
Bucky looks down at you, sees the loving, happy smile you’re wearing. He imagines you wearing that same expression, only you have a swollen belly, carrying a life he helped make. 
It’s nearly a year later when Bucky admits it to someone. 
He and Steve are put on baby duty for the day while you and Nat are out running errands. Little Sarah sits in Bucky’s lap as he and Steve watch baseball, eyes drooping as she fights her nap. He’s smiling down at the tot, watching the way her head dips back and forth, head bobbing up abruptly when she nearly falls asleep. 
“You ever think about havin’ a kid?” Steve asks him suddenly. Almost immediately, Bucky can feel his heart clench at the thought of it, feels the want resonate throughout his body. 
“Been wantin’ one for a while now.” Bucky says quietly. He chews at his bottom lip for a moment, smoothing his flesh hand over Sarah’s nest of red curls. She tries to grab at his finger, giggling when she’s bopped on the nose. “Had baby fever since this one was born.”
“What does Y/N think about it?”
Bucky shrugs. “Haven’t talked to her about it yet.”
“Why not? You’ve been married for a few years now, I’m surprised it hasn’t came up sooner than now.” 
Bucky shakes his head, adjusting Sarah so she’s lying against his chest, head tucked into the crook of her neck. She sighs quietly, gripping his shirt as he pats her back, trying to lull her to sleep. “We haven’t talked about it. I’m kind of terrified to tell her I want one. I’m afraid she won’t want to have a baby with me.”
“Why’s that?”
“I’m not exactly the best guy to have a child with, Steve.” Bucky raises his metal arm, giving his best friend a pointed look. Steve gives him one back, looking between Bucky and his daughter. 
“I don’t know, man. Seems like you’re father material to me.” Steve nods his head at Sarah, watches the way her eyes flutter open and closed as she dances on the edge of sleep. Bucky’s holding her with his left arm, unafraid of touching her with it. “You’ve been a godsend with this one. I don’t know where I’d be without you.”
Bucky turns his head, pleased, hiding his blushing face in Sarah’s hair.
“Talk to her, Buck. You never know, she may want one, too.”
It’s later that night when Bucky broaches the topic. You’re sat astride his hips, book in hand as you read quietly out loud. It’s a little routine you and Bucky have - the two of you start a book together and take turns reading a chapter out loud each night until it’s finished, you sitting on top of him as one of you read. It serves as a relaxing tradition for Bucky, something to help him calm his mind before he drifts off into dreamland. 
Only his mind isn’t settling into that tranquility he’s used to. While you read of Daenerys and her plans to take back the Iron Throne, Bucky’s mind is a million miles away, stuck in a fantasy of long, sleepless nights filled with shrill cries of an infant.
“You okay?” you set the book on the nightstand, cupping his face with a furrow to your brows. He leans into your touch, rubbing his stubbled cheek against your palm as he bites down on his lip. He seems so unsure of himself, almost terrified to speak his thoughts aloud. “C’mon, you can tell me.”
“I...want a baby.” he mumbles quietly. His hands are trembling just the slightest bit against where they rest on your hips. “I want to have a baby. With you.”
You’re quiet for a moment, letting his words sink in, and he’s just about ready to bolt when you smile, soft and serene in the low lights of your bedroom. “How’s it that you always know how to read my mind?”
“You want one?” Bucky asks. Hope blossoms in his chest. “For how long?”
“From the first time I saw you hold Sarah. I couldn’t help but think about that being our baby.” you tell him. “I just didn’t think you were ready yet.”
You laugh as Bucky flips you over, his body bracketing yours as he presses eager, happy kisses to your face. “I’ve wanted one for so long.” he admits. The kiss he graces your lips with is heart-achingly sweet, a slow, loving drag of his mouth against yours. His flesh hand slides under your shirt, lying flat against your stomach, caressing the skin there. “Wanted to see you carrying our kid; I’ve even dreamed about it.”
“We can make those dreams come true.” The smile that spreads across his face makes your breath catch in your throat. It’s one of pure, unveiled joy, his sparkling eyes crinkling at the corners.
“We’re gonna have a baby.” his voice is incredulous, filled with disbelief. “We’re gonna have a baby.”
“You’ve gotta put one in me, first.” you tease, giggling. His grin turns darker at that, tinged at the edges with lust. His hips roll into yours and you gasp, feeling him already half-hard.
“I can do that.” he promises.
Bucky slides a pillow underneath your hips, spreading your legs apart gently. His naked form slots between your thighs. He crowds in a close as he can, uncut cock brushing against your bare cunt, making the two of you whimper. 
“Are you sure?” he asks quietly. As one, you sneak twin glances at the nightstand, knowing all too well that more than one box of condoms sits in there. Even after all this time of being together, he’s never once pushed into you bare, always wanting to be cautious, responsible.
“Please.” you push against him, feeling the head of his dick press between your folds. “Fuck me.”
He kisses you softly, shaking his head. “I’m not gonna fuck you, babygirl.” he whispers. “I’m gonna make love to you.”
"You said those same words to me on our wedding night.” you remind him. He smiles at the memory. 
“Oh my god..” the words are spoken in unison, eyes wide and chest heaving a Bucky makes that first thick slide into you. His arms are shaking beside either side of your head, nearly giving out as pleasure threatens to consume him. 
“You feel fuckin’ amazing.” he breathes out against your lips. “Fuck, we should’ve got rid of the rubbers sooner.”
You can only nod in agreement, tipping your head back as a moan gets stuck in your throat. 
“You okay, baby? Is this good?” he asks. 
“Y-yes,” your hands wrap around his biceps, squeezing as he grinds against you, keeping his hips snug against yours while he drags his cock back and forth as slow as he can manage. He groans lowly as you clench around him. 
It’s torture to keep this slow pace, but it kills him in the best way.
His flesh hand slips between your bodies to circle your clit as he lavishes kisses to your neck, panting against your skin. “I love you.” he moans out. “I love you so much.”
“I love you.” you whimper back. You tried to push harder against him, to get him to fuck you harder and faster but he merely shook his head, hand leaving your little button of nerves to press you down into the mattress. The lack of contact makes you whine. 
“Gotta go slow, baby.” he murmurs in your ear. “Won’t touch you like you want if you can’t do that for me. Let me love on you like you deserve.”
He released your hip with a firm look, fingers spread across your pubic mound as he returned his thumb to your clit, hips gyrating in fluid, languid motions. Your body shook with the effort of keeping still, strained, quiet whines falling from your lips. “That’s it, baby.” he praises, kissing your lips. “So good for me.”
“Look at me when you come, babygirl.” your husband urges. Both of you are moaning uncontrollably now, sharing the same breaths as you look into each other’s eyes. “I w-wanna see you - fuck - I wanna see you fall apart.”
It only takes a handful of precise, unhurried thrusts before you’re arching into him, gripping his shoulders for dear life as you moan out his name. He tumbles over the cliff a few moments after, eyes screwing shut as he grunts, drawing in a ragged gasp as he fucks out his orgasm.
Bucky falls limp against you, a boneless mess as he smothers you with his body. You run your hand through his hair, pressing a kiss to his temple as he comes down from his high. 
It’s a few minutes before either of you gather the energy to speak. Bucky’s the one to break the silence, kissing your collarbone with a sated smiled. “Think that was the one?”
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
Now that you and Bucky are trying for a baby, it seems as if his sex drive has gone through the roof. He takes you every chance he gets, no matter the time or place - the bedroom, kitchen, shower, backseat of the car, closet; virtually anywhere he can get a little semblance of privacy.
You’re cuddling on the couch when his hand slides underneath the hem of your dress. He brushes against the front of your underwear and you whimper. You grab his wrist, closing your thighs against his sly fingers as you shake your head. “What’s wrong?” he asks. He’s tense behind you, afraid of what he’s done. 
“I’m sore.” you admit quietly. He’s already had you three times today, once that morning and then a round after he came back from the gym, immediately followed by another in the shower. 
You love him, you really do, but it’s really difficult to keep up with an enthusiastic, stamina-blessed super soldier trying to have a baby. 
“Fuck,” he breathes out quietly, nuzzling his head into the crook of your neck. “I’m sorry, doll.”
“It’s okay, Buck.”
“i just...really want this.” he mutters. “I want a baby so bad.”
“These things take time. It’ll happen eventually. We’ve just gotta be patient.”
He slides his hand out of your dress, rubbing circles against your stomach with a sigh.
Positive.
The test was fucking positive. You couldn’t help the tears that pooled in your eyes as you stared at the plastic test, smiling at the two little lines that showed you were growing a life inside of you. 
Bucky paced outside the bathroom door, hands running through his hair anxiously. “What is it?” he called, anticipation bubbling in his chest. He had to know. The wait was killing him.
You opened the door slowly, and when Bucky saw the expression on your face, the happy incredulity, the joy that surged through his body made him weak at the knees. “Oh my god.” he said. “You’re....?”
You nod, and then there were tears streaming down his cheeks, too. He dropped to his knees in front of you, lifting up your shirt so he could kiss your belly. He was smiling so wide it hurt. 
“We’re gonna be parents.” he cried out happily. “I’m gonna be a dad.”
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“Hey, everyone! We’re back with another interview with my friends! This time we’re hanging out at Whimsy’s sky castle, and lemme just say this place is cool as heck!” This YouTube video doesn’t have any intro at all, cold opening with the camera panning around a regal-looking white room.
Completing its 360, the camera alights upon a young woman with short teal hair, futuristic gray clothing, and a witch’s hat. A microphone levitates near her, picking up her words. “As always, I’m Erika Ljunggren, psychic YouTuber and Trouble’s apprentice. Introduce yourselves, you two!”
With a gesture from Erika L’s skinny metal wand, the camera pans over and back to reveal two other women sitting on the couch behind her. The microphone darts over to them as well. A tall brunette with a spiky crown and a shorter woman with a big hat, a scarf, and an apron, both wearing glasses. 
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The former gets up from her seat, poses, teleports a few feet in the air and then lands in another pose, loudly announcing in her monotone "I'm the magical girl of the cosmos, Kimoto Erika, apprentice of Whimsy."
The latter, on the other hand, remains in her seat and watches. After giggling quietly at Erika K's antics, she looks back to the camera. "H-Hello... My name is... R-Rada Orlov... I'm... Beacon's apprentice..." She gives a little wave.
Erika L welcomes them both with a grin.
Then, turning to Erika K, the YouTuber asks, “What’s it like apprenticing under Whimsy?”
"It’s lots of fun, and I’m learning lots. I like it here,” she responds “I’m very grateful to Miss Trick, Mr Treat, and Miss Trouble for everything they’ve done for me to be here. And I’m extremely grateful to Boss for giving me this opportunity. The castle is really cool." 
She pauses for a moment, leaning her head back slightly before tipping it forwards once more. "Boss is a really skilled witch, so I've been able to cover a lot of ground under them. I think that I made the best choice for me." The corners of her lips quirk upwards into a slight smile.
Erika L then turns to Rada, the microphone moving gently over with her gaze. “What’s it like apprenticing under Beacon?”
"It's been... r-really nice... Granny Beacon is... a-amazing..." Rada fidgets with end of her scarf, drawing the long material up into her lap. "I, um... u-used to be... m-more nervous... than I am now and... s-scared of a lot... of different things... b-but... sh-she's been... very patient with me... a-and she's taught me... a lot... b-both as an apprentice... a-and as a person..."
“What have the two of you been up to lately, magic-wise? Any fun projects in the works?” asks Erika L.
Erika K hums, holding her hands up, index fingers and thumbs pointing outwards towards the ceiling far corners. "I’ve been experimenting with combo-ing my elements. Trying to get them working together can be a bit tricky, depending on which ones I'm trying with. I’ll get there eventually though." 
Flicking her wrists, her hands now spread fully chop down diagonally. "Also, with Mr Elliot’s help, I’ve forged a holy blade that shimmers with stardust." She leans forwards and holds a hand up beside her mouth dropping her voice just slightly. "When the goddesses approve of a strike it deals extra secret damage."
"I've also been... practicing with... combining elements..." Rada adds, nodding along with what Erika K says. "It can... b-be difficult... but also fun... seeing what kind... of different effects... are possible... i-if you just... put your mind to it..."
"A-As for, um, projects... I don't think... a-anything I'm doing is... a-as exciting as Miss Kimoto, but..." Rada bites her bottom lip for a moment in hesitation before continuing. "I've, um... I've been working on... a spell that... m-makes it easier for... spirits to communicate with... a-and interact with... th-their loved ones...  s-so that a ghost... a-and their family or friends... h-have a chance... to grieve together... Th-Then they can... pass on peacefully... a-and the people still living... h-have closure..."
“I mean, that’s pretty cool too! Just, y’know, in a different way!” Erika L nods approvingly. “Speaking of elements and combos thereof, what are your favorites that you've learned so far?”
Erika K steeples her fingers and places her elbows on her knees, resting her chin on her hands as she leans forwards. "Mh.... I think I still like Celestial best. I think it’s always going to be my favourite, there's so much you can do with it. But teleporting has been really handy too. Trying to combine both with Space for Special Warping is a bit trickier, but I’m failing good so I can figure it out. I like all the magic I've learnt though, Earth makes me feel like a strong bender from the western eastern based anime. I'm hoping to try and see if sand and metal still fall under its belt or if I'll need to expand my roster first." 
The mic darts back to Rada. "I, um... r-really like working with Emotion magic... a-and I'm having a lot of fun with Music magic as well... Combining the two together... c-can be powerful... e-emotionally, that is, um... s-since music can... affect people... so much... A-Although Music and... L-Life magic is... a-also fun... l-like in, um... th-the cartoon with... th-the magic mouse... a-and the mops..." She tugs up the edge of her scarf, looking embarrassed. Way to out yourself for recreating The Sorcerer's Apprentice, Rada.
Erika K murmurs a little "I know that western anime," nodding along with Rada's words. She leans back into her seat, her lips quirking into a smile. "Death magic is still just a bud, but thanks to Rada I'd already started thinking of the sort of expanded uses for it. I even know some I wouldn't have thought of beforehand. I think learning a magic that one of us has already learnt is extra fun because it means we get to work together, and with peer reviews and sessions we can learn faster and better. And we get to hang out at the same time."
Although Rada’s mouth is covered, the corners of her eyes crinkle with a smile as Erika K talks about Death magic. "Y-Yes... I like... h-having magic... w-we can both do... I-It's a lot... easier to learn things... wh-when we're working together... a-and think of things... th-that I wouldn't consider... o-on my own..." Rada shifts in place before continuing. "I have a... b-better understanding of it... s-since starting to learn... Life magic... I-It's not as... s-scary or violent... It's... natural..." She adds, feeling like she needs to defend it.
Another nod from the interviewer. “Nice, nice! There’s so many elements out there, and each one is so versatile! And that’s not even everything a witch has at their disposal, either. Tell me about your wands!”
Shifting her posture into something more alert, Erika K claps once, a big smile on her face. She opens her purse and pulls her wand out. The act itself is comical, with the contrast in the size of the wand versus the purse itself. Thank you Space Magic. She balances the wand on her flat palms above her head, smiling brightly. 
"Last Laugh is super cool. I can fly on it, it has a detachable strap for easy carrying, and it makes a really good prop for physical comedy. It's got really good range as a prop, and it's nice and sturdy. Plus I can do this with it-" Hopping out of her seat she begins to twirl the gun shaped wand around, although for only a short while. Once done she drops back down resting her wand on her lap. "Also I can use it to fire off magic easier then-" She flexes, "these guns."
"It s-suits you..." Rada mumbles, the curve of her cheeks still visible above the edge of her scarf tinged with pink, which only deepens when Erika K flexes.
"M-Mine is, um... m-more specialized, I th-think... th-than Miss Kimoto's..." Rada squeaks as she pulls out her wand from a pocket beneath her apron.
In comparison to the rifle-wand, the one Rada holds up is tiny and thin, only a foot in length. The white porcelain lily-of-the-valley plant is fragile-looking, with blood red enamel filling in the gaps where the vase-like handle is cracked, and tiny red gemstones lining the rims of the bell flowers as well as the veins of its skeletal silver leaves.
"It helps me... protect myself o-or... other people... i-if things are going badly... a-and I've been hurt..." She explains, bringing it closer to her chest as she nibbles on her bottom lip. "I was nervous at first... th-that it would break but... i-it's stronger than it looks..."
“Wow, they’re both so cool, huh? Thanks again for agreeing to come out here today, you two.” Erika L brings the camera in close, beaming at the viewer. “Remember, folks, we can only do so much with magic alone. Think about what you can do to help the environment. What your government can do. We’re making progress, with everyone’s help!”
Special thanks to Saga, Cherry, and Mel for writing this post!
Happy Hollow: Mellow Marsh is a tumblr submission trials game with Discord ooc and a Discord thread server, and the sequel game to Happy Hollow. This game is 18+ with the exception of returning players. We will be accepting a cast of 16-18 people including mod ocs, and characters should be aged 16-24. The events of the previous game are not public knowledge to characters, so catching up on the last game is not necessary!
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