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cuuno-moved · 2 years

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Losing Dogs

jimmy goes to hermitcraft to apologize (a ranchers fic) (@the-fate-of-aspen-fall)

Jimmy came back to life with a scream and a bang.

He could have stayed in Double Life for just a bit longer, just to see what became of the others, but as soon as he realized what he’d done, what he’d failed to do, he quit, snapping out of the universe and back into his own bed.

It wasn’t an easy respawn, his chest sewing itself back together, his broken ribs clicking into place, and when it was done, he vomited, from pain and grief and guilt, and then he lay in that puddle for a while, just… rotting.

He felt awful.

No, that was an understatement- he usually felt awful, now he felt like the worst man alive.

Tango had been so hopeful, so kind- the only person who ever managed to make Jimmy forget about his goddamn curse for more than a minute, the only person to look past his horrible yellow wings and unending stupidity and irredeemable clumsiness and see someone, not to ridicule, but to love. Tango had given so much to Jimmy, and Jimmy had repayed him by getting their hearts torn out- literally.

Jimmy’s wings ached, and he whimpered lamely as he dug his nails in to the floor, gnawing on his tongue. It felt nice, being able to hurt without worrying about Tango, and without Tango worrying about him.

He was sobbing like a baby, still, sniffling and whimpering, snot getting in his beard and drool dripping down his chin, but he couldn’t stop, couldn’t just get up and man up.

He wasn’t sure how long he laid there before he ran out of tears, but he eventually moved, pried his aching body off the floor and stumbled to the bathroom to take a shower. It was ice cold- he didn’t have the energy to change it to warm, and it took him another hour to get out.

He hated himself. He really, really hated himself, and his stupid curse, and his stupid wings, and his stupid, goddamn self.

He must have laid in bed for a day, maybe two, because it was noon when Pixl knocked on the door, letting himself in without an invitation.

“Jimmy,” The Watcher said, calmly, evenly. “I’m not letting you do this to yourself.”

“Mng,” Jimmy moaned. “Hhr.”

“I know,” Pixl responded, pulling the blanket from Jimmy’s pale, aching body. “I saw what happened.”

Jimmy wrinkled his nose. He knew that the older man had the ability to see into other universes, but that didn’t mean he liked the idea. Nothing was sacred, nothing was private from Pixl’s eyes. Granted, he wasn’t a creep, and he was definitely a lot nicer about it than a certain other Watcher that Jimmy could name, so perhaps he shouldn’t complain.

Pixl tugged lightly on Jimmy’s wing, trying to get him to stand up, and Jimmy whined again before rolling out of bed, landing on his chest on the floor with a humph. Pixl sighed, kneeling beside him and tilting his head to try to look him in the eye.

“Jimmy, I swear to you Tango isn’t mad,” Pixl said, gently. “Not at you.”

“He should be,” Jimmy choked out. “I got us killed. I betrayed him-”

“You didn’t betray anyone-”

“-I betrayed him and I made him lose,” Jimmy sniffed. “And if he’s not mad, he’s a fool.”

He turned his head away from Pixl, glaring at the dust bunnies under his bed. He absolutely refused to cry about this, not in front of Pixl. He respected the older man too much to do that to him.

Pixl sighed, standing up. "I'm going to go get Gem. Don't…"

He left that sentence go unfinished: "Don't move," "Don't kill yourself," "Don't fuck this up somehow."

Jimmy felt sick.

It took Pixl about an hour to return, and in that time, Jimmy finally summoned the strength to sit up, leaning against the side of his bed wearily. The Watcher was closely followed by Gem, who was twisting her hands together anxiously.

"Hey Jimmy," She said, like she was talking to a nervous horse. "You wanna tell me what's up?"

"Lost a game," Jimmy said, and that sounded so ridiculous that he had to laugh. "Made someone I love lose it too."

He heard Pixl explain it to her, quietly, heard her hum in thought. She sat down across from him, crossing her legs.

"You know," She started. "I know Tango. He's a nice guy."

Jimmy whimpered. "I know."

Gem went quiet and Jimmy took the time to bury his head in his arms, trying to hide himself from view. They didn't understand, he knew. They didn't understand and they never would.

"...Jimmy, can you look at me?"

Jimmy shook his head, curling up a little tighter. He didn't want to see the pity on their faces, see the disappointment that he was back so soon, while Joel and Scott were still gone.

"Okay, that's fine, but I need you to listen to me, okay? This wasn't your fault. None of this was your fault," Gem said, her sweet voice gentle and calm. "No one blames you."

"You've been in bed for two days," Pix said, grimly. "You can't keep punishing yourself for this."

"He died because of me. Because of my curse," Jimmy choked out, weakly. "I killed Tango."

"You did no such thing," Gem said, sharply. "You made a mistake, as we all do, and now you're home, safe. And so is he."

Jimmy didn't respond, just squeezed his eyes shut so tightly that he saw colors and shapes dance across his vision.

"Jimmy…" Pix trailed off, before sighing. "Would you like to see him?"

Jimmy's head snapped up at that, and he stared at the two in front of him. Gem's long ears were held to her head, her big green eyes full of pity. Pix's arms were crossed, his glasses slipping down his nose. Neither of them looked like they were playing some cruel joke on him, but…

"Can I… can I really?"

"I can ask Xisuma," Gem said, softly. "And I doubt he'd say no to a short visit…"

Jimmy shivered at the thought of it, the idea of standing in Hermitcraft with Tango, like they'd always whispered about late at night.

Hermit were god-like figures, powerful and dangerous and ancient, and Hermitcraft was the source of all their strength. Once they entered their server, their power increased tenfold. Jimmy had always wondered what it was like, to stand under their castles and bridges and master builds and feel the power settle into his bones.

Pix described it once as a breath of fresh air you didn't know you needed, and Jimmy was sick of feeling like he was in a coalmine.

Besides, this gave him the chance to apologize, to beg Tango for forgiveness, to swear his life over to the man.

"Okay," Jimmy croaked. "Okay, yeah. I'd like that."

It took a week and a half for word to get back from Xisuma, and at that point, Joel and Scott had gotten back.

The three of them all got together to talk about it.

"Pearl and I won," Scott bragged. "But I let her take home the trophy, so to speak."

"I, um, I was the reason Tango and I died," Jimmy confessed. It felt easier to say it now, although the wounds still felt fresh. "Enderman."

Joel cleared his throat, tugging the corner of his tunic. "Etho and I… we burnt. In lava."

"Together?" Jimmy asked.

Joel's eyes met his, and he could see his pain reflected in him, the way his old friend-turned-rival pressed his lips in a line. "Yeah. Together."

Scott didn't understand, although he said he did. He mocked Jimmy for dying to something so simple, and laughed at Joel for not dying in combat, but both of them knew it was more complicated than that.

"I'm going to see him," Jimmy told Joel, late one night. Sausage was nearby, but he was preoccupied with Hermes, and didn't seem to hear. "Tango, I mean."

"You are?" Joel asked, his voice softer than any tone he'd ever used in front of Jimmy before. "Can you give Etho a message?"

"Of course."

"Tell him I loved him. And I'm sorry he didn't get to be red longer, he was really looking forward to that."

Jimmy smiled at him. "I will."

They left the next morning. Jimmy, False and Gem, all packed up for the long journey to Hermitcraft. They said their goodbyes, stepped through the End Portal, and were off.

Travelling through the End wasn't a very comfortable method of travel. Floating over the abyss for hours on end, only passing an island right when you've given up hope- it was tedious, and nerve wracking. But it was also the only way to get between servers.

Finally, they reached the Hermitcraft main island and landed, rubbing their sore shoulders. Gem went through the portal first, followed closely by False, leaving Jimmy to stand there for a moment, staring at the portal.

Was this a mistake?

Of course, he knew Tango would hate him, that was a given, but he wanted to make sure that he was given the chance to apologize. He would never be able to make it up to him, not really, but he was sick of running from his problems.

He stepped through the portal.

The Hermitcraft spawn was beautiful in a way nothing else was. Everything, from the massive trees around them to the nether portal to his back, everything felt like it had been embedded with magic, and it probably was.

False hurried off, something about seeing Ren, and left the other two alone.

"Come on," Gem said, softly, "I think Tango's in the nether."

Jimmy swallowed thickly, nodding and following her.

His hands were shaking, he realized, shaking violently enough that he had to shove them in his jean pockets. His wings felt too heavy, too big, the scarred patches where he'd torn out feathers in panic and disgust too cold and dry. He felt like the ground itself was swallowing him whole.

Tango was, in fact, in the nether. More specifically, in the nether hub, a beautiful room that Jimmy would have loved to have looked at if he wasn't so focused on the man before him.

He hadn't noticed them yet, he was too preoccupied with something in chat, grinning in amusement. His wings, cicada-like and beautiful, were held gingerly behind him, his long, thin tail thrashing on the ground.

He was dressed different now too, no longer in the body armor and athletic gear of Double Life, now just clad in a soft red sweater and black jeans, his combat boots replaced by a pair of soft looking tennis shoes. There was a pair of rose tinted glasses on his crooked nose, and a bandage plastered to his cheek where one of the enderman's claws had caught Jimmy's face. He looked so domestic, so at home, that Jimmy almost threw up.

Why was he doing this? Was it not enough that he killed Tango? Did he have to come to his home to rub it in? Tango was clearly happy here, he was clearly over Double Life, he didn't need closure, but he absolutely didn't need Jimmy to appear and act like they had been something.

Why did he think this was a good idea?

Jimmy took a step back, then another, but before he could flee completely, Gem's hand snapped out and grabbed him by the upper arm.

"Tango," She said, loudly and clearly. "You've got a visitor."

Tango's head snapped up. It was impossible to see where his eyes landed due to his lack of pupils, but something told Jimmy that they went straight to him.

They both stood there frozen, before Jimmy choked out a weak sob, going red immediately in embarrassment. He was not the one who should be upset by this, he was the one who needed to apologize.

"I'm sorry," He blurted. "I know you must hate me so much, I know I ruined everything, I know I messed it all up for you, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry-"

"Jim," Tango said, and Jimmy's mouth snapped shut. He had moved a bit, turned to more fully face them, and his face was twisted with something unreadable. "What… happened?"

"There was an enderman," Jimmy choked out. "It was really stupid because I don't think I even looked at him- at least I don't remember looking at him- and I know it's so so stupid but I just- I'm so so sorry."

"Are you okay?"

Jimmy froze, staring at him.

Tango's face hadn't changed, but he'd moved forward, until he stood on the other side of the bridge as Jimmy, only thirty feet or so away.

"I'm… Yeah, I'm okay- That doesn't matter, I got you killed-"

Tango surged forward and Jimmy flinched, but even as Gem let go, he held still, not moving away. He deserved this- whatever this was.

Tango stopped only feet away, his eyes wide, his breaths coming hard. His hands fluttered around Jimmy's upper arms as if searching for a place to land.

"Can I- can I touch you?"

Jimmy shivered, confused and afraid and so so lonely and he nodded.

Tango's hands landed on his arms, pulling him closer, his forehead brushing against his. "I'm so so glad you're okay."

All of Jimmy's breath left in a rush and he crumpled forward, collapsing into Tango's arms. Tango stumbled a bit under the weight of the taller man, but held firm, his long, nimble fingers tracing Jimmy's spine.

"I killed you," Jimmy gasped, pressing his face into Tango's shoulder. "It was all my fault, I'm so sorry-"

"I don't blame you," Tango murmured. "It's okay, I don't blame you-"

"Why not? Everyone- Joel, Scott, Grian, Martyn, they all blame me for everything, even things I didn't do-"

"And they're in the wrong for it. They… you need better friends, man."

Jimmy choked as he broke down again, clinging to Tango for dear life. By the time he could breathe again, Tango had led them both to lay down against the tree, his arms wrapped around Jimmy protectively.

Gem had left a while back, leaving them to sit in silence.

After a pause, Jimmy shifted to move off of Tango's lap, rubbing his snotty face clean.

"Sorry," He said for the thousandth time that day. "That was gross."

Tango chuckled weakly. "It's okay, I'm glad you got it out. Sometimes all you need is a good cry."

"Coming from the guy who 'hasn't cried in years,'" Jimmy huffed, nudging him. "Or were you bluffing?"

"I may have been lying a little bit," Tango said softly, pressing his chin to Jimmy's shoulder. "Especially when it came to Double Life. Cried a lot when you weren't around."

"I'd cry too," Jimmy muttered. "You were bound to the Canary."

"I was teamed with Jimmy Solidarity," Tango corrected gently. "Better than being stuck with Etho."

"Oh-" Jimmy sat up abruptly. "Joel wanted me to pass on a message. To Etho, I mean."

"Are you… are you sure you want to see him? He's the reason we became reds, you know," Tango said, and he didn't sound like he was doubting Jimmy, only like he was concerned. "I don't… I don't want you to push yourself-"

"I have to see Scott for every day for the rest of my life," Jimmy said, tiredly. "I can handle talking to a man who I hardly know."

"Alright. I'll take you to him."

Etho was apparently living in Ren and Bdubs basement, which was something that Jimmy found really funny as Tango led him down the narrow, musty stairs and into the dusty stone room.

Etho was hunched over some chests in the back, his tail swishing back and forth behind him. He too looked different, softer, his hair up in a messy bun on top of his head, a pair of rectangular glasses slipping down his nose. He was dressed in a black hoodie and a pair of shorts, his bandana replaced with a hard plastic shiny headband.

"Hey, Etho," Tango cleared his throat. "Look who came to see you."

Etho looked up. He wasn't wearing his eye patch and his dull reddened eye stared into the distance. "Hello Solidarity."

"Hi Etho," Jimmy said, trying very hard not to be afraid. "I have a message from Joel."

Etho stood up, and Oh End he was so tall. "Oh?"

"He said, um," Jimmy paused. "He said he loved you and was sorry you weren't red any longer."

Etho's eyes crinkled. Jimmy suddenly realized he had never seen the other man smile. He wasn't really intimidating up close, wearing what looked to be a hoodie with Bdubs' face on it.

"Huh. You know, I didn't really mind not being red for long as much as he thought. He really values being dangerous and unhinged, doesn't he?"

"I guess so," Jimmy smiled. "Lizzie's got her hands full with him."

"I'd imagine so," Etho leaned against a chest. "So… no hard feelings?"

"No hard feelings."

"Sweet. Hey, have you gotten a tour yet?"

"Uh, not really," Jimmy glanced at Tango, who had started grinning. "I kinda was just planning on leaving-"

"Leaving?!" Tango's eyes widened as he grabbed onto Jimmy's upper arm. "No, you've got to stay, at least for dinner- oh my god, Ren's going to be so excited to see you- and Bdubs-!"

"Okay!! I'll stay!" Jimmy laughed. "Alright… just for the night."

"Yippee," Etho stood up, stretching his arms over his head and jogging past them. "I'm gonna let them know you're here."

"Thank you," Jimmy smiled weakly. "Sorry for-"

"-Don't apologize," Tango said, sharply, then, quieter. "No one's mad at you."

"Okay…" Jimmy smiled, listening to Etho's footsteps fade. "You know… you weren't joking when you said this place felt like power."

"Told you," Tango slung his arm over Jimmy's shoulders. "Now, come on, you need to meet Zedaph, you guys will get along great."

#dave's author arc #double life #jimmy solidarity #tangotek #some others too

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saltminerising · 4 months

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Man I think it's the first time I feel like a hater for the festival, I genuinely hate everything they dropped this time around. The snake looks way underdone in comparison to the rest, branch apparel is copy-pasty (thats fine, I get we have a lot of breeds) and is completely not fit for certain poses and genuinely looks broken (spirals).

The icicle gene is... hhhhh. It's cool it's a tert-saver colorwise but it looks like ass as anything other than ice. Like it doesn't look like anything else and isn't versatile in the slightest. Really wish it was more like crystals/gem fangs, horn extentions, and maybe some covering the limbs. Or just ice aura... 2! Just anything other than snot crust.

❄️

#genes

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grayintogreen · 2 years

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WIP WEDNESDAY

Here's the promised soft Widomauk from the first chapter of you can't deny high noon, featuring "tethers go BOTH ways." : D

“Molly… Mollymauk, are you all right?”

“Obviously not,” he croaked. He held no bite in his words, only misery, but it was still a careless little shit response. Caleb, bless him, was awkward and ill-suited for being delicate. Molly liked that about him- he hated being handled with kid gloves.

But it often meant that sometimes his own bastard came out when all Caleb was doing was trying to help. It was just a part of navigating a relationship. If it was perfect, neither of them would believe it was real.

“I deserve that,” Caleb drawled and began to run his fingers through Molly’s sweat-soaked curls, trying to pull the one errant one that would never stay back off his forehead and back into place. He kissed the back of his neck where Mirumus’s inert eye lay and he felt his whole body shudder with revulsion and Caleb drew back again.

“You do not want to be touched right now.” It wasn’t a question.

“No… No. I want to be touched- by you, especially.” Molly swallowed around his dry, scratchy throat. “I just… It feels…”

He didn’t know how to describe it beyond that it felt like someone had held him down and violated his soul, but he had no context for why he felt like that. He hadn’t been dreaming-

A cold hand clenched around his heart. The fucking tether- no. That didn’t make sense. He reached up and touched the amulet around his neck- the only thing he was wearing besides his horn caps- fitting his talons in between the bars of the tiny cage. The pink gem inside was warm against his knuckles. Still working.

He was supposed to be cut off. “I don’t know what happened.”

Silence held for a few tense moments while he willed his heart to beat properly and his breathing to steady. No matter how high he counted there was still a painful hitch in his lungs that caught every third breath and threatened a panic attack. He fumbled for Caleb’s hand and squeezed it.

Caleb, seeing this as permission, scooted closer until he could pull Molly against his chest. The brief moment of panic that he might take Caleb down with him when he went supernova faded in an instant. The absence of a fear of burning went both ways.

The tears came harder then- hot, frustrated things more than anything. Crying never suited him and always came in moments of heightened helplessness more than anything else- if he was crying then something in his very core had decided there was nothing else to be done. Tears wouldn’t fix it but they might provide a catharsis.

They also provided an indelicate amount of snot and ugly noises, muffled against the uneven smattering of red hair on Caleb’s bare chest. If Caleb minded this, he said nothing and kept petting his sweaty hair and rubbing his back while he broke.

“We should speak to Cree about this,” he finally said once Molly’s sobbing had quieted to violent hiccups.

“It’s not a blood problem. It’s- it’s-“ he hiccuped so hard that he lost the thread of the sentence and just groaned and dug his horns a bit too hard into Caleb’s chest, not realizing he’d done it until Caleb hissed. He mumbled a petulant I’m sorry.

Caleb only chuckled and Molly would like to punch whatever part of himself told him repeatedly that he wasn’t kind and merciful. Neither of them were delicate and sometimes they brushed up against each other in unpleasant ways, but they were learning the correct responses to navigating one another in those circumstances. Caleb would always better than he believed he was. “That is what I get for sharing a bed with an affectionate goat. I grew up on a farm. I can take it.”

Molly hiccuped again. “I don’t know if Cree can help.”

“Cree knows the Somnovem. She knows Lucien.”

He blew out a long, frustrated breath that caught against his lips in a pbblt sound. He hadn’t even said anything and Caleb figured it out. “You’re too smart for your own good.”

“Ja, and I know nothing scares you like that but them.” He pressed his blunted nails into the spot on his scalp just beneath his left horn and Molly turned to goo in his arms like he’d just pushed the pliable tiefling button.

Something about the word pliable made his stomach twist in knots and the tension returned. He felt Caleb’s lips purse against the crown of his head. “If nothing else, she can put you to sleep.”

“So can you.”

“Not like she can.”

#wip wednesday #critical role fic #you can't deny high noon #widomauk

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wjforever · 1 year

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Shatter me again. Chapter 88

I used to think I knew what fear meant. Animal terror. I thought I was afraid before. When I was arrested for murder. When I was transferred from institution to institution. When I got to the headquarters. When we were running under a hail of bullets…

Even back then I wasn't as scared as I'm now. Because then I had a faint hope, it seemed to me that something could still be done. But now I'm facing the danger itself. I'm in the hands of someone who can really trample me. He can destroy me. Morally. Physically. He's able to leave no one stone of my temple upon another. Just because he can. And there's nothing I can do about it. Nothing at all. He has already outlined his position to me. He won't let me escape from this. He'll be cruel. He'll be ruthless.

He lets go of my wrists, his hands are on me again, but now on my shoulders. He holds me through the fabric of Adam's T-shirt. And I close my eyes, waiting for my destruction. I wish my gift would come back now. All my life I've dreamed of getting rid of it, but now I need it more than ever. But this power is no longer able to protect me. This is my payment for all the ruined lives.

I press myself against the wall, I can barely stand on my feet. It's too much for me. It's too much. Tears begin to form in my eyes. I'm breaking down. Something inside me snaps in half, crunches. Guilt, pain, fear, shame overflow and run down my cheeks.

I can't take it anymore. I want all this to be over. I want this to be a terrible dream, just a nightmare. I shrink all over, my throat constricts, screams and cries get stuck somewhere in the depths of my chest, and I sob soundlessly. The trembling becomes so strong that I feel myself hitting the wall behind me.

All that remains of me is a pitiful, shameful lump. I feel disgusted. With myself. I hate myself. I despise my weakness. I so want to be strong again. I want to fight and struggle. But there is nothing decent or noble left in me. I don't accept my fate with my head held high, I don't look boldly in the face of impending tragedy, like a heroine. I am a shattered nothingness, a pathetic semblance of a human, a mess of tears and snot. I have only myself to blame. I'm paying for my own sins. Miserable, worthless…

If he saw me as the ruler of the world, deserving to stand next to him, then he was very much mistaken. I didn't pass his test. I'm just the leftovers remain after his bloody feast.

"Look at me."

His voice is so confident, insistent. He knows what he wants. He wants to see how my fall will change my eyes. He wants to see. He won't defer to me. He wants to watch my suffering, my pain. But I don't look. Not out of pride or audacity. I just can't. I'm too scared, too weak, too confused about where I am and what's going on. There are only emotions left that paralyze my entire being.

"Juliette, look at me."

I'm getting a feeling of déjà vu. This happened before. At the headquarters. The morning after he killed Fletcher. I cried the same way, and he asked me to look at him. I was also terribly afraid back then, I thought he would kill me. He didn't hurt me then. He was kind to me. For a while. It's all a lie. It's all a game. He just planned to keep using me to torture people for him. And at that moment he couldn't touch me. He couldn't touch me… But now…

I shouldn't look at him, because I'll turn to stone. I'm counting the buttons on his coat. One, two, three, four… It's not calming me, but I shouldn't look at him. Because I will see the cruel eyes of a smug monster reveling in his power.

But his voice… along with his persistence, there is some… sincerity in it.

You can't trust a voice.

I need to see his eyes.

And I let his green gems burn through me.

Shriveling, pulling my head into my shoulders, pressing against the wall, I'm looking into the eyes of my own demons, that have tormented me all my life. I can barely see his face because of the tears blurring my eyes. He's so close. His lips are so close. He'll carry out his threat. I know that. And I'm waiting for this kiss, practically losing consciousness. I almost want it already. So that it ends faster.

He's frowning, serious, focused. But those eyes… There is nothing calm about them. They're rushing from side to side, are hypnotizing me like a pendulum. And I shift my gaze to my bloodied guillotine. To his lips. I tried to escape from it, I thought I could. But I couldn't. I made a circle and returned to the starting point. I'm not ready to die, I'm not ready to lose my head, but I know that there is no other fate for me. Maybe I should just accept it. Maybe I even deserve such torture. I suddenly relax in his arms, lose all will, humble before my destiny. I give myself up, I surrender without a fight. There is no sense of struggle or resistance left in me. Nothing. Everything is burned out. Only a hollow shell remained, filled with emptiness.

I can see his lips parting as he leans a little closer. I feel his breath on my face. I close my eyes and inhale through my mouth…

"I won't hurt you, you hear?" I'm not sure that I hear. I blink, open my eyes wider, trying to see something behind the tears. "Hush, calm down."

Now he's the one who closes his eyes, inhales, licks and then bites his injured lower lip. And I can't take my eyes off this action. I'm watching him like he was watching me just now. It's like I'm stunned. It seems to me that I'm in a intoxicating fog that prevents me from soberly perceiving the world around me.

"It doesn't matter, okay? It doesn't matter right now. We're talking about the wrong things." He exhales sharply. His fingers rub my shoulders lightly, as if to cheer me up. "We have to think about other, more important issues. Good? I know you're scared.… I understand… Really… We parted on a bad note. And now… I was disturbed by all these events… I didn't control myself well. My fault. But I won't hurt you. I swear. Let's try to pull ourselves together. We said a lot to each other. But now we can talk calmly, sensibly, reasoning like rational people, right?"

Talk calmly? After he killed Adam? I don't think so. I don't think it's possible. But I don't have the strength to answer him.

"Juliette. I'm not your enemy… I'm not the one who's your enemy… Please hear me. Listen to what I'm telling you. Do you have any plan? Have you thought about the consequences of all this? You're all alone…"

Yes, I think, I'm all alone. Because he killed Adam.

"You have nowhere to go, you see? Wherever you go…"

His persuasive tone eases the tension slightly and some dam breaks inside me. All the pain, all the fear, all the resentment suddenly return, filling me to the brim again and it all spills out. I remember everything he said to me when Adam and I were running away. He told me that I had no place in this world. And even though I know he's right, it's driving me crazy. I'm used to always digesting everything inside myself, but now, next to him… I want to throw out all this bitterness on him. Like it's his fault. Although it's not. But it's much easier to blame him than to admit my worthlessness over and over again. Or maybe I just need someone to share this pain with.

"I know! I know I'm no better than you! I remember that I'm a freak! That I have no place in this world, that no one will ever accept me. That I would be hated. I know that people suffer and die because of me, because I'm a monster, because I do everything wrong. I remember. I remember that I belong to you, that I have no rights, no choice. I'm your thing, your property. I know that if I don't obey you, you'll still get to me and turn my life into hell. You'll force me be near you whether I want it or not. Will make me do whatever you want. I know all this, but I… I don't want to be like you! It'll be better for everyone if I'm alone… will die of hunger and cold…" Tears flow uncontrollably in a stream. I can't go on, my voice breaks, and I avoid his gaze again.

He's silent for too long.

We're honoring the memory of dozens of seconds buried by us.

"Juliette…" he breathes.

An insidious snake wrapped around its mouse. His whisper hypnotizes, makes you forget all precautions. Forcing you to make a fatal mistake.

I blink up at him.

It was a trap.

A cruel, evil trap.

My eyes are full of tears, and his, suddenly, disarming sympathy. And he shouldn't look at me like that. With these eyes the color of grass warmed by the sunshine. The same eyes that I've been deceived by so many times. But I'm so hurt, and scared, and mournful. And I want to get away from it all. I want to hide from the horror that I feel. I'm looking for safety.

There's nowhere to hide here. There's no dark corner I could huddle in. But I remember that he can give it to me. He's done it before and more than once. Even when I hated him and was afraid of him. Somehow he could snap me out of my worries. Somehow he managed to calm me down. For some reason I know I'm safe with him, that he won't hurt me. And I know I have to forget about it.

Warner opens his mouth, shakes his head, but, it seems, can't find the words.

"Ju… just… leave me… here…" sob. "Please…"sob. "I... let me… die…"

"Juliette… let me explain everything. Please. Will you listen to me?"

I nod, because I have no other options.

"I'm sorry… I'm sorry that I put so much pressure on you. I know it was difficult for you… But I have… I had to. I couldn't… I didn't know what else to do. I didn't have much time to get through to you, and you were so alarmed…"

It seems to me that his impeccable oratorical skills are suddenly failing him. He exhales, bites his lips, looks up somewhere. And I'm just waiting for what he wants to tell me without taking my eyes off him.

"Listen… everything I said… I should have phrased that differently. That's not what I meant… I just didn't know how to stop you. But that's not what I was trying to tell you… Understand, wherever you go, you would remain in the territory of The Reestablishment. Everything is not limited to the headquarters and the regulated territory. Wherever you run, even if you managed to leave the sector, they would still find you. With or without Adam… You wouldn't be able to hide forever. The Reestablishment is everywhere. And this world wouldn't show you mercy or understanding, you know that.

If you ran away now, they would find you anyway, sooner or later. You would be discovered wherever you go and brought back to the headquarters. If they didn't immediately understand who you are, then you would be sent to another asylum, and from there you would still return to the headquarters. But next time I might not be able to help you. Things could get much worse, you have no idea…"

His voice is soft. Easy. Slow. Deceptively convincing. And I'm suddenly amazed at how deftly he changes the subject. Brings us back to the starting position again. And his voice varies accordingly. But I understand what he's doing. He shapeshifts once again. He's playing with me again. Changes tactics, trying to give me what I need. He's done it before and many times. He could lie to me. He is The Reestablishment. He says all this just to intimidate me, so that I agree to anything. Voluntarily, of course. It's just such a game for him. Everything is a game for him. By playing, he's driven me here like an animal, I remind myself.

"Juliette. Come with me… please. You don't know how far The Reestablishment could go to to get you back. And if you left now, you would be considered a traitor. And then you wouldn't have a chance. Do you understand? Please don't make this any worse for you. Trust me. I'll fix everything. They'll think it was all part of the plan, that you were on my side. That you helped me find criminals. I can handle it. I can protect you."

He's like a feral dog, crazed and wild, thirsty for chaos, simultaneously aching for recognition and acceptance.

Love.

"Criminals?" I ask surprisingly calmly, as far as it's possible under the circumstances.

He nods.

"I'm a criminal too…"

"Juliette… there's no sense sacrificing yourself…" His voice is so gentle, velvety. And all of a sudden, I'm quite inappropriately paying attention to how attractive his voice is. I like to listen to this chest sound, I like how it lulls me. He has a very pleasant timbre. And very enjoyable, unusual intonations, as if he speaks with a slight, unknown accent.

"You'll never understand!" I say with a little more desperation.

"I understand. I know what you're afraid of. But you're not a monster… Do you hear? You're not a monster. It's not about you. It's just that people are afraid of what they don't understand. And when they are afraid of something, they try to destroy it. People always strive to ruin what's better, to suppress those who are weaker. Because all humans are selfish. They act only in their own interests. And when you find yourself among the others, and you can't always be alone, they'll try to eliminate you or use you for their own purposes."

"Like you do?" I look up sharply at him, but I don't raise my voice. My eyes are boring into his.

I see the pain. In his eyes, in his expression. Such sincere, genuine pain. Like he's really sorry that I'm not letting him help, that I can't and don't want to believe him. As if it causes him physical torment. As if my opinion and attitude towards him really mean something to him.

"All I want is to help you. Believe me. Please. I want to help you."

His words are just a sweet lie, another manipulation and nothing more. But I'm too tired to look for a catch in every word. I suddenly want to believe him for some reason. I want to believe his words, I want to believe in his sincerity. I'm suddenly ready to believe that he really wants to help me, that he's been trying for me all this time, that I don't know everything. He's already helped me, hasn't he? I don't know if he did it for his own benefit, but he helped me. And he has shown me a different, softer side of himself so many times. He took care of me. He was gentle and attentive to me. And I saw how he had to change, to adapt to circumstances. And I want to believe in "what if".

I'm really frightened, actually. I have no one else and nothing. Warner destroyed it all. I have nowhere to run. I don't know what to do. And I'm afraid to be all alone in this huge, crazy, scary world that I've never been in. I'm afraid of being caught. I'm afraid to experience all this horror again. And I know for sure that Warner can help me, get me back into my usual routine. He can comfort me. Like no one ever could. I already know this feeling, and I unconsciously reach out to it like a moth to a flame.

I want him to hug me. Because his hands are always able to save me from my own fears. I want to hide in him from reality. I want him to become my refuge, to protect me from the fierce storm that's hitting me from all sides. I shouldn't feel like this, I have to fight this irrationality. But he has already managed to accustom me to this, and I so need to grab onto something familiar, something that gives peace and hope. Because everything that's happening right now is not real. It can't be this way. I couldn't lose Adam. I couldn't let his brother die because of me. I couldn't drag Kenji into this. I don't want this to be true. And I'm looking for ways to get away from it all.

Tears are scudding down my face inexorably again, and my trembling is only getting stronger, because I'm losing the remnants of control over myself.

I'll never tell him this in my life. Never. I won't tell him I need him. I'll never say that I want him to comfort me.

He doesn't wait for any request or approval from me. He just pulls me to him and hugs me. Presses me to his body, stroking my back, my head.

"It's okay. Everything is fine. You hear me? Everything will be fine. Come with me, come home. It's okay. You're safe now. You're safe. I won't let anything happen to you."

I didn't ask my hands to go up and wrap around his neck. I didn't ask my body to cling to his. But I hug him back.

He exhales sharply, stands for a few moments in indecision, and then continues stroking me again as he's whispering in my ear.

"We'll fix everything, do you hear? Everything will be fine. Nobody else gets hurt. I'll think of something. I'll rectify it."

I want to believe that we'll fix everything and that everything will be fine. We could rewind time. Go back to the past. I want him to promise me this. I want him to save me. Pulled out of this cage of my own emotions. And I want to stay in these arms. It's like I've spent my whole life in these arms.

We're not here anymore. We're back at the base. And everything is fine. And James lives alone in his cozy untouched apartment and goes to Benny every day, and she swears bad words. And Kenji continues to serve, throwing his ridiculous jokes at everyone and getting slaps on the back of the head and discontented looks. And Adam waits for the moment to sneak into my bedroom again, to hug me, to hold me close to him and to promise me salvation. And Warner…

"Jesus… Juliette, please… Don't be afraid. You hear? No one will hurt you. I won't hurt you." Warner pulls away from me slightly, looks into my eyes. My brain is on fire, ready to explode from at the impossibility of this moment. "Everything will be fine. Please don't cry. Your tears break my heart."

I only now realize that I allowed myself to cry for real, not restraining myself anymore. His clothes are wet with my tears, my sobs drown out my own mind, my face is contorted with a grimace of sorrow. But the tenderness in his gaze makes this storm subside for a moment, along with a sigh comes a calm. He smiles weakly at me, a small sad smile. And his thumbs brush my cheeks, wiping away my tears. And his eyes… There's such genuine kindness in them, and care, and sympathy, and…

"It's unbearable to see you cry. Please… I can't stand to see you suffer." His voice is just a whisper, barely audible, comforting. He leans closer to me again, strokes me soothingly, presses his cheek to my temple, speaks against my hair. "Your torment breaks my heart… Please… I can't bear it… I can't… I love you so much…"

Two stars collide in space, creating a new black hole. I can't understand what he's saying. I can't tell if I misheard it or if he actually said it. How can he say something like that? I guess it just seemed to me in this stream of his incoherent whispers and my own thoughts, drowned out by the beats of my heart in my ears. It's like nonsense, delirium. Because in reality, this just can't be.

I lean away from him, look into his eyes in disbelief.

"No, you don't."

"I do. I love you so much. Madly. You have no idea."

He seems intoxicated. His half-lidded eyes close. It seems he can no longer hold his head, and he touches my forehead with his.

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#aaron warner #juliette ferrars #shatter me #shatter me series #warnette #ella sommers #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #fanfiction #shatter me again

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grasslandgirl · 3 years

Text

FALLING for you

It was an accident. Really. Katja was tall, and she’d always been more comfortable on horseback than on her own feet. So when a root sticking out of the ground caught on her boot while she was walking home from school with Ostentatia; it was an inevitability that Katja would trip. And take Ostentatia down with her. And somehow, through a feat of physics Katja didn’t understand, ended up sprawled on her back with Ostentatia on top of her- their faces mere inches apart.

Katja stared. Ostentatia stared back. Katja didn’t think about how she could smell Ostentatia’s strawberry lip gloss, the Love Spell perfume she reapplied at lunch, the oregano hair rinse her Nonna made her use every weekend. Ostentatia blinked down at Katja. Katja was sure she was bright red and probably smelled like the stables (the bad stables smell, like dirt and sweat and poop- not the good stables smell of fresh hay and Cinnamon’s special cinnamon-scented mane conditioner).

Ostentatia sat up, rolling off of Katja and sitting down on the grass beside her. Katja closed her eyes for a moment, staying sprawled out on her back. Her stomach was one big knot and she could still feel Ostentatia watching her. Her knee was right next to Katja’s ribs, and if either of them moved even an inch, they would be touching. Katja opened her eyes again, looking up at the blue sky through the branches of the tree above her.

She sat up. Ostentatia was still staring at her, mouth pursed up tiny and determined.

"I- I'm sorry-" Katja started to say.

Ostentatia shoved her hand out towards Katja's face, holding one finger in front of her face to silence her. "Don't say you're sorry." Ostentatia commanded, and Katja's mouth snapped shut. She tried very hard not to think about how close Ostentatia's hand was to her mouth. She tried not to think about how close Ostentatia’s mouth had been to hers a minute ago. This is just how Ostentatia, Katja told herself, she's loud and she's pushy and she goes into my personal space because she cares about me- like a friend. That's it. "Don't apologize to me," Ostentatia continued, scowling up at Katja. "You did not to anything wrong."

"But I-"

"No!" Ostentatia interrupted again, "I need to tell you something! And I'm going to say it!"

Katja nodded, mute with worry. Ostentatia stood, unspeaking. Her eyes bored holes into Katja. Her jaw trembled, even as she glared, and Katja worried for a second that Ostentatia was about to cry.

Ostentatia crying was the third worst thing Katja could think of, after Cinnamon dying or her Dad being upset. Katja very pointedly did not think about the connecting factor between those three things. If Ostentatia started crying, than Katja was going to start crying too, and then Ostentatia would be upset she'd made Katja cry, and then Penny would appear out of nowhere- she had a weird sixth sense ability to tell whenever one of them was crying- and the weird moment would be broken.

Katja didn't think about how pretty Ostentatia still managed to look- even when she cried. Tears streaming down her face in clean lines, eyes sparkling even as she glared at someone or something, nose turning bright red. Katja always ended up with a lot of snot over her face, and that wasn't a good look for anyone but Cinnamon (who looked beautiful always and forever no matter the circumstances).

Katja wondered what was so important or so bad that Ostentatia couldn't bring herself to say it aloud- even to her. There were only a few things that Ostentatia struggled to say (that was one of the things Katja lo- liked the most about her; how Ostentatia wasn't ever afraid to say what she thought)- not like Katja, who still felt the most comfortable talking to Cinnamon.

"I'm going to say it." Ostentatia repeated, but it sounded more like she was saying it to herself this time, not to Katja. Her finger was still an inch away from Katja's lips. Katja still wasn't thinking about it. Ostentatia had really pretty hands, too: perfect nails with real gems on them, she and her mom had a regular appointment to get them done together every month. One time, Ostentatia invited Katja to go with them, but Katja didn't end up going- it's hard to set up horse tack with inch-long acrylics. (Even if Ostentatia said her nail tech could totally do a horse design if Katja wanted. Even though Ostentatia had taken Katja's hand in her own and told her she had nice nail beds. Even though Ostentatia's hands had been warm and gentle on hers.) Katja blinked. Ostentatia was scowling.

Back before they were The Maidens, back before they were friends, Katja had thought that Ostentatia's scowl was the scariest thing in the world (after the thought of Cinnamon getting hurt or dying, of course). But, Katja realized with a little bit of pride, she knew Ostentatia well enough now to know this wasn't her pissed-off-at-You scowl, this was her pissed-off-at-Me scowl.

"I'm gonna say it," Ostentatia said for the third time, almost murmuring it. Her perfectly-manicured eyebrows were low over her eyes, jaw set and determined.

"I love you," Ostentatia whispered.

Katja's heart fell out of her chest.

Ostentatia wasn't one who was afraid of telling people she loved them- she did it often, loudly, and with pride. But this was different. This wasn't how Ostentatia said it to the other maidens, or even how Katja had overheard her say it to her family. This was quiet, an intention behind the words that Katja was terrified to put a name to.

Ostentatia huffed, blowing a small strand of hair out of her face. "I mean like- whatever, I love you. Like. Eugh-" she finally took her hand away from Katja's face, gesturing with both of her arms wildly- "Like love you, okay! Like, Zelda and her weirdo boyfriend, like Danielle and Antiope, like Sam and that fucking bitch Aelwyn. Like- like you. Okay??" Ostentatia's voice rose in pitch and volume as she talked, but behind all her bravado, Katja saw something she'd never seen in Ostentatia before- uncertainty.

Oh.

"Oh." She breathed, and like she was waiting for any response from Katja, Ostentatia froze- arms hanging in the air, mid-gesture.

"Oh?" Ostentatia echoed. Her voice was angry, but her eyes were still uncertain, even- afraid.

"I, uh, like- love you too." Katja mumbled. She'd read a lot of the romance-centric books in the Babysitter's Horse series (even written some stories of her own for some of them, but that wasn't here or there-) but nothing Katja had ever read could have prepared her for how hard it was to say it aloud. "Uh, I didn't know that- but you just- and I don't know how to. Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Uh. Did you want to-" Katja racked her brain for something cool or romantic to say. (In most of the Babysitter's Horse books, they went and got hay from the same trough together- or even sugar cubes in some of the later, teen editions- but Katja didn't think Ostentatia would want to do that.) "Get ice cream? From Basrars? With me? Just me- not the other girls? Or, I mean, if you wanted to invite them too we can if you want to, but I thought maybe we could-"

"Yes." Ostentatia was twisting one of her rings around her finger- a nervous tic- but she was smiling up at Katja. She had a really pretty smile, and it made something go mushy and warm in Katja's stomach to realize that it was her that was making Ostentatia smile like that. "Yes. Basrar's. A date."

"Oh. Okay. Cool." A date.

"Okay," Ostentatia said definitively. She took Katja's hand in her own- warm, with callouses on her palm and cool metal rings on her fingers. "Let's go." Ostentatia tugged Katja to her feet.

“Ostentatia?” Katja hated how her voice wavered, hated how even in this wonderful, important moment, she still shook with uncertainty. She turned, raised an imperious eyebrow; but there was still that warm smile on her mouth, her hand around Katja’s- and that was enough to bolster Katja’s courage. “I wanted to kiss you. Earlier. When we-” Katja felt like her face was on fire- “and also. Before then. A lot. So.” She grimaced, looking down at Ostentatia’s warm hand still tight around hers. “Sorry, I’m not good at this.”

“Katja.” Ostentatia took a step closer. Katja could see her pristine Fantasy Uggs in the grass. “Look at me.” How was Katja supposed to ignore that? She did, tugging her gaze away from their interwoven fingers. Ostentatia’s smile was a blinding, burning thing, spread across her face. Katja had heard her talk about her god’s Holy Forge before- how it had burned impossibly hot for centuries, how no mere mortal could look upon it without Logran’s blessing or their face would get burned off- Katja thought that’s what Ostentatia’s smile looked like. So beautiful she was scared she would go blind from the force of it. “You’re good at this. You’re good at a lot of stuff. Don’t shit talk my girlfriend like that.”

“Girlfriend-?” Katja squeaked.

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“And for the record? I thought about kissing you, too.” Ostentatia tipped her head, huffing as though she’d just won an argument. Katja beamed. “So there. Can we go get ice cream and make out now?”

“Ye- yeah. Yes. Let’s go.” Katja held Ostentatia’s hand the whole way to Basrar’s- and she didn’t trip once.

#HHHHHHHHHH THEYRE SO.....#d20 #the seven #fic #ostentatia wallace #katja cleaver #whats their ship name? kastentatia?#anyway s/o to casey aberfeath as always for being my sounding board love uuuu

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inlemoons · 2 years

Text

snake-scale queen

summary: Zelda would never call him the Gerudo term for husband, a guttural word she could barely pronounce because it stuck to the back of her tongue like the snot from a spring cold that wouldn't clear away.

pairing: zelda/ganondorf || universe: some AU ocarina of time, i guess || rating: soft M

remember this? i rewrote it for 2021, but i’ll keep the old one up bc it wasn’t bad

|||

They’d dressed her in what amounted to spiderwebs--not the pretty gossamer kind, but the thick gobby kind she’d sometimes find in the corners of the castle, the kind she’d stick her fingers in and her older sisters would screech; or at least that’s what the guipure leaves felt like scratching against her breasts, her stomach, her thighs. And the gems--she remembered rubies and diamonds from her old life, the graceful lariats and royal paves, but the way these fat gold chains snaked up her ankles and wrists was not delicate. These were pretty shackles--though perhaps not too unlike the diadem she used to wear, not too unlike the Bearers of Wisdom who came before.

Those closest to him called him Gan while the rest called him Lord, and she wondered which she would be expected to use. Murdering Fucker, she might spit out at him. The thought made her stomach turn and her heart beat faster, right up there with her father, who was Controlling Traitous Fucker. She'd never call him the Gerudo term for husband, a guttural word she could barely pronounce because it stuck to the back of her tongue like the snot from a spring cold that wouldn't clear away.

Spring. She knew from her studies that the desert had seasons, but Gerudo Valley was so unbearably hot and dry the thought of lush green gardens felt far away. Her attendant had rubbed so much glittering oil into her skin, muttering little snake-scale princess over and over in that ugly language they didn’t realize she could already speak, in some attempt at softness. Was she the queen of anything besides snakes, sandstone, and stupid negotiations?

The door swung open but she didn't turn towards the noise, instead gazing at the ornate thuribles hanging from the low ceiling. She'd always hated incense, even in her own religion's ceremonies; she thought it smelled like musty, moth-filled closets, and it clouded her head until she couldn't breathe.

He didn’t directly approach, but strode towards the drink table set out by his noble attendants.

“What would you like?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re coiled like a snake.”

“What is it with you people and snakes? The girl called me a ‘snake-scale princess’ earlier--”

“Finding a snake skin in the desert is good luck. You know that.” His switch to flawless Hyrulean cutting through the smoke like a knife. “Drink. You’ve had nothing since earlier-”

“So you can drug me into a stupor?”

That got him. “I didn’t authorize that.”

She shot to her feet--who cared, really, that her breasts were nearly bare--and the world swam. Shit. And then, something cool at her mouth, liquid, head tilted back, the jangle of his bracelets chiming in her buzzing ears.

"I hate you." Zelda whispered it. He stepped back and she clutched the half-empty cup, the spot he’d touched on her chin still warm. Her vision shifted inadvertently to his hands, thick and wide and decorated with rubies. She thought of those dark jeweled hands pressing on her body--goddesses, I’m going to have to--and flinched so hard the rest of the water spilled between the chains on her legs.

"Not all of them hate you," he said, and she could feel his eyes on her. "Most of them don’t, even." He paused.

She wanted to retort, well all of Hyrule hates you. Goddesses, a few months back she was reading books in the courtyard, pink peonies climbing up the trellises in the lush garden castles, and her head buzzed with endless springtime. Now, her world was golden and red and smoky, and scarabs clawed her spine.

He pulled a stool from a nearby desk and told her to sit, then touched her shoulder lightly. It was startling in its softness.

His eyes, even: “Your father told me you were a virgin.”

Her eyes, ablaze: “Yes.”

“What do you want?”

“I don’t know.” Then, “I know what is expected.”

“I expect truth from my wife.” He leaned back, and regarded her, a finger pressed to the full mouth that had spilled commands as easily as water flowed in Hyrule. It had a ring pierced through it, she realized. She hadn’t noticed when it pressed gently to her own mouth earlier, when the priestess pronounced them wed--

Zelda squared her golden shoulders.

“I want what is expected.”

He said nothing.

“I said, I--”

“I do like you in our gold.” Pause. “Your sulking is more believable.”

Zelda’s mouth clicked shut. And on some inarticulable instinct, her finger slipped down, beneath her waist, to the hooks at the back of her thighs. And then, the world’s finest gold, so precious and priceless, slunk worthlessly down her legs. She stepped out of it. Her skin puckered.

“I want you to watch me not care what you say,” she told him. It was a whisper, but the room was so quiet his senses would allow nothing but to hear it. “Until your eyes grow weary.”

“You’ll shut yours first.”

And Zelda bared her teeth at his smirk, she couldn’t help it, and her mind fled to lush summer grasses and the sound of mountain streams that once flowed behind her childhood summer palace. He could have picked her younger sister, perhaps. That would be worse than this, right? At least she’s still alive, right?

She slipped the fat rings off her fingers and let them clack to the stone floor. She slid the bracelets down her arms, one-by-one, skin pale and veins blue. She ignored the blood rushing through those veins, the pounding in her head. She thought about picking off the gold nail paint, but that would take too much time and might ruin the point--she had a point, truly--and skimmed her hand over her biceps to remove each pearl cuff.

He stood and crossed the room in two strides.

“You’re such a bastard.” Shiver. Too cold, too hot.

“I am.” He was tall, so tall. She felt the thick pad of his fingertip trace down her vertebrae, curling the tuft of her braid when it reached the bottom. Her eyes fluttered and snapped back open. The Lord Ganondorf worked deftly, untwisting the ornaments others had sewn in, pulling and teasing each beaded strand apart. It reminded her of when she was young, when her mother would brush her hair smooth.

And the Lord Ganondorf did not let his people’s gold and gems fall onto the floor, but carefully placed them onto velvet cloth, and Zelda hated how the smell of his skin and hair lingered around her, how her lower spine still tingled, and even lower than that. She could want him, or she could not. She didn’t want to marry a murderer she wanted.

“I still hate you.”

“I still hate your father,” he countered, “even as he’s dead.” A huge hand, extended, a wide palm, open. Her neck, long, pale, slim-- perfect for delicate chains, Princess--and now his fingers sliding down her clavicle, catching the guipure leaves and pulling them off her shoulders, until one thumb-pad landed on a nipple, already pert, and Zelda’s breath hitched higher than she would have ever volunteered.

“Get off of me,” she snapped. The hand withdrew. Her skin burned. No one ever touched her back in Hyrule. She was too precious for that.

She pulled away, mystically not tripping over the rugs.

“Your assassins hung my father from my balcony.”

“It was cruel,” he conceded.

Zelda wanted more. “His blood dripped down the columns.”

“I heard that you smiled.” That proud chin tilted up. “That even your little sister couldn’t cry.”

His smile flashed white, his eyes were amber, his hair was inferno red.

Above her he towered, but she did not shrink. And a golden fire flickered between her thighs and begged for the friction of him--and from the mouth of Zelda, Princess of Lost Seasons, barely a whisper, her first concession:

“I could make a good queen of snakes.” And she reached forward, and plucked the ruby crown from his head.

#zelgan #ganzel #tloz #tloz fanfiction #zelda #Ganondorf #inlemoon writes #and rewrites for a new decade i guess

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saintobio · 2 years

Note

Hey Saint. I hope you're doing well and all being healthy and drinking enough water. <33 I'll be patiently waiting for your next update I hope you don't feel pressured into uploading for us readers or anything.

In the events of sn and sy you did a great job I have never been more heartbroken.I really want to bring all of those characters to a whole therapy session and hey it's a therapy session for everybody because you all need it. I feel everybody's pain in the story :((. Im torn between the sides and I'm staying neutral to it.

And aos yn such a badass I LOVE IT.

Thank you Saint for bringing me the reader so much comfort through your story even though its really bittersweet I love it i find comfort from angst.

-💜 anon

Anonymous said

OMG HELLO!! im really new to your blog (just found it last night!), and i just wanna say how i only wanted angst to make me cry not until i ran into ur blog and broke my heart T__T istg if it isn't satoru x y/n at the end of sy id be crying a whole new pacific ocean (+ snot on my face). your writing skills and your way of thinking on how to make these crazy twist that perfectly expresses each characters feeling is a GEM! please do keep up the good work even though you're gonna end up breaking us

Anonymous said

hi saint! i’m kinda new to tmblr so pls bear with me 😭 anyway saint, you’re one of the best writer i’ve could ever asked. i love your “sincerely yours” and “sincerely not” fanfic sm! u changed my perspective towards gojo tbh. also your “wasteland” fanfic got me crying for almost a day 😭

back to the “sincerely yours” story, why do i feel that y/n is the only one who suffered too much in this story? 😭 like pls give my girl a rest 😩 do some how hate yn?? like on the way u answers some of your questions ?? like i’m finding some positive answers abt yn but i kept seeing spoilers that might happen to her (bad things btw)😫xx i’m trying my best not to hate utahime but it feels like something going to happen between her and gojo 😭 JAJSJJAJAJA gemme your card number pls so we can negotiate !¡!¡ HAHAHAHAHAHAHA still, ynxgojo for me and I hope for you too HAHAHAHAHAHA!!

saint, thank you for making my heart happy, sad and broken. wish I could hug you. <333

last anon i’m up for negotiations HSHSHJ but aaah thank u so much for following sn/sy up til now even tho many factors have been affecting my writing progress for that series 🥲 i really wanna be able to finish the entire series someday, but for now thanks for all the love u guys give that fic <33 who knows mayb it’s gojoxyn endgame after all ,,, or mayb not :P

#🖤: letters to saint #series: sincerely yours

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danddymaro · 4 years

Text

Temptation | Claude Faustus x Reader

This is the original [ HERE ]

It is pretty different and changed up. Heck, now that I'm re-reading both , I kind of don’t recognize much of the original. I like this one more, since its more recent and edited. I had actually written that one when I was younger and posted it up much later on that site... but I feel like I’ve done better now, like I’ve vastly improved. I guess cause I like having more details now, Idk about anyone else.

Thoughts are italics in quotations = ‘Example’

Flashbacks are in italics = Example

Word Count : 6335

Temptation

"Don't cry..." she cooed softly, all whilst petting the young boy, her hand gently running over his blonde, silken hair, combing it down with her small raking fingers to soothe him.

"Shh...it'll be alright young master," she assured him, her voice sweet, almost saccharine as she spoke to him, "I'm here...I’m here... And I'll always be here," she said yet again, repeating the words over and over, chanting them to him in a low, melodic tune that only she could produce.

- And it wasn’t just for that night she had made such a proclamation...

To always be there; to never leave him...

‘Never leave me...Never abandon me (f/n),’ He thought to himself, silently ordering her.

She so often assured him there was nothing in the world more important to her than he was, feeding the desperate young boy with everything he wanted to hear, not because it served to her benefit, but because he needed it.

-Because she truly loved him.

"It's so dark..." Alois whispered back to her as she sat on the large bed with him, satin sheets draped over both of them as they stayed huddled close together.

He had insisted she crawl in there with him, and of course, she wouldn’t dare dismiss his request, not when his blue eyes were nothing but melted ice, overflooding, and momentarily causing streams of sorrow down his young face.

His arms then wrapped around her with a sudden quickness, surprising her enough to put a halt to the gentle strokes she had provided on the fair-haired youth.

“It’s so dark...” He said again as he clung to her tighter, his face pressed against her left breast like the needy brat he was.

At his desperate hold, she too held him close, quickly coming down from the light start he had given her, holding him tightly against her and keeping his trembling body near her.

‘I see....it is expected,’ She mused to herself.

"The darkness is what you fear the most, yes master?" she said softly, embracing the poor child, knowing how frightened he was of not just the loud clapping sounds, but also the blackness surrounding them.

She was aware of just what the harsh sounds of chaos outside did the boy, and moreover what the lonesome void of light caused within him.

She knew him through and through, or at the very least she believed she did...

She knew what made him sorrow-filled, becoming familiar with what made him angry, as well as taking into account what unnerved him.

However, she hadn’t a clue as to what lay in his past, because he never spoke of it, but of course, she could more or less figure. She knew, of course, the world was a cruel place, and even then she was still surprised at man’s corruption where not even a child was safe.

She could put pieces together, ones that created a dreadful puzzle, one that made her weep at times.

Admittedly she had shed tears for Alois, and she wouldn't ever hide the fact, because she wasn’t ashamed to let it be known that she loved him.

‘I know what matters young Lord,’ She thought to herself, ‘ I may not know everything about you, but I don't need to...’ she added with motherly love.

‘Because that’s all that matters now...’ She reasoned, ‘ Nonetheless, I'm here now...I’m here now young master... and I won’t let you be harmed. I won’t leave you in the dark.’

“I know it is,” she voiced, “ But no worries young master,” she assured him. “You should have no worries now, not of the thunder or darkness...” she added with certainty.

“None of it...” she murmured, bringing her chin down to lay on top of his head, her eyes closing momentarily.

Meanwhile, the young boy in her arms stirred from within furthermore, '(f/n) am I wrong?’ Alois asked himself as he was embraced back, feeling her chin touch the top of his head.

‘ Do you truly care? Could you really..?' He wondered,‘ Or do you fear me instead? Do you only stay because you have no other choice as well?’ He continued on while his tears continued to fall,

‘Could it be...? Or am I wrong to doubt you?’

Alois Trancy always asked himself this, along with many more questions that ran along the same lines, because to his dismay, he always doubted.

The young boy always doubted.

No matter how certain he could be, he always challenged the notion that he could truly be loved, and that somehow, someone truly cared for him.

‘How could anyone really?’ he asked himself with spite directed at himself, at his tainted soul, and moreso his soiled body.

All of him was used...soiled...filthy.

‘Filthy...Filthy and unloved... I am...’ He thought with a hiccup. ‘ I am nothing more than that...’

Hearing what was the unmistakable sound of his blubbered cries accompanied by the little shiver coursing throughout his slim frame, (f/n) brought her gaze down to him, separating from him a bit in order to gaze at him properly.

She stared back at soft baby blue irises in the desperate attempt to comfort the lost, tainted soul, knowing he was suffering and fretful, well aware he was hurt more than words could ever fix.

A small, sweet smile overtook her pale-rose painted lips as she stared down at him, hoping to somehow raise one out of him.

Kind eyes, lovely, sweet and pure stared down at him, absolutely sunning him, making his heart still. They were filled with love, pure, unadulterated love he’d never received before, making his breath hitch in a notable fashion.

The way she gazed down at him, it told him she didn’t want his body. It reminded him that she didn’t want his soul either.

No... his (f/n) wanted nothing more than to give...accept...wholeheartedly devote herself to him, not because she was forced to by contract, and not because she had any hunger for him either.

‘(f/n) truly cares for me,’ he thought to himself, pushing away the thoughts of before, trying to shove them clear out the window,

‘(f/n) desires only my joy...She desires nothing more...’

He hated having to be reminded he mattered, hated needing the validation, but the truth was that the way he believed love to work was different. His mind had been warped, twisted and turned so much that it was nothing but a mess.

‘No...No...The way you look at me...’ He resisted, his glazed eyes gazing into hers, ' The way your eyes fall onto me... The way you hold onto me...’

She wordlessly challenged him, more specifically his doubtful thoughts, unknowingly giving him assurance with her (e/c) gems, giving validation to her words of promise.

He was aware of the existence of demons, the same unholy creatures which surrounded him. He knew those evils existed as his home had become nothing more than a nesting ground for the fiends.

He knew they were real, so he often asked himself if there was such a thing as angels.

Did they also exist?

He often wondered if the light lived with the darkness... if it had come down to roam free with the meager humans just as the demons had traveled from the depths of hell.

Did those holy angels exist? Or was their world just a playground for the fiends to fester and feed?

Had the humans been left to their monstrous mercy?

Had he been destined to just be pray?

As he brought his eyes back down, he lay them on the cloth over her chest, more specifically, the white apron trimmed with ruffles that followed a heart-shaped edge.

He looked on at her uniform piece, mindlessly letting his right hand reached up to the ruffled pieces, the tips of his fingers occupied with them,

‘ How different they are, ‘ he mused, a small sniffle meant to let out amusement, though very lukewarm.

If anything the action itself served more to vacuum up the snot running down his nostrils.

‘Like night and day,’ He went on.

The young Trancy maid was so different from his head butler that It wouldn’t surprise him in the least bit if she did turn out to be a divine spirit, one being the complete polar to the fiend Claude was,

‘Would you save me (f/n)? Could you be here to save me? Save me from the world?... from Claude even?... from myself if you had to?...’ he wondered idly. ‘Could you heal me?’ He wondered with a sliver of hope, knowing he was being foolish in his pondering, cringing as he heard large droplets smack his large window.

‘ Even if I were to be wrong...’ he started, ‘ I wouldn’t want to let you go. I wouldn’t want to give you up,’ he continued on, ‘ In fact, it’s meaningless to wonder, because I don’t want you to leave either way...

You could be yet another demon... you could also want my soul and I wouldn’t mind it...’

Nonetheless, he loved her still, loving her attention, loving her more than he could love anything else in the world.

‘-I’ll give you anything so long as you stay, I’ll promise you anything you wish,’ He compromised, ‘I’d break my soul in two halves...share it with you as well to feed your hunger...

I just ask that you stay...’

He could feel it in his chest, the aching he felt when he so thought of the possibility of her abandoning him.

Whether it was all some lie or not, he’d still wanted her with him.

‘Never...’ He told himself, ‘Never will I be alone...not without you or him...not without you both....’ He insisted, not being able to stomach the notion of lonesomeness.

It was then that an incredibly loud boom came from outside, making even the woman release a small sound of surprise.

Being caught off guard, her body had begun to melt by the strangely soothing sound of heavy falling rain, so when the roar erupted she couldn't hold back the alarm she felt. Meanwhile, the Trancy head’s eyes went enormously wide, a cry leaving him, nearly choking as he tried to speak,

"P-please don't let go!" He pleaded, burying his flushed face in her warm chest, trying to drown out the thunder.

Somewhere in there lay her heart, ‘Somewhere in here, it’s cradled by her...just like I want to be.’ he thought breathlessly, his heavy tears wetting her uniform even more, his nose going runny as well.

His hands clawed at her, small, thin fingers digging into her back as his grip tightened, his nails digging in, even though the cloth.

’Please keep me safe (f/n), Tuck me in near your heart, with what little space may be there... I'll take it.’

‘I’ve given you your own spot,’ He silently reminded her, knowing his heart was in two halves, one meant for her, and one meant for his butler, the same one who had yet to show face...

Something he hadn’t overlooked, because, in spite of all his wondering and fear, he couldn’t push the absence aside, " Damn it! Why isn't he here! Where's Claude?!" He demanded in anguish, which to her, sounded more like a soft, muffled plea.

It sounded weak...small.

‘ Where is he...’ the young boy wondered, ‘(f/n) your here... but where is Claude... where is he?’

Unknown to the two, the said man watched them, all with glowing interest, one that could not be truly measured, and that was unimaginable to them both. His golden eyes were both overtaken by fluorescent pink as he continued to eye them both in the manner a mischievous one would gaze at unattained decadences.

‘Sweet little treats left out for anyone to grab,’ He mused.

Both were sweet and savory little bites to take at his liking, and what was best;

Nothing would get in his way.

Nothing could stop him.

Claude licked his now dry lips, eyeing the young maid from a dark corner, watching as she embraced their young lord with a hold so fierce, one would have to tear her arms open to steal him from her.

She held him with an iron grip, one that cradled him near as though he truly was precious, as though he’d been nested within her womb at one point.

The butler knew she’d fight for him with the same ferocity he would, despite her mortality, and moreso, for reasons that were polar to his.

While to Claude he was nothing more than a meal, (f/n) saw something else.

She saw through maternal eyes that had given her a strength Claude hadn’t thought humans could come to obtain,

"It all excites me …" He said lowly, smirking at the vulnerable pair, his dark, delighted voice there for only himself to hear and reflect upon.

He watched with amusement as both the creatures jumped as the world outside flashed white, a roaring cry echoing with viciousness.

“Yes, it is indeed exciting... Madly rousing,” he said, feeling actual exhilaration, his body growing hot, the temperatures of it rising to a boiling point.

He looked all too much like a coiled serpent, waiting with glee, glimmering eyes filled with excitement as he waited for his moment to spring forward, viscously sinking its fangs onto innocent, little beings he’d make dinner out of.

They both were in his vision and interest, but only one left him truly spellbound because truth be told, everything about the woman made him go mad...feral even.

"Naughty me, wanting a treat before the main course," He snickered.

He wasn't the least bit concerned about the want he felt, because after all, it didn’t mean he couldn't have it all.

By having her, it didn’t mean he would have to give up the boy.

It was never in his plan to simply let go of something he’d already worked so hard on.

‘All the humiliation... the intolerable brat’s constant swings in between bitter and sweet...’ He thought with bitterness,

'...But of course that wavering...it does make him all the more appetizing,’ he reasoned. ‘ And it will make it all the more satisfying to see my young lord bloodied red,’ He went on.

The whimpering child's soul was appetizing, It had been his only focus, at least until a certain point.

It had been all he could focus on until she arrived.

‘And then, of course, there is you, my dear...’ He thought to himself as he continued to eye her.

“There is you my sweet (f/n)…Sweet...You’re all too sweet with that aromatic warmth... all of that tempting flavor you know nothing of,” He sighed in a daydreamed state, drunk over her tempting image.

Her soul begged to be devoured, shared with no one else, and swallowed whole by his gluttonous hunger, and all the while, he wasn’t even ashamed to admit it:

He wanted everything from her, from the soft (h/c) hair on her pretty head to that teasing, sweet soul she carried within her lovely vessel which was in every sense perfection.

She was perfection to him, pleasing every sense of his.

How he longed to ravish her pure, virgin body, run his nude fingers up and down her smooth legs before he’d have the chance to dig his sharp fangs within her silky neck.

He could smell it, she was untouched, untainted, and oh so tempting.

Never before had he felt such an overwhelming urge to completely devour a defenseless creature such as herself, not even his prior fixation on his master was in comparison, and it was indeed something for him to relish in with joy.

He was fortunate.

The day she stepped foot in the household, that single move marked her fate.

From that day forth, she was his, and his alone.

She was off-limits to the other roaming demons who he knew glared at him in spite...brewing in envy as he made another claim. He was aware he wasn’t the only one interested in her, but no one else would dare mark territory where he had plans to.

Surprisingly enough, watching her with the brat somehow made her more appealing, it made her much more delicious,

'How kind you are, how nobly sweet...’ he mused with mockery as he saw her being latched onto, no qualms on her part.

‘...No, better yet, How naïve and incredibly stupid, ' He thought darkly.

He knew she had a horrible inability to say no.

She couldn't escape out of the affection from the young boy, even if it meant living her life in servitude, even if it meant living her life in a nest of demons and possible death.

In his mind, such kindness and sympathy she demonstrated could only belong to a naïve and utterly stupid creature.

"- I'm sure he'll be here soon your highness,” (f/n) told Alois, “ I’m certain he would never abandon you," she added, lightly running her fingers through her master's silky blond hair to soothe the young male, continuing on with the tender action from before.

‘One’s heart would have to be black to leave you, ‘ She thought to herself. ‘Rotten and evil...Young master...”

"...And what about you?" He questioned unsurely, all with a quaking voice. His fingers dug into the fabric of her dress, fearing she'd leave him right then and there.

‘I know you’ve already told me,’ he reasoned, ‘ I know I may be annoying, ‘ he then thought, ‘ but please, please tell me again, once more... a million times after that as well...’

“Would you ever leave me?” he asked her, sniffling up at her.

‘ You’ve asked me so many times,’ she mused, a small shake to her head.

"I love my young master far too much to ever leave him," she said lovingly, making his heart warm and his body melt on to her furthermore.

She cherished the child, being pulled back to him, rendering her weak to the idea of disappearing from his lonesome life.

Moreover, something had drawn her to the home in its entirety, despite the cold chills she felt, despite the unease, her heart pulled her there,

‘I felt it my first day here...before the large door to this place were opened to me... before I knew what lay within these walls, All I wanted to do was to stay in what felt like home.’ She thought to herself.

‘As though a thread pulled me here, so thin...invisible to me, yet tied around my heart, controlling me every step of the way,’

The rain let out, sounds of fallen drops being the only thing still audible by then. and soon after, the lights flickered on, revealing a tall figure approaching them with slow, steady steps.

"Claude!" Exclaimed the young boy, fresh tears still running down his flushed cheeks, but none the less sounding completely elated, and just like that his eyes glowed, happily and with complete joy. He wiggled out of (f/n)’s hold, making the woman momentarily be forgotten, her own happiness evident as she watched her young master’s tears begin to cease.

"(f/n) was right! You didn't leave...." he said trailing off, furiously rubbing his puffy, tired eyes with enthusiasm.

Alois then looked at his either side to see the two people he loved the most; the two people he couldn't bear to live without.

(f/n) sat with him still, her head slightly cocked to the side as she watched him, the same warm eyes he had been staring at still there while Claude stood at the opposite end, his hand falling over his chest, beginning to kneel to him,

“ Your Highness, “ he addressed him.

They would never leave him... They could never do so...

‘I’ll never be alone again,’ He thought. ‘ With them, I'll never be lonely again,’

A soft smile made its way onto his young face, wanting to stay just as they were for all of eternity, wanting them to always look at him, always have him in mind.

Because he was their center, the path their eyes would take.

His angel and his demon, there for him...

' My Claude... and my (f/n)' he thought to himself, knowing he was safe.

With that thought aside he smirked discretely, his head lowering to hide it.

He then remembered there was something else he loved about having his (f/n) and his Claude,

Something that entertained him heavily...

'I suppose it's time for some fun,' he squealed inwardly at his favorite pass time.

He turned back to (f/n), wrapping his arms around her again, but this time purposely rubbing his face over her cushioned chest,

“(F/n),” he said happily, knowing he was being eyed by the other male.

'Oh Claude, u desperately want her...don't you?... Don't you wish you could hold her as I do?' He taunted the demon, not needing words to do so. With a single look shot towards the demon as he teased him, wordlessly toying with him.

‘ She’s always soft, she’s always warm... she’s always loving, but only to me,’ He thought to himself, a mocking, little smirk adorned.

As though he could read minds, Claude tightened his jaw, staring on with sharpness, knowing just what the boy was doing,

‘All the more reason,’ Claude started, ‘All the more reason I will enjoy swallowing you whole...Your highness.’ He swore seething.

His hands twitched at his sides, knowing he could do nothing to tear them apart, his only choice being to watch,

‘And you...’ He thought snidely, eyes glued to the woman’s smiling face as she remained unaware of the boy’s games, and much more ignorant to the demon’s possessive nature towards her.

‘You...’ He added, not knowing just what to think.

Within his mouth his pointed tongue swiveled, gliding over his sharpened teeth as they itched to bite. With a press to his left fang, he released a long exhale through his nostrils, wanting to sink the dangerous pearly white’s to her (s/c) skin.

"Your so warm...." Alois whispered softly, actually loving her coziness. All jokes aside, he really was enjoying himself.

"Your Highness...” The tall, slim butler started, struggling through the words, “Don't you think you should head back to sleep already?" Claude suggested, gritting his teeth, trying to sound pleasant as he offered the suggestion.

“It is awfully late,” he went on, eyes shooting right at the (h/c) haired young woman, his piercing golden eyes staring into hers with expectancy.

‘My dear... Darling (f/n),’ he addressed her silently, a sharp end to his own inner voice as he addressed the woman, warning in his fierce gaze as he gave her an opening for her supporting input,

“Claude is right,” (f/n) said in agreeance, her voice soft and small as she broke the connection she had with the man. Instead, she brought her focus down to the younger male, “ You need to sleep,” she told Alois, her hands both on the sides of his face, making him look up to her.

“ The storm is gone, you can now rest,” she assured him. “ And I promise you if it returns, we will come to you. “ she added with a placid smile, being tired herself as well as feeling shaken by the Trancy butler.

The young boy became entranced by her (e/c) eyes and slowly he nodded as she spoke, somewhat spellbound, having no room for opposition.

If it had been Claude he would have toyed more, played around more with his butler, but with (f/n) there wouldn’t be the same enjoyment.

There was no real satisfaction in disobeying her.

Yawning, he agreed with her, truly feeling drowsy, watching as she slipped out from the sheets.

Alois then looked up at her with large innocent eyes, his hand reaching out to capture her long skirt before she drew farther away,

“wait...” he muttered.

"(f/n)…” He started, his voice gentle and sweet, “ would please kiss me goodnight?" He asked shyly, the bashfulness being partially genuine.

As his blue eyes strayed, Alois caught sight of the demon, watching him begin to grow tense, notable stiffness in his tall frame as the question was asked.

‘Riled up are we?’ He wondered, ‘It’s truly amazing... I would have thought you looking at someone else in such a way would hurt me...’ He mused, ‘ But somehow it doesn't bother me...

Only entertains me,’ He went on.

“A kiss?” (f/n) asked with risen brows, a playful, little smile perking her up.

‘Still a child I suppose,’ She thought to herself, finding the boy’s request adorable, not at all suspicious or strange, especially with how rough of a past hour he’d had.

"Don't they say an angel's touch heals all wounds?" Alois responded in wonder, putting up a false play of a sinless child, pulling out his final move for his game.

"I'm no angel, but I will do so anyway," (f/n) responded and giggled lightly as she was shaking her head.

Placing a soft, chaste kiss on the boy's forehead, (f/n) tucked him in, leaving him with a good night's wish. She turned, ready to wish the butler the same, but found him gone already, something she found strange because he’d usually stay behind with the young lord, but this time he didn’t.

What she didn’t know was that he had left the room seconds before her lips touched the boy, not standing through the show before him.

All in all, the only reason he parted from them was that he couldn't stand the sight.

He couldn’t stand the idea of envying some child, especially for receiving something as a chaste kiss from the woman he craved.

‘That brat...’ He thought to himself, his hands balled tightly. '...That damned woman,' He went on, yet again left at a loss for words.

(f/n) quietly maneuvered throughout the dark halls in hopes of not disturbing the sleeping child with any loud noise. The last thing she wanted to do was knock something over, much less something that cost more than his own life did.

She knew calmed steps would be best, and yet, she found herself in a fast-paced walk back to her quarters.

The same odd feeling that someone was watching her made her spine tingle, her light hairs standing on end as she felt a cold shiver course through her.

It hadn't been the first time she'd felt so uneasy in the gloomish nights, and even during the sunny mornings as well.

Regularly she felt the same unease.

Occasionally, she wondered what evil lurked in the halls, what it was that watched her with such ferocity that she felt her body bare, vulnerable to anything that could be standing there in its hunt.

Before she could think twice, or even react, another body was pressed against hers, caging her between it and the hard wall. Her scream was muffled by a gloved hand, pressing over her trembling mouth.

She felt her heart race, blood pumping through her veins with a high dose of adrenaline, "Shh...now-now, although I'd absolutely love to have your screams echo throughout the halls...I have a different method...." A masculine voice muttered, voice falling so low it was deliciously husky and arousing. And she couldn’t believe it, the sound being familiar to her that there was an immediate click in her mind.

The grip on her lower face gradually loosened, enough for her to be able to speak and be understood. "C-Claude..." she stuttered shocked, never having been so close to the man, or even touched by him for that matter.

It was to such a state that there was not even an accidental brush-up she could recall until then.

"(f/n)....." he said in the same sensuous tone, practically purring in her ear, letting his hand fall from her lips, his fingers lingering over the thick flesh of her bottom lip.

'This is too much...it's all a dream...all a dream....this can't be real..!' She chanted in her head, closing her eyes tight, squeezing them close together, before opening them wide, expecting to see the roof of her bedroom there, but instead, seeing the same dark hall she had in sight before closing them.

"Pl-please! Get off of me!" she squeaked, squirming in his hold, her voice nothing but a harsh whisper at best.

He responded with a low chuckle, amused by her frail, little voice, knowing that it was much more than the unwillingness to wake their master causing her voice to fail.

He changed positions with ease, her two hands both held above her head by one of his strong ones as he pressed her back to the narrow hall's wall.

His golden eyes flickered pink, staring into hers, trapping her soul and making her go still, her entire body melting into a strange calmness she’d never experienced before.

Caught in a trance, she stood dumbfounded, watching him draw near.

‘He’s...He’s not even human,’ She thought to herself, watching as the vivid color glowed, a sort of magic certainly held within them that she relentlessly shook.

The uneasy feeling of before when she’d feel watched and preyed upon were present yet again as she was put under the glowing orb’s trap,

‘It’s been him... this whole time...’ She concluded, understanding now that what lurked within the darkness had been the seemingly perfect, beautiful butler.

The creature that gazed at her, followed her so fiercely was none other than the Trancy butler, and it took a single look from the glowing fluorescent gaze to realize it.

' I should... I should move...but... but...I can't...'. Mind set blank as she found it difficult to think properly.

He came close, his glowing eyes closed, dark lashes fanning over his perfect, pale skin.

She could have imagined it, with the lack of light she could be mistaken, but over his alabaster skin was a touch of rose, dusted over his face as he drew near.

His lips pressed over hers with notable yearning, the press being needy, screaming of a desperate desire.

Unresponsively, she let him continue, still stuck in surprise, (e/c) eyes still widely opened.

It was then that his pair of mystic oculars opened up to her from their closed state, eyeing her.

"Don't be uncooperative...Ms. (f/n)" He said softly, letting go of her hands, deepening the kiss by tilting her head upwards and bending down slightly to her stature, giving her the true taste of his craving mouth.

Reacting, she protested struggling to push him away, her attempt performed in a half-hearted manner as her balled fists pressed against his chest, hitting his strong chest with helplessness, weakening furthermore as she was lip-locked with him.

'No....' she thought desperately fighting the urge to give in, but she couldn't help but release a smutty, little moan as his free hand-molded her round breast, teasing her through the soft fabric.

She cried aloud as he squeezed it lightly, the male holding a teasing grin at the sound, filed more to toy with her to rouse the sounds of her purity being muddied by him.

“Claude...” She said softly, drunk on the taste of his mouth, driven mad by the crude crease of his hand.

He was dark-haired, tall, and handsome, always sporting A firm pressed suit, one that held not a single improper crease nor a snag or tear.

He was always the picture of absolute, pristine perfection, somehow unraveling before her eyes as his hair fell over his face, his breath released in heavy pants while her hands wrinkled his perfect suit.

"(f/n)...dear..." he murmured, his nose buried into the crook of her neck, inhaling the soft scent of Lillies and lavender, the same soothing scent that covered her flesh and had been soaked into it as she bathed,

"You are divine," He added with the same tender longing, lightly nibbled the soft skin, playfully nipping her to get a small taste before he bit down harshly, finally tasting the sweet blood that leaked from her wound.

Surprised, she cried out, an anguished release that sounded strained as she choked on air, alarmed as she felt sharpened fangs piece through her.

'Oh my....this taste better than expected ...' he thought to himself, planning to make more small nibbles over her (s/c) toned skin.

His moistened tongue dragged over his lower lip before darting out to drag over the bloodied patch of flesh, making her wince, the stinging pain there as in the corners of her (e/c) colored eyes, tears welled.

A decadent taste of sweetness lingered over his tongue, dancing over it teasingly as he drew his opened mouth down further, trying to find another spot to selfishly dig into.

Again, she released a strangled noise, one filled with pain as he had torn through the tissue a second time,

“It hurts,” she gasped out loud, her breath huffing out, voicing her pain while trembling in his hold,

“Claude...” she said desperately, her voice cracking, the sound making his body’s stance falter.

To say his name in such a way...

“Then I’ll take care of it,” he murmured against the skin, one of his hands trailing up to the naked flesh, his gloved thumb pressing over it with gentleness, before his other fingers trailed down it, falling to the top hem of her ruffled apron.

“Would you allow me to, miss (f/n)?” he asked teasingly, offering her a rather cocky smirk, knowing she’d certainly agree. Even while she shivered in pain she left him continue, silently begging for more.

Half dazed, her own hand trailed up to the spot, her glazed eyes looking right into his underworld glimmering gems that shinned with mesmerizing pink.

She contemplated the offer, knowing that it was best to deny him and flee, but nonetheless, she stayed planted, watching him with a want he could see.

He took a step back from her, knowing she'd already fallen into his web, and all she could do was tangle herself more into it, falling toward him and his trap. With a daring step forward, she took a hard swallow, "Claude.....please....make me yours", she practically begged, breathing ragged.

'Fight it,' Her inner voice begged, speaking with futility as it was ignored by the starry-eyed servent.

'Claude...' She mused, 'Your kisses are like wine...' She thought to herself, drunk on the sweet, addicting taste that fogged her reasoning.

'They taste as though I shouldn't have more.

They leave my mouth dry... wanting more...desirng more I know I can't handle,'

With a small lunge, she fell into his arms, where he once again took dominance over a feverish kiss.

During then he was met with a response, one that admitted to the overwhelming desire which reigned over him aswell.

She stood right at her toes, tightly gripping his shoulders as his mouth moved in sync with hers in a dance that had never been practiced between the two but was executed with perfection.

‘-As though you were made for me...’ He told himself, his hands gripping her tightly, her body melting onto his form.

He could sense the desire laced within words she spoke, as well as feel the need she felt to be claimed by him.

Oh, how he loved it...

She felt ready to collapse, her legs giving out as they became just as shaking as a platter of gelatine. Somehow, they felt like they’d never been used, giving out beneath her with inexperience as she fell onto him,

‘Like a fawn... an innocent fawn,’ He mused, and In a single swoop, he picked her up, breaking off the heated kiss with a harsh breath coming from him, a wild grin etched onto his features.

He watched her pouting mouth begin to press together, her own tongue which had been tangled with his now tasting the remains of him over her lips, leaving a glossy shine as she was left desperate for more.

He gave her a devilish smirk before he chuckled, “ Shall we continue elsewhere?” he questioned her, and with an eager nod, she pleaded.

With the same curl to his lip, he pulled her into the empty room, planning on giving her just what she wanted, planning on diving into the tempting enchantress more.

Yes, everyone would know she was his...

The Next Morning "Say did u hear miss (f/n) Last night?" Said masculine a voice while speaking in a quiet murmur. "Good grief, One would give to be deaf not too," another voice, almost identical to the first replied back to the gossip, “ Though, I'll admit... I wouldn't mind havin’ her squirmin’ beneath me instead... too bad that glory hog got to her first...." he continued on.

"I must say, I agree, she is quite a screamer, not that I'd mind either." The last of the three added, tilting his head, curious as to what her face would be set as while she made the final cry that had left him shaken to the core during the previous night.

It was then that the three men, all perfectly aligned nodded in agreeance.

"Indeed....." The other two said in sync.

The ruby eyed trio followed the (h/c) haired woman as she continued to walk forward, slipping past them without so much as a word of address. It was evident that her mind was set on something else, a look to her eyes that seemed glossy and dazed being what gave it all away.

“He’s on her mind so it seems,” Timber said sighing, pouting. “Foolish if you ask me,” he added. Thompson shook his head with disappointment, “ Honestly, I just don’t understand the appeal,” He went on.

“Yet even the young master fancies him,” the last of the triplets, Canterbury voiced out with notable displeasure.

What was so great about Claude anyway?

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dogcopter · 3 years

Text

@dogcopter Steven Universe ficmasterpost

(January 2021). I wanted to join in after seeing @mimik-u‘s list and others! I wrote more SU fic in 2020 than I realized. It’s been fun sharing a space with everyone. Thanks for all the encouragement. :^)

Heavy on the Pearl/Rose and Pearl & Rose content, and mostly angst and humor here!

series: shy rose AU / dogcopter dream diary

Canon-compliant “Rose Quartz redemption arc” AU. Ongoing series with a few self-contained complete fics.

Sensible (Pearl, complete.) A story about Pearl growing up on Homeworld and her decision to become a Crystal Gem.

“She’s not... so bad,” Pearl says, warily. “Mostly we ignore one another,” she admits.

“Sounds like mine,” says the orange pearl.

Emergent (Rose, complete.) Shy Rose Quartz enrolls in Little Homeschool and struggles to launch.

“You probably need a minute to process your existential crisis,” Peridot suggested. “Take your time. We’ll be here when you’re ready.”

Rose didn’t trust herself to speak, so she nodded, and for the second day in a row turned tail and ran from the greenhouse.

Sixpacked (Volley, Rose, complete.) Direct sequel to Emergent. Volley’s best friend comes clean.

VOLLEY

I hate that commercial.

ROSE

Really? I have it memorized.

VOLLEY

It’s not a complete or accurate explanation of Little Homeschool.

of the first water (Jasper, incomplete.) Jasper slice of life in Little Homeworld. Chapters: 1/6. Last updated July 2020.

Of course. The strong cactus they’d encountered. “That’s Steven’s plant,” Jasper said. “I spoke to it yesterday.”

& Ice Games excerpt. (Rose and Bismuth) Rose starting to get her feet wet with Little Homeschool’s community organizations.

standalone fics

Imaginary Friend (Pearl/Rose, incomplete, Updated Dec 2020) Chapter 1/?: An alternate Crystal Gem Rebellion AU in which Pearl and Pink Diamond never visited the surface together.

After the mysterious disappearance of Pink Diamond, her Pearl narrowly dodges refurbishment and strikes out on her own, hiding from the developing invasion of planet Earth. While making her way across the surface, waiting for word of her diamond’s whereabouts, Pearl strikes up a partnership with a strange Quartz in a similar predicament.

Candle-holder, moth, or flame? (Pearlrose) Several universes in which Pearl and Rose avoid an honest feelings talk and one in which they don’t have to. (Written for trope bingo, prompt tags were “mutual pining x fake relationship”. and i managed to fit the whole bingo card.)

“Sorry, nope. You’re all out of healing tears.”

Rose dripped snot on her character sheet. “Huh?”

“She’s right,” Pearl said. (“Of course I am,” said Peridot, anime glasses sticking out over the top of her three-story diorama like two giant yellow blades of Perspex grass.) “You used your last phial on my broken arm. At the Sea Shrine, remember? I told you not to do it.”

The Gardener’s Lover (Past Pearl/Rose, complete.) Non-canon AU. After Rose is gone, Pearl grapples with her grief in the form of their overgrown garden.

For the length of one lifetime, Pearl and Rose lived together in a home in earshot of the sea. At the end of this lifetime, Rose left Pearl behind in the fall.

Pearl buried her in a flowerbed, per Rose’s wishes. She retreated into their home and shut the doors and windows to all seasound. Winter came, and knocked, and went. The garden fell asleep.

Clusterfuck (Explicit. NSFW.) (Cluster, post-canon)

She remains unconvinced by sole personhood. It’s not easy getting to know oneself anew. Even single, several, fewer, fumbling to feel herself, formed, she hasn’t yet achieved the clarity of that rare bliss of FORM. Nothing compares to she-cluster and she-Cluster feeling in unison. The memory of extending her diamond-high hand together has become addiction.

misc/short fic (discord sprints and stuff)

I was the one she told everything!! Rose’s Scabbard drabble.

The Trial 2 (Rose lives AU) Post-canon drabbles of uncomfortable conversations following Rose’s return.

Cheetah Win (Stevonnie underground wrestling/puma cub AU). Stevonnie gets caught sneaking out to brawl.

Mysterious Transfer Student (Shy Rose AU oneshot). Rose’s first day of Little Homeschool.

3am in the batcave (Connie and Steven). Connie and Lion visit Rose’s secret armory and stumble on Steven.

Connverse pit trap meet-cute (Connverse Fantasy AU). Connie catches a boy in a pit trap. Turns out he’s magic.

Escapism (Canon drabble, Rose is Lion). Lion brings Steven home to Greg.

KBCS(?) Instagram (Canon drabble, SU movie). A photo of Connie and Lion saving the town on social media.

It’s Movie Time!! Steven’s Back!!! (KBCS) An (Onion, possible AU) KBCS entry about Steven Universe the Movie.

#my fanwork #steven universe #shy rose au #pearlrose

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wincestismyguiltypleasure · 4 years

Note

all the people talking about how incest shipping is wrong haven't seen these two brothers look at each other. And i must ask just so i know i am not alone but do you think that Sam and Dean are a very special case and that incest isn't great in really any other case? Because these two only have each other. Maybe i'm crazy lol. Love you Amber!

Hi there, my wonderful anon!! 💕💕

Oh man. I'm about to ramble (probably incoherently) so please forgive this long winded response but I've seen quite a lot of hate on my dash lately (including antis telling shippers to kill themselves which makes my fucking blood boil) and I've been itching to go off for a while. Lol

First and foremost, 99.9% of the people who are screaming that shipping incest is wRoNg are the same TERRIFYING people who cannot separate or tell the difference between fiction and reality and frankly, that mortifies me. If you don't ship incestuous ships just because they are simply not your cup of tea, that is COMPLETELY fine. I do not and would never judge someone for disliking a ship because they don't see the chemistry or think the relationship is strictly platonic. Do you! Ship what you want! Your involvement in the fandom is up to you and always should be!

But what I can't stand is when antis come after shippers honestly thinking that we are out here supporting incest in real life. Again, it really, REALLY concerns me that the people yelling about taboo ships are the ones who can't make the distinction between fiction and reality. Do I ship incest in fanFICTION? Absolutely. Do I support or agree with incest in REAL LIFE? Fuck no!!

Liking taboo ships like Wincest does NOT mean you support incest in real life!! (Yeah, I'm screaming it a little louder for the idiots in the back.)

That being said, I think Sam and Dean have UNDENIABLE chemistry (J2 as well). And you're right, the way Sam and Dean look at each other is what a shipper's dreams are fucking made of. Their love is visceral and tangible and it's SO easy to ship them because of that. I mean the tag "how to look at your brother" is used so frequently for a damn good reason. Lol And yes, I do think Sam and Dean are a special case because their relationship is so codependent and self sacrificing. It's raw and emotional and heartbreakingly beautiful and personally, I couldn't stop shipping them if I tried. Lol However, I can't say that I don't enjoy other ships like Wincest as well. Ya girl ships Daddycest with a passion and a few other incestuous ships from different fandoms. For me, it's about the chemistry and the bond between the two characters. If they have that spark, 9 times out of 10, I'm gonna ship it. But that's just me! And I totally understand if Wincest is the only incestuous ship you are down with because their bond is so special and unique. 💕💕 You are NOT crazy and I believe with all my heart that you should ship whatever the Hell you want! And if that's Wincest because you think Sam and Dean are meant to be together and look at each other like they're about to f u c k then I say do your thing, my friend!

Please try not to let the antis get to you or make you feel like you're doing something wrong because you aren't. There are ALWAYS going to be those uneducated, toxic jackasses who say hurtful and disgusting things in the name of "what's right" and I truly hope that you just block those people and ship what makes you happy. This website is supposed to be fun. I don't know why there are people on here who are out to hurt complete strangers over FICTIONAL characters but I say fuck them, babe. Ship what you want, your reasons are justified and you don't have to explain or prove their validation to any snot nosed anti on this Hellsite. Block those bitches, take a deep breath, and then blow the haters a kiss before you reblog that filthy Wincest ficlet. 💋

I love YOU, my darling anon!! 💕💕 And I support your shipping decisions no matter if they line up with mine or not. The purity police can kick rocks, you just keep on shining like the gorgeous gem that you are, baby. 💕💕

#Wincest #sorry for ranting sweet anon #I really hope I answered your question somewhere in there lol #I adore you and your Wincest shipping ways 💕💕💕💕#please try not to let the jerks in the fandom get ya down #*hugs you tight*#💕💕💕💕#lovelies on tumblr

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amethysttribble · 4 years

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Miriel’s Daughter, Thingol’s Son

PREMISE: Feanor is Thingol and Melian’s son, and Luthien is Miriel and Finwe’s daughter. I have 1,000 words about their childhoods.

I have not explanation for this besides the fact that this post by @feenerd made me lose my mind the other day (thank you for the inspiration!) and I thought trying to write something new might be easier than staring at my WIPS for even a second longer. It was better by not by much. I have no idea if I’ll finish or even expand upon this. Please just take it as it is.

Also, I’ve translated Luthien’s name into Quenya as best I can. (Also, I considered calling this ‘Spirit of Flowers, Son of Fire’ and it’s an infinitely better title, and the only reason I didn’t was because I thought changing Feanor and Luthien’s names to Fealotë (Luthien) and Norion (Feanor) would be too confusing. But I researched those names so now you have to look at them)

Lindofinwë Lotiel spent her youth in the Gardens of Lorien, sat upon Estë’s knee, listening to stories about the great beyond and the great song and the great things that grew. She would try to replicate those tales, humming to the flowers that shot up around her feet. They danced together in the garden, Lotiel crooning for all the living things to hear and respond to.

And they did, following her every girlish whim as she pranced about the Gardens.

The peonies would sprout beneath her toes to help push as she jumped.

The lily pad would hold her as she crossed a stream.

The roses created a wall to barricade her father when he came to steal her away from Mother.

And the birds flitted about her shoulders, then flew off to deliver messages or collect pretty things for Lotiel to put in her hair.

She learned these things from the maia, who sang with her and taught her what words held power. They showed her how to heal, as well, how to mend cuts and bruises, how to soothe a soul and calm a nightmare. Irmo showed her how to understand the living things’s minds and dreams. Lotiel knew them so well, and strived so that nothing she sang to would ever ignore her.

But things did ignore her. Those that wouldn’t respond to Lotiel’s song were the rocks, the stone, the gems… and the most beautiful jewel in Lorien.

Miriel resisted Lotiel’s call, no matter how sweetly or powerfully or well she sang for Mother. After each failed attempt to rouse her mother, Lotiel would stand and swallow her tears. Sniffling, she’d turn away to search for Estë or Irmo, or anyone else who might give her further instruction. After ech day spent in the Gardens, Lotiel’s song grew more beautiful, and each day, Miriel remained impassive.

Her skin was as cold as unfeeling rock, and Lotiel hated her for it.

Father came one day, and told her that there was no further need to keep singing for Mother. She would not return, had refused to return. Soon, Mother would never be allowed to return, for Father was to be married.

None of the specifics made much sense to her, but she understood the meanings. Mother was gone for good.

Lotiel’s face scrunched up so small her features could not be distinguished, snot ran down her face, and she wailed so loudly that the trees curled up in shock and fear. Her cries echoed throughout Lorien as Father carried her away, back to Tirion and the elves. All the living things shuddered and whined with her sorrow. But not Miriel.

And rather than anger, Lotiel felt relief alongside her grief.

She would not have to try to rouse Miriel any longer. Lotiel no longer had a duty to her, if she was a dead nissë’s daughter.

Feanor Mir-galad spent his childhood days in the forests and mountains of Doriath, exploring tunnels and caves that were dotted with gems that glittered in an approximation of starlight. In the mornings, he would watch the waters of time shift with his mother and in the evenings he would sit upon his father’s lap and hear stories of the early days. There was Daeron and Galadhon to play and run with, and a great many things to learn.

Sat beneath the trees and with his mother’s words of another world in his ears, Feanor began to sketch symbols in the dirt.

Daeron helped. Together they made the prettiest, most fluid symbols they could. First just their names, then words for water and tree. Mother and Father and king. Stars and gems. After trying for months to make a symbol for every word, they decided it would be better to have a bunch of symbols that could be put together based on sound for whenever they needed a new word. Galadhon wrote it all down in ink.

Whenever the dwarves or the Nandor came to visit, though, Feanor would abandon his friends and their ‘alphabet’ to stand between his glorious mother and magnificent father. He would hold their hands, and listen to the people speak. They made such interesting sounds, like his own language but different. Sometimes they would speak among themselves, and Feanor would follow them so that he might listen.

Mother took him aside and told him, “Ask them, my hummingbird, politely. If you show interest in what they have made, you will find they will love to share and make with you.”

Feanor approached the lead of a dwarven delegation, Gamil Zirak, who he was already as tall as- Feanor grew taller and faster than his friends- and said, “Please would you teach me your language.”

They laughed at him, which made Feanor blush terribly, but taught him a smattering of words. Gamil told him all the important ones that Feanor had a corresponding symbol for, like ‘stars’- Gimli- and ‘mother’- Amad- and how to talk about all the shiny gems. The dwarves loved to talk about gems, Feanor learned, and when he asked about the glittering things he found in the caves near his home, they told all about how to mold and cut them.

In return, he shared his and Daeron’s letters with the dwarves. Gamil’s eyebrows had furrowed at the sight of them, and for a moment Feanor feared rebuke or teasing. But the dwarf master took his letters to Father, who asked Feanor what they were. He explained, explained how they could represent or make words and preserve them forevermore. No longer were songs or poems like flowers, blooming and then dying. They were as steadfast as rock when written down.

Father knelt before Feanor and cupped his face. He whispered, “The light of the Two Trees shines as brightly in you as if you were born among the Valar.”

“I don’t know what that means,” Feanor whispered.

From over Father’s shoulder, Mother smiled.

“It means,” King Thingol said, “that my son is destined for greatness.”

#luthien #feanor #finwe #miriel #thingol #melian #silmarillion #fanfic #the silmarillion #tribble post

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kiritouyadeku96 · 3 years

Note

I am curious about JJK for the fandom ask!

😂 this is going to be hard, I haven’t actually read the manga even though I do reblog it! I’ve finished the anime though, so I’ll answer as best I can!

The character I least understand.

I don’t have one yet, I was confused about Mai and her resentment for a while. However, I have come to an understanding of her now so yeah!

The interaction I enjoyed the most.

The main three’s interactions are absolute gems, I love that Yuji and Nobara are like kind of loud and energetic. While Megumi’s just like 😑, it makes me giggle watching them together!

The character who scares me the most.

I don’t have one as of yet, but who knows maybe by season 2 I will! Though I do find it quite crazy with how many people want to marry Sukuna 😂 I see girls gushing over him, and how they want to marry him but it’s like “he’d kill ya in a second”. First thing he said when he was brought back, was how he couldn’t wait to crush women and children like maggots 😭!

The character who is mostly like me.

Inumaki, I’m real quiet and generally don’t speak all that much, well until you break through my barrier that is 😂 but yeah I’ll go with Inumaki!

Hottest looks character

I’m guessing you mean by hottest like good looks, I hear the rumours that Megumi’s father is a real looker and I have taken a peek 😂 I’m going to wait for him to be animated before I make my decision on him! but in the anime I would have to say Gojo with his beautiful blue eyes! Also Getou is also pretty handsome too!

One thing I dislike about my favs

I hate the fact that Yuji is so sweet, and he seems like he would be a really fun friend. However, I hate that as of right now I’m unsure if it’ll be a happy ending for him or not 😭!

One thing I like about my hated character

I don’t have a character I hate yet, though I do sort of dislike Mai. She seem a bit bitchy, though I do understand why she’s the way she is 🤷‍♀️ I do however like her design she looks like she’d be a very pretty lady!

A quote or scene that haunts me

It’s not a scene, but the ending for the anime where you see Yuji having fun with his friends. It’s kind of haunting, and scary to me it also makes my heart feel fuzzy!

A death that left me indifferent

The death of the boy, Junpei, it was sad but I was like not really affected by it really! I got more angry at Todo beating the snot out of Megumi, because he didn’t like the right type of woman for Todo than Junpei’s death!

A character I wished died but didn’t.

Not yet, although there are characters I sort of wished didn’t die! Choso’s brothers! They were the bad guys yes, but I don’t know I just wanted them to be around longer!

My ship that never sailed.

I don’t have any ships in JJk yet, I like the friendship the main three got going on but no ships just yet!

😫 I’m sorry this was awfully filled in, but I haven’t actually read the manga yet. I just reblog bits and pieces of the manga every now and then!

#jujutsu kaisen #jjk #give me an anime!#not going to lie that was hard 😂 but fun!

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arruii-zu · 3 years

Text

It's one of those nights for me. The ones where the low hum of the a/c is a little too loud, where the creaky doors put me on high alert, where my muscles jitter, when my body can’t decide if its too hot or too cold- kicking off my blanket with a frustrating ‘ugh’.

Those nights where I am alone- alone with my explosive thoughts. Igniting deep rooted anxieties which sparkle behind my eyelids. Dazzling and terrifying. Boom. Pang. As it fizzles out, a mere crackle in my ears.

And then I am crying, a rush. A flood , a bursting dam. Tears running along my cheeks and my chest feels so tight. As if someone’s got a hold on my lungs, a vice grip. Possessive, wanting, and I’m dizzy. But I feel ethereal. I feel connected to this unknown force that wants to claim, pulling me forward. Some damn kinetic energy. So I cry harder, tears hotter, breath going jagged as my lungs burn pulling tight. Because I am so fucking reactive tonight. Everything about me, the anxiety, that odd tick where I fake a smile on my face and laugh like its all fun and games. It’s so garbled, but I feel beautiful. Raw. An uncut gem. The ones that go for a hefty price on the black markets.

I push off my bed, stumble through my blurry vision to fish out napkins from my bathroom. But I stop, I look into my mirror speckled with dust and splatters of hard water. And I think to myself a funny thought.

Who am I?

And I don’t mean it in a way, where I can't recognize myself at all. Because I’ve seen this face a thousand times, I’ve memorized the curve of my dull chin, the beauty marks, how one eye is bigger than the other. I know it well.

I mean, really, and its a loaded question, but- who am I? Am I that one friend that peaked in high school? Or never peaked at all? Am I that person who holds the door open way too long for strangers at convenience stores? Am I the lonely stoner who huffs and puff till I blow my mind out?

Am I that? Any of those? or none at all? And it's too much of an existential question that my puny brain can handle at 3 o’clock in the morning. It’s a question that triggers me, loaded and cocked. Blowing a theoretical bullet right between my eyes. Then all of a sudden, I care too much. I start fixing my hair, violently rubbing the red out of my eyes, splashing water onto my face to wash off dried snot, as funny as it is, I even start to apply lipstick. Because I look dead, feel like it too, but I am too self aware right now. And so what if no one’s watching? Clearly I am.

The manic mind can conjure up all sorts of delusions. It distorts words, switches around events, makes you feel like you are completely unrecognizable. As if I hadn’t been me in so long. Maybe it’s another tick of mine. A coping mechanism. My own watered down version of ‘picking myself up’. The way I frantically brush my hair down or straighten my posture. A poor way of covering up for myself. Pretending I didn’t just go through hell.

I feel crazy because it is and because I am. Teetering on the ledge of my own sanity. I hate it, but it makes me feel present. Reminds me that I’ve got to answer piles of unread text messages. I’ve got a cat to feed, bills to pay. Brings me back to my plane of existence. Reality.

And its so sad, what lengths I have to go through to realize, I’ve been numb for too long. Way too long. So long that I’ve associated who I am, with a vacant doll that looks exactly like me. Sounds like me, lives like me, but in truth... it’s not me. Well, its not who I want to be.

As I feel the throb at the heels of my feet. Deciding I’ve stood long enough, hunched over my bathroom sink-a knot in my neck forming. I take one last look at myself. Almost out of frame. Hand lingering on the light switch. And it hits me like one of those 16 wheeler trucks, hauling god knows what from state to state.

‘ I think I’ll be just fine in the morning.’

As if it wasn’t already 5:00 am on a monday.

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viktor-noctis · 4 years

Text

Harvest Moon

Anakin Skywalker wanted to kill everyone in the room. And then himself.

Even if they didn’t know who he was, because the chance they might find out was too terrifying to consider.

But they hadn’t. He knew they hadn’t. Because if they had, they would all have died of laughter before he could slice them into little pieces with his lightsaber. Which he didn’t have.

This night just keeps getting better and better.

He had completed well over two-hundred missions since he joined the Jedi Order, from escorting diplomats, brokering peace between nations, and fighting on battlefields the galaxy over. He had traversed forests full of dangerous, man-eating flora, ice cloaked mountains with beasts that could rip one apart in seconds, and even desserts. Full of sand. Which he believed was far eviler than the worms waiting beneath the surface of the dunes, ready to swallow one whole, or any of the previous threats combined. He would take any of them, all of them, even a dustbowl, over his current assignment.

On paper, it looked standard: use secured invitation to get inside of a party of ambassadors, senators, and potential members of the Separatists. Easy. Sneak past heavily armored centurion guards wielding plasma canons and ion missiles that may or may not have heat seeker technology embedded in them. Interesting, without a weapon, but not impossible. Find information regarding the movements of enemy shipments, containing stolen kyber crystals, and potential hostages of their side. Somewhat difficult… If one didn’t possess an encrypted pass code, capable of rapid copying the necessary data in record time. All-in-all, the usual kind of Jedi mission that included a bit of espionage on the side.

Except the teeny, tiny, minute detail of the invitation being formatted for a Lady Skylar Erie.

A woman from a small, noble house on Naboo. She was twenty-two years old, six feet tall exactly, and didn’t speak due to a childhood incident. Her hair was a light brown with touches of golden blond, possessing eyes the color of dark turquoise gems, and skin bronzed by the sun. Lady Skyler had full, dark lips, now shaded to a deep crimson, and high cheekbones. Her shoulders were broad, her legs long, and –

“Luckily,” the stylist had smiled at him in the mirror, “handsome young men make beautiful women.” Obi-Wan didn’t look like he agreed with that statement. His arms were crossed, eyes wide beneath his furrowed brow, and lips pursed within his beard… which he was stroking. Which meant he was looking for something comforting to say. Anakin was almost curious what sort of backwards, reorganized Yoda-phrase he would use, no doubt intended to distract him from that fact that he made a passable woman in a pinch. His former master opened and closed his mouth several times, forming nothing, and eventually just let a burst of air out behind his sealed lips. Which was probably the wisest thing he could have done.

The dress was another monstrous affair. The fact that Padma had been the one to gift the pattern to the tailor made him want to jump off the nearest bridge. Because that meant it was from Naboo, which was notorious for having so many hard to navigate layers, it was like trying to solve a puzzle maze. He’d overheat and die. Either that, or it would be a flowing slip of silk that would immediately give away the fact he was a man, and he could already see the billboard tagline all over the tabloid side of the holonet.

A form fitted, off the shoulder, obsidian gown arrived. There was a deep cerulean, satin sash that wrapped around the top, no doubt to hide his lack of cleavage, and draped down to curl over the low arches of his hips, falling down his buttocks like a tail. The entire thing was accented with ivory stones across the top, coiling in abstract patterns down his ribs, growing smaller till they faded at his thighs. Made from the finest silks, the whole thing had been custom fitted for him a week before.

“It’s a shame you want to destroy it.” Obi-Wan’s voice held six feet worth of lamentation that Anakin was ready to bury him in. “It’s rather beautiful.” One look from Anakin had shut him up for the entire evening. He had his word that when they made it back to the Temple, he was allowed to slice it to pieces with his saber until it was nothing but a smoldering, crumpled ruin of unidentifiable cloth and cracked stones. He was also not to take a single holo of him in it, no matter how much Senator Amidala plead or bargained.

However, he had quickly realized that the most dangerous part of his mission didn’t entail trying not to fall flat on his face while wearing three inch heels (how Padme managed the ‘dagger stilettoes’ that were over five he would never know, but he was going to bow down on his knees the next time he saw her), nor glaring at the men who gave his backside leering glances (he just about managed not to Force push that last one’s face straight into the buffet table), or even punching the last piece of kriffing, snorg-birthed, moose-goose snot brained –

I hate this, I hate this, I hatethis, IhatethisIhatethisIhatethis –

He almost tore his dress. Again.

No, the most dangerous part of his mission was none of the above. It was navigating the toxic snake pit filled with people he knew almost nothing about. Oh, some of them he had seen, certainly: thieves, murderers, drug dealers, and slave traders. They were up to their ears in nothing but filth and injustice, the lowest of the low, scum that he had to smile and play nice with like a mute, pretty girl with only three brain cells to her name would.

Anakin’s face hadn’t stopped burning the whole evening. He only prayed his embarrassment couldn’t melt away the layers of foundation and contour applied to his features. She’d even combed and fixed his hair, plating the strands into a short braid with ribbon that matched his dress, and flowers that curled into the elaborate cuffs around his ears. He hated the jewelry almost as much as the gown… the dainty chains in his lobes had snow drops on the ends, bearing sapphires so deep they appeared onyx. The choker around his neck was emblazoned with them as well, with diamonds that offset the ones on the dress.

He had to wear gloves. To cover up his mechanical arm, as if it were something to be ashamed of. Anakin managed to contain a growl, keeping his fan close to the lower portion of his face. He didn’t dare lower it, least someone find his jaw too strong, his neck too thick.

How can anyone believe this? Maybe everyone around him thought it was just as ludicrous, just as impossible that Anakin Skywalker liked to spend his Tuesday evenings dressed as a woman, strutting around some of the worst moss-pit vipers in the galaxy. He swallowed what remained of his pride.

Get the information. Get out. You’ve done this a thousand times before. Never like this he hadn’t.

He had the advantage of his height at least, his gaze straying over the facades in attendance, knowing his mark would favor a more private location. The mask they had given him was just insult to injury… It covered everything above his cheekbones, wrapping over the bridge of his nose. Carved from delicate ivory, with swirls and coils painted on in black at the top, fading to midnight blue around his eyes, and then a rich silver at the edges. The top of the brow split in a mane of feathers, mimicking the shades already present. According to Obi-Wan, it was meant to represent a delicate, blue bird found on a planet covered mostly in water in the furthermost reaches.

Anakin almost felt relieved when he saw his target in the throng of dignitaries. His mask wasn’t strapped on like his own was, dangling from his right hand, while his left arm remained occupied by a Togruta girl with red skin and yellow horns. He really did not need to be thinking of Ahsoka right now. What would she say if she could see him? She’d never stop talking about it. She’d probably sneak a holo or two just to save for future blackmailing purposes, because what sane Padawan would pass up the opportunity to have a picture of their Master all dressed up for the ball?

The man in question, with more gold than white or black in his mouth, was one Fren Pollock. After obtaining a hard-won pardon from the Republic – something that made Anakin’s teeth grind – he had somehow acquired a governorship on a small lunar colony. Drugs, munitions, and people, nothing was beneath him. Anakin found himself reveling in the notion of bringing him down, of dismantling his little empire into the dust, and taking all of his accomplices with him.

“Woah there, blondie.” A bodyguard. One of four. No armor, no weapons, as was the standard, per the request of the hosts.

[ I’m really terrible at writing scum bags, but Fren allows Anakin closer, only to drug him. Someone intervenes, of course, but after unmasking Anakin things go from bad to worse. Also, Dooku wears a Loth-wolf mask. - ]

“I believe the young Lady has had enough.” Anakin’s stomach dropped. He couldn’t breathe. His next whimper was stifled against a hard chest. Hands, warm and solid, one on his wrist, and the other on his back. Protective, almost tender, they held him steady against the taller man.

The chuckle that emanated from the Count tightened around his chest. The air left him, slipping free in a low, hoarse whimper. Dooku just laughed harder. Anakin didn’t dare raise his head to see the slice of his grin through his cheeks.

“My, my, this evening is just full of surprises.” Dooku’s sneer rippled through his already weak knees. They shuddered beneath him, leaving him to sway dangerously. “I didn’t expect to find you here, Skywalker, but considering this turn of events, I’m rather glad I did.” Red and blue. Anakin’s teeth clenched, jaw ringing with the pain, straight into his temples. He should jerk forward, smash his head into Dooku’s nose. Crimson and azure. Their sabers should clash, they always had, easy and familiar. Darkness and light, trading breath and edge, till one consumed the other. Mars and Venus. Planetoids too far to know, yet the tales of them were wreathed in the fantastical. The coin flipped, came down in a shower of sparks that were the shades of stars.

Dooku tasted like something bitter and yet sweet. It reminded Anakin of the grapes Padme had given him while they were visiting Alderaan, off a vine five years old. She said they were native to the planet, that they would keep the same fruits without dropping them for hundreds of years, but when they were plucked clean… they died. Those same plants were the reason the planet was known for its wine. She had challenged him to taste as many as he could, all the way up to the first century. They made his nose wrinkle, his vision darkening as his eyes squinted, then misted with tears he blinked away. He didn’t even get to twenty.

He still had the gift… the one Bail Organa had given him. He had winked at him, saying something about how even Jedi needed to have fun every once in a while. The crystal, ruby embossed bottle was hidden somewhere under his bunk, protected by his worn, old Padawan robes. He still didn’t know how a beverage made from fruit as old as Yoda was supposed to be a good.

“What are you doing?!” His head throbbed. His parted lips trembled, prickling with something he couldn’t name. Anakin’s cheeks were still burning, but a new heat had been added from the friction of the Count’s beard. Dooku’s hand gripped his bicep, the muscle throbbing beneath his hard palm. Anakin could feel the bruises forming, the pulse of blood beneath the surface. He’d torn away, smashing him into the wall, and he had… he had kissed Count Dooku, a known Sith Lord, and leader of the Separatist Systems Alliance. A tremble lanced through him, clinging to his muscles, till he felt as if he were going to shake straight out of his skin.

Anakin’s head twisted, turning away from Dooku, but his body wouldn’t follow as easily. His tongue clung to the roof of his mouth, thick with the ichor of whatever had been in his drink. He swallowed it back, trying to free himself of the Count’s hand with a sluggish, surly throw of his shoulder. He stumbled instead, pivoting dangerously close to the wall, but durasteel bands took hold of his waist. His body jerked, a whimper exiting his lungs as they compressed. The darkness crept into his vision, stifling him in the heat and musk of whoever held him.

“What have you done?” Far away, harsh and whispered. The syllables grated against his scorching ears. His throat ached with the sound that left him, high-pitched and terrible. His mouth contacted something solid and warm and smooth. He couldn’t help but rub his face into the warmth of that broad shoulder. Whoever held him smelled like heat and spice.

Padme and Obi-Wan sat across from him, laughing as his face twisted. He had grown up a poor boy on Tatooine, you didn’t just waste food, no matter how much you didn’t like it. Which meant swallowing down whatever you were given, which meant he was willing to try anything once. Even the boiled bark of a strange planet. It was not the taste, but the brittle texture on his tongue. Citrus and tang, almost metallic in its bite, sliding down his throat with the same viscosity of honey, and the viciousness of alcohol.

That was the smell that surrounded him now, sharp and distinct. There was something overtop, layered on to smooth the undercurrent of that wild, intoxicating aroma. Anakin almost thought it was… roses. Yes, roses. Extravagant and sweet, enough to hide the Loth-wolf’s true scent.

[ Dooku makes a strategic retreat, taking Anakin with him back to his room… Mistake. The drug is in him now, and inhibition is taking a nosedive straight into hell. He puts Anakin in his room, where he struggles out of the dress, tearing off the jewelry, and rubs at his face. The Count returns after a thunderous crash, effectively shattering every bottle in his private bar. Not good… He returns to the room, submerged in darkness, standing at the end of the bed… ]

Anakin trembled beneath his own pride.

The moonlight splayed over his shoulders, weaving through his white hair, curving over the hard edges of the right side of his face. His eyes, cheeks, lips, chin, his entire face lost to the shadows. Anakin could see nothing of him, but he could imagine the furrow of his brow, the pull of his mouth into that familiar sneer. Or would his cheeks ripple with a snarl? He almost wished he could see him, the revulsion of his features, the cruel amusement preferable to the void that stared back at him.

He could feel something though, intangible as the Force, but as palpable as its presence. Dooku’s gaze. Those hard, dark orbs, piercing his bunched shoulders, his heaving chest, the tremble of his stomach.

He lost.

“Please…”

[ And this is as far as I got because I’m terrible. I’m not tagging this much either, because its a WIP. ]

#WIP

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