#someone play a tiny violin
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Dad!Luci HCS
• Hcs of this post.
After adopting you, Lucifer called his most trusted Friends and told them about you.
He also rant to them how unfair it was that you ended in hell but at least he now had a New Kid!!
His most loyal friend its Stolas who wants to meet you asap!! He is going go bring lots of gifts to you. If you ever express some kind of liking towards the space then Stolas its going to teach you all about them.
Calls Charlie to let her know she is a big sis now and while she is confused she is happy to hear her father being so hyped. She breaks down after knowing how you ended in hell and wants to cuddle you.
Alastor its so off limits. The radio Demon its curious about you and wants to piss Lucifer off by also "adopting".
"You can call me Dad" Alastor with a grind seeing Lucifer get angrier as the seconds pass.
Your fav thing to do its make ducks!! Lucifer made sure to lock down the ones that could hurt you.
Cries when you made a duck that represents him. He now has it in his office.
Gets proud of you by doing whatever. He wants you to learn lots of things so he ends calling the best demons.
The only Demon who can play violin besides him in the nine circles.
Gets you some type of hell pet thats really tiny till it detects danger then it changes into a full beast.
The maid (Xin) its worried you may end hurt by how much you run in the royal gardens.
Most likely you wont develope any type of special power due to your soul not being tainted. Thats why Lucifer teaches you ways to fight.
He wants to see your full Demon form. Even if you are cute and innocent right now he dies to see what you can become.
Asks you about your life and takes care of you when you get sad about your death and your mom.
Lucifer still wants to kill your mom and swears he will have a special chat if she ends in hell.
If she goes to heaven then he is going to be so angry but at least he does not have to deal with her.
Its so scared you will think he is not cool or good as a dad so he tries his best.
Wants you to have Friends but even the kid demons are more violent than you so he decides to keep a distance from them. For now at least.
You are banned from going outside without him or someone he trusts.
If someone dares to touch you then its big game over for them.
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The palm-print panel was cool under Lena’s touch. She pressed her hand to the rectangular plate next to her front door and waited for the brief moment it needed to scan her skin. The door unlocked with a meaty thump and she pushed it open with her other hand, absently checking her phone as she stepped inside. As the system scanned her biometrics, it detected stress and dimmed the lights, automatically turned on the television to an abstract screen saver with cool tones, and began to play an arrangement for a violins to soothe her nerves.
She kicked off her heels and walked barefoot into the kitchen, where she skipped the countertop wine cellar and pulled out the half-empty box of Trader Joe’s vintage that she’d taken a liking to thanks to Kara. She pours herself half a tumbler full as a silent fuck you to her mother and took a swig, then walked out into her living room to sit down in the gloom for a few minutes and think.
Supergirl was sitting on her couch, head flopped back over the back so that her hair fanned out across the white leather. She sat splayed with her knees apart and legs out, arms resting on her thighs. Lena wasn’t sure if she was awake.
As she drew closer, she caught a small gasp. Supergirl had a black eye, and there were scrapes on her cheeks and the backs of her hands, the blood barely crusted. Both her hands and her face were bruised and she had a tiny split in her lip.
Lena placed the wine on the table, nerves jangling when the bottom rattled against the pale marble from the shaking of her hand. Her heart raced as she drew closer. Supergirl had taken off her cape and draped it over the couch. It was none the worse for wear but was covered in scorch marks.
Suoergirl’s broad chest heaved once and she let out a long, pained sigh.
“Hi.”
“Hello, Supergirl.”
She let out a little laugh, wincing. “Do we need be so formal?”
“I don’t have anything else to call you,” Lena said, coolly. “Mind if I ask why you’re in my apartment?”
“You don’t lock the balcony doors. You should.”
Lena sighed and folded her arms. “I said why, not how.”
Supergirl didn’t look at her.
“I just got the snot beaten out of me. Everything hurts.”
“I didn’t think that was possible.”
How was it possible? Curiosity tugged at her, but concern shot through it, making her fidget with her hands. Lena hated fidgeting. It made her look weak, and she could still remember the pain when Lillian cracked the ruler across her knuckles to break the habit.
“Can I have some wine?”
Lena swallowed hard.
“Sure,” she said.
She went to the kitchen and poured. When she returned to the living room, Supergirl was sitting up, hunched forward and leaning on he knees. Lena started a little at the sight. Sitting that way displayed the wide, muscular set of her shoulders and arms, especially her meaty biceps. Her back was a rare sight -she wore a cape, after all- and just as exquisitely muscled.
She was looking at her hands, at the damage to her muscles. Lena offered the glass and she took it. Her fingers were warm when they brushed against Lena’s, strangely soft.
Supergirl took a long pull of wine and smacked her lips, then winced.
“It’s times like this I wish I could get drunk.”
“You can’t?”
“Not on wine and not for very long.”
“Interesting.”
“So I have a problem,” Supergirl said. She was still looking at her hands.
“And that is?”
“I have to call off work tomorrow. These will heal, and I’ll look exactly the same. I don’t get scars anymore. But they’ll be visible for a day or so.”
“I see.”
“But I have to get brunch with someone, and they’ll be able to tell. Concealer won’t do much for this.” She touched her eye, wincing.
“Wait here,” said Lena.
She came back a moment later with some wash clothes soaked in cold water on a tray. Hands still shaking a little as she placed it on the table. Tenderly, she took one of the washcloths and dabbed the back of Supergirl’s hands, cleaning away the grime and dried blood from the abrasions.
Supergirl sighed. “That feels good. Thank you.”
“May I?” said Lena.
Supergirl hesitated, doubt flashing deep within the endless depths of her blue eyes, but she turned to Lena and tilted up her chin. With shaking fingers, Lena cupped Supergirl’s face gently and used a fresh cloth to clean and cool the cut on her lip. Supergirl closed her eyes and sighed.
Lena’s eyes wandered up, to the small mark above her eye.
“You don’t scar. Did you get that on Krypton?”
“Yes. I slipped and fell when I was a little girl. You should have seen me. I bled all over.”
“Must be nice, not getting hurt anymore. Not feeling pain.”
“I still feel it.”
Lena paused.
“I feel every bullet and blow and bomb blast just like anyone would,” said Supergirl. Just because it doesn’t harm me doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt me.”
“I’m sorry. I had no idea.”
“It’s okay,” said Supergirl.
She opened her eyes -eye- and looked at Lena reverently, one pretty blue eye glittering while the other remained bruised shut. She smiled a lopsided, honest smile, looked at Lena in a dreamy, almost adoring way that-
Wait.
“Oh my God,” Lena breathed.
“Hi,” said Kara.
“Oh my God. Oh my God,” Lena whispered. “Oh my God, what happened, how did this happen to you? You’re hurt!”
“I had a tough time with a very determined alien and had to worry about civilians,” said Kara. “It happens.”
Lena’s pulse raced and her breath quickened. Her gaze darted, searching and noticing every detail. She was so beautiful, and she was so Kara.
“Why now?” said Lena. “Why this time?”
“I don’t know.”
Lena bit her lip, and the tiny gesture had a noticeable impact on Kara. Her eyes widened and her gaze fell to Lena’s bottom lip, then flicked back up.
“So your brunch,” said Lena. “That was with me.”
“Yeah. I thought about cancelling but I can’t. I needed to see you now.”
Lena shifted closer on the couch, until they were hip to hip.
“Why?”
“Because I just got punched in the head by an alien with big stupid bone spurs coming out of his fist and I need to see you. I won, by the way. It was really cool. I ripped a fire hydrant out of the ground and hit him with it.”
Lena looked her up and down. Her jaw began to quiver.
“Oh God. Is it worse than it looks? Are you hurt worse than you look, Kara? Are you…”
Kara shook her head, then winced. “No. Not that bad, promise. I just…” she sighed. “I’m tired of going to lay on a sunbed and going back to my empty apartment and spend a sick day napping on the couch.”
Lena let out a slow breath. “So you came to see me.”
“Yuuup,” Kara said, slowly.
Lena shifted awkwardly in her seat. Kara slowly reached over with her now clean hand and curled her fingers around Lena’s chin.
“Lena?” she whispered. “Is this okay?”
“Yes.”
Kara turned and leaned into her, pressing the slightest, lightest kiss to Lena’s lips, not a quick peck but something slow and soft, warm and inviting.
“Ow,” Kara muttered.
“Kara,” Lena whispered.
“I have any idea. Since I can’t make brunch… how about breakfast?”
Lena leaned against her, gently draping her arms around her as they fell back into the soft cushions together.
“Okay.”
#supercorp#supergirl fanfiction#supergirl#supercorp fanfic#lena luthor#kara danvers#kara x lena#karlena#supergirl fanfic#supercorp fluff#tooth rotting fluff#so much fluff#total fluff#fluffalicious#here at Natalie’s fluff depot we have all the fluff you could ever want
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This scene is so funny not bc Anya isn’t “musically gifted” but bc Lloid -super spy expert in many things- Forger really messed up because there’s no way in hell thats a “child’s violin” as he claims.
Like if your kid needs to play the violin as if it was a freaking cello that violin is way too big for them.
Of course it backfires. That violin is the size of Anya’s body! Have you ever seen a child’s violin? They are TINY. She probably needs a 1/16 and he got her like a 1/2
(Also there are so many ways you can test if someone is musically gifted other than playing an instrument which is quite difficult to make a good sound on)
So yes, it’s hilarious that Lloid thought this would work
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Deeva Årud - Tsumsted Wonderland Voice Lines
Summon Line: Pointy ears, wings, freckles and blue marks under its eye… it really looks like me. What a strange situation.
Groooovy!!: Apparently, this tsum feels relaxed when I cover it with my wings.
Home: By some unexpected turn of events, there’s two Deevas now. It’s okay, we won’t cause you any trouble.
Home Idle 1: You want to hold my tsum? That’s going to be complicated… Don’t worry, you won’t be hit, but it’ll fly away if you try to approach it. Until it warms up to you, I’m afraid it won’t let you touch it.
Home Idle 2: When I was about to start my violin practice, I looked back at my tsum and found it holding a tsum-sized violin. It took me by surprise. Where did it get that from? And how could it play with those tiny arms?
Home Idle 3: My tsum was helping me convince my club members to practice a song together, but then Kalim brought out a box of pastries his family gifted him. I can’t believe its curiosity also succumbed to those delicious foreign snacks…
Home Idle - Login: Back at the dorm, someone thought my tsum was just a regular plushie because of how still it is. As soon as he stretched his hand towards it, it took flight. The shriek he let out hurt my ears but I still find the scene amusing.
Home Idle - Groovy: Hovering over a salmon dish and hopping around my cup of jasmine tea… well, it’s supposed to represent me, I wouldn’t have expected less. Unfortunately, I doubt it can eat any of that.
Home Tap 1: Even if tsums can’t talk, Sebek’s does a spectacular job at showing its loud personality using just body language.
Home Tap 2: Cater’s tsum constantly follows my tsum to show it photos and music on its phone. It seems his tsum also took a liking to mine, huh? It reminds me of when we were first years… Not that he stopped doing that now, though.
Home Tap 3: It seems my tsum and Jack’s bonded over cacti. It was heartwarming seeing them quietly observing plants together.
Home Tap 4: Floyd’s tsum went on “bored mode” while I was doing my shift at Mostro Lounge. I spent several minutes picking it up from the chairs so the customers could get a seat.
Home Tap 5: Tsums are cute. But the fact that they came down from the sky, looking and acting like us is a bit eerie. It sounds like the plot of a horror movie.
Home Tap - Groovy: I can’t help but think about the place tsums come from. Is everything made of round and squishy materials? Stacking can also scare away predators? Wait, do you even have predators? …Hm, no reaction, I may be wrong.
#After a year I can finally release this into the wild!!!#she was supposed to appear in the first tsum event tho :']#twisted wonderland#twst#twisted wonderland oc#twst oc#deeva twst#my art
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Love Isn't Easy
Eustass Kid x female strawhat!reader
Warnings: angst to a teeny tiny amount of fluff, tipsy reader?, minor cussing, SOFT!KID (that's a warning itself lol), mention of a girl's night
this takes's place after wano (so minor wano spoilers!!!!) purely fictional and noncanon!!!
word count: 2328
I sit on a barrel watching Brook play his violin. Despite the cheerful atmosphere, I couldn’t help but feel the dread in my stomach. I take my eyes off Brook and to the shoreline of the island we stopped at. As soon as we ran into the Kid Pirates, Luffy declared that we were throwing a party despite Kid disagreeing. How he ended up getting Kid to agree, I have no idea.
“Are you alright, Y/N?”
I jump, surprised at the voice. I crane my neck to look behind me, the stress leaving my shoulders when I realize who it is.
“I am not sure if I am being honest, Robin,” I answer.
She nods, sitting next to me. I move my eyes from her to the redhead across the ship, his laugh booming across the lively atmosphere. I move to take another sip of my drink, the burn doing nothing to settle the uneasiness in my belly.
“You should talk to him.”
“He already said what he wanted to,” I sigh, remembering his words on Wano.
Robin looks towards him and back at me, “What about you? Did you say what you wanted?”
Robin glances at Kid, noticing his eyes following me while my attention is focused on Brook. I take a big gulp of my drink, emptying it. I set it down next to me and grab another one, popping off the lid. I don't want to be here, I am in no mood for partying.
“Whatever I do, I can’t get my mind off of Kid. It’s ruining me, Robin,” I let my feelings out for the first time, “I can’t sleep, his words just repeat in my head.”
“I never loved you. I will never love you.”
I stand up, moving forward, stumbling slightly. “I am headed to bed.”
Before Robin can say anything, I head towards the girl’s quarters. In the middle of my journey there, I am stopped by someone voicing my name. I know that voice. I wordlessly shake my head and continue, needing to get off the deck. He says my name again, closer this time. I need to get off this ship, I think. My march to the girl’s quarters changes directions to the beach. The laughter and music fade into the background the farther I get from the ship. I stop when I feel far enough away without losing sight of the ship. I nestle into the sand, hoping to stake a claim here for the rest of the night. My heartbeat slows as the sea breeze and the tide calm me down.
“Why did you leave?”
I stiffen.
“I wanted some fresh air,” I mutter.
He chuckles, “That’s a lie.”
I didn’t say anything else. I want to scream at him, tell him everything that has been consuming me for the months since Wano. But I can’t.
Kid plops down right next to me in the sand. “I might not like him, but Strawhat sure knows how to throw a party,” Kid gulps his drink, throwing the empty bottle in the sand.
I still say nothing.
“So we not talkin’ or somethin’?” He asks, turning his body towards me.
I try to find the courage to say something, anything, but alas, nothing comes to mind.
He stares at me trying to catch my eyes that are firmly set on the rolling tide. After a couple of minutes, he speaks again
“You know,” he starts, “Heat and Wire miss your presence on the ship. Said that something is missing… I don’t know. I told them we knew you were only stayin' for 2 years but they got attached to you.”
I couldn’t help but scoff and mumble, “All I did on your ship was complain about you and missing my friends.”
“She speaks!” He shouts and laughs.
I stare at him. I forgot how his smile covered his whole face, or how he would whip his arms around when he got excited. The muscles flex as his flesh arm waves around in the air. No. I can’t think about him, not like this. Not when he broke my heart. I move to stand up and wipe the sand off my legs. My feet taking me towards the ship once more. I didn’t want to be alone with him. Suddenly a hand grabs mine, pulling me back.
“Leaving me so soon?”
I shiver at his words. I can feel tears beginning to slide down my face. I can’t breathe. I can’t move. Kid pulls at my hand once more to get me to turn around. He says something, but all I can hear is my heart trying to tear itself out of my chest. Suddenly, someone starts calling my name from the ship, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“I have to go back,” I whisper, tugging my hand harshly out of his grip.
I sway towards the calling voice, the alcohol still moving about my system. I can see Sanji leaning over the edge of the ship, looking down at the shoreline for me. A couple heads peek next to him, Robin, Chopper, and Luffy. I remember Robin's words from before:
“What about you? Did you say what you wanted?”
I do have things I want to say. I spin around, catching Kid off guard. He looks at me with surprise at my sudden actions. “What are you doing?” he demands.
“I don’t want to love you anymore.” I blurt out.
His eyes widen.
“I don’t want to love you, but for some reason I do, even though you hurt me. I fell in love with you during the two years I was on your ship, and I felt like you loved me. We spent every day training together, and hanging out, and I felt like we got close. I wish I was the one you thought about before you went to bed, or the one you wanted to spend your days with. But in Wano you told me the opposite after I confessed my love for you... Why won’t you love me back?”
It takes him a moment to speak, “let’s get you back,” he grumbles, “you’re drunk Y/N.”
At his words, I cry harder and drop to my knees, his flesh hand grabs my shoulder, “Don’t touch me!” I sob. He tries to say something but his mouth just opens and closes. His metal hand comes to my other shoulder to hoist me up, but my words have him stumbling back.
“Don’t touch me! Don’t touch me! Leave me alone!”
My hand grabs at the sand and chucks it towards him. My sobs ring out into the open air along with the faint sound of music and laughter.
“I would listen to Y/N, Eustass,” a voice commands.
My eyes stay on the sand, while Kid’s head snaps towards the voice. A gentle hand rests on the shoulder in the place of Kid’s. A soft voice whispers, “You are okay Y/N, we are here for you.”
The hand begins to gently stroke my hair. I look up and lock eyes with Nami.
“Can you stand up?” She asks.
I nod my head slowly, planting my hands on the ground to push my body up. She wraps an arm around me and leads me towards the ship.
“Y/N-” Kid starts but is cut off by Robin.
“You hurt her enough, don’t make it worse.”
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - -- - - - - - - - - -
“He’s an idiot, Y/N,” Nami states while she brushes my hair.
“I’m sorry I ruined your night,” I sigh, “I could see you and Killer getting along.”
Nami laughs, “Oh Y/N, he couldn’t handle me.”
We both laugh, warmth coming to my chest as I smile. The silence that follows is comfortable, basking in each other's presence. A soft knock comes from the door, the door squeaking open, revealing Robin, smiling slightly. After a few moments of chit-chatting, Nami stands up.
“Let’s have a girl’s night,” Nami shouts, “I will ask Sanji to make us some snacks! We can do our nails and have a good time together!”
I smile and nod, and Robin voices her agreement. Nami skips out of the room to find Sanji while Robin and I get out all of the nail polish. Once we settle onto the floor, I take a moment to look at her and gather up the courage to ask her the question I have been dying to know the answer to since the beach. Reading my mind, she states, “He didn’t hurt me,” she smiles, “After you walked away, he asked me to grab Killer and that was it.”
I nod slowly as Nami bursts back into the room along with Sanji, who is holding out drinks and our favorite snacks. “Y/N-swannnnnn, Robin-swannn!” He guides the tray to us, “Here you are, my lovely ladies!”
He hands us our drinks and snacks, and leaves the room, letting us know that he can make us anything else we want. For the next couple of hours, we pamper ourselves, doing our nails, and hair, and talking about our most recent adventures.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - - -- - -- - - -- - - - - - - - - -- - - - - - --
I toss and turn in bed, shoving the blankets off my legs. Laying there for a few moments, I cover back up, uncomfortably cold. Groaning, I decide to get up and make some tea, hoping it will help me sleep. I slip my sandals on, glancing at Nami and Robin to make sure I haven’t woken them. I slip out into the hallway, no one in sight. The Kid Pirates must have gone back to their ship at some point, I think. I make my way to the kitchen only to be stopped by the sight of a shadow by the head of the Sunny, “Luffy?” I whisper confused about why he was out here this late, moving my way toward the dark figure.
“Sorry sweet cheeks,” Kid mutters, “I am not Strawhat.”
I take a step back, startled by his presence, “K-kid, what are you doing here?”
“I was thinking about you if I am being honest.”
I take another step back, the idea of tea lost in my mind, just hoping to escape to the solace of my bedroom.
“I am sorry for what happened on the beach,” Kid apologizes.
This stops me from moving. Kid apologizing?
I find my voice, “Killer tell you to say that?”
“No,” Kid snarls, “I wanted to fucking apologize myself.”
I take a deep breath and I dare myself to be bold, “What are you doing here?”
“I was practicing…” he trails off.
“Practicing?”
“I need to practice without Killer shoving words down my throat.”
“I don’t understand.”
He doesn’t respond and just looks at me. I suddenly feel self-conscious at his scrutinizing. We stand in the darkness for a few minutes, before he breaks the silence.
“You asked me why I didn’t love you back earlier.” He pauses before he continutes, “Umm, Killer told me I needed to sort out my thoughts and feelings before I talked to you again. But I hate the idea of not talking to you. When you confessed to me after I ran into you after escaping Udon, I was surprised. I couldn’t believe it. Why would you love me? I said the things I did to hurt you, I can’t have you loving me. I am incredibly selfish. As soon as you said it, I wanted to take you away. I wanted- I want you all to myself. But I hurt you instead of telling you the truth.”
Kid takes a deep breath, and grabs my hand.
“The truth is, I realized that I have developed strong feelings for you. It started as a simple admiration, but over time, it has grown into something deeper. The way you make me laugh, the way you care for others, the way you fight, and the way you light up a room with your presence... it all captivates me. When you found me after Kuma separated your crew, I knew I was fucked. The look on your face when you asked if you could stay on the Victoria, I couldn’t say no. I knew I loved you the minute you told Heat off for stealing food from your plate one night at dinner. I am selfish for telling you this all now but -”
I cut him off, “You love me?”
He nods, “Yes.”
“And you’re not just saying it to say it 'cause it's what I want to hear?”
“I love you Y/N.”
“It would have saved me a whole lot of tears and heartache if you just told me.”
Kid nods again, “I know.”
“You hurt me.”
“I know.”
I take a bold step forward towards him and wrap my arms around him. His arms slowly wrap around my body, his warmth seeping into me.
“It’s going to take me a while to forgive you, but thank you for telling me how you feel.”
“I understand,” Kid says, “but can I ask you something?”
I pull back from his embrace, enough to see his face staring down at me, “what is it?”
“Can I kiss you?”
My heart hammers in shock. But slowly, I nod my head, not trusting my words. His flesh hand moves to cup my cheek while his metal one lays across the small of my back. He leans in halfway, his eyes searching mine for any sign of wariness. When he finds none, he closes the gap, his lips hovering over mine. I can feel the warmth of his breath and the slight tickle of his lips ghosting mine. I push my toes into the ground, leaning up to press my lips against his. His chapped lips move in sync with mine, but before either one of us can deepen the kiss, Kid pulls away, his forehead against mine. “I am sorry again for how I acted, I am going to try and make it up to you before our crew departs.” Kid mumbles.
I don’t say anything, just take him in. I couldn’t forgive him just yet but I knew that I would love him forever.
#one piece#eustass kid#eustass x reader#one piece x reader#one piece imagine#kid pirates#straw hat pirates#straw hat crew#one piece kid#eustasscaptainkid#eustass kid x reader#eustass kid x y/n#eustass kid x you#eustass captain kidd
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Nico's Big Brothers
Nico: Conner, can you open this please. *gives him a can of peanut brittle*
Conner: Did Travis okay this?
Nico: Mhm.
Conner: You know you can't eat these kinds of things without drinking water directly after, right?
Nico: Yep.
Conner: Where's your water?
Nico: *points to glass on table*
Conner: Alright *opens can and spring snakes pop out*
Conner:
Nico: :)
Conner: Classic *impressed*
---
Nico: Travis!
Travis: What's up, kiddo?
Nico: Annabeth gave me homework. Can you please help me?
Travis: Yeah, sure. *pulls ups a chair and sits on whoopee cushion*
Travis:
Nico: :)
Travis: *pulls out whoopee cushion from underneath him* ...I'll teach you better pranks if you get an A in this.
---
Visiting an Aquarium:
Percy, carrying Nico: Nico, c'mon. Look at the pretty fish.
Nico, burying his head in Percy's shoulder: No! I don't like the ocean! The ocean is scary! It's gonna eat me!
Percy: *sigh* C'mon. Look, there's a turtle over there.
Nico: *looks hesitantly*
Percy: See? Over there. *points to turtle* Say, "Hi, Mr. Turtle*
Nico: *waves* Hi, Mr. Turtle.
Turtle: *waves back*
Nico: GAAASP HE WAVED BACK! PERCY, HE WAVED BACK!
---
Nico: GROVEEERRRR! *running*
Grover: Woah! Woah! Woah! Nico, calm down. What's wrong?
Nico: *opens his palm to show a baby bird with a broken wing*
Grover: Oooh.
Nico: I think she fell from her nest. B-but you can heal her right? Or Juniper can?
Grover: Nico, I'm sorry. Juniper or I don't have healing powers
Nico: B-but, we can't just leave Beanie alone! He's tiny and just a baby! He needs his family!
Grover: *sigh* I know. C'mon. We'll go to the Apollo cabin to see what they can do. Then we'll put him back in his tree.
Nico: I'll still get to see him, right?
Grover: Of course.
---
Jason giving Nico a tour of Camp: And that over there is the arena. It's where we train.
Reyna: Jason! Who's that?
Jason: Oh, Nico, this is Reyna. She's my best friend. Reyna, this is Nico. He's a visitor.
Reyna: We don't accept visitors
Jason: He's an exception. Diana asked us to-
Nico, playing with a dummy sword: Jason, I'm hungry.
Jason: Aww, okay. Let's get you some food.
Octavian: What are you two doing? And what is that? *points to Nico*
Reyna: Back off, Octavian.
Octavian: No. That thing needs to leave. This place is-
Nico: *throws his dummy sword at him*
Octavian: OW!
Jason: Nico!
Reyna:
Jason: Octavian, are you okay? Do you-
Nico: *throws stones, sticks, and whatever he can pick up from the ground at Octavian*
Jason: Nico, you can't-
Reyna: Wait, give him five more seconds to learn his lesson
---
Nico: *wakes up from his afternoon nap*
Alice: Oh, looks like someone's awake from his nap
Nico: Clovis...
Clovis: *picks him up* I'm here, kiddo. You need anything?
Nico: Hungy...
Clovis: Alright. Let's get you some food. Did you have a good nap?
Nico: Mhm. I had a good dream
Clovis: Aww, tell me all about it.
---
Nico: Charlie.
Charles: Yes, Nico? What is it?
Nico: Can you make something?
Charles: It's kind of what we do here. What do you need?
Nico: I made my sister mad.
Charles: What happened?
Nico: I almost broke her bow. So I want to make it up to her.
Charles: So you want me to make her a new bow?
Nico: Not exactly. *shows paper*
Charles and other Cabin 9 kids: *looks*
Charles: Oh, wow. That's...that's certainly something.
Nico: Can you make it?
Charles: Maybe like...2? 3 weeks?
Soon:
Bianca: Hey...Charles, right?
Charles: That's me. What can I help you with?
Bianca: Nico said that he had you make something for me?
Charles: Oh, so you're Nico's sister. Yeah, I have what he asked for. *hands over case*
Bianca: What is it?
Charles: *opens case* He felt bad about almost breaking your bow so he had me make you this. *shows violin*
Bianca: Oh, wow. That's...very generous of you. All of you.
Charles: That's not where it ends. *pushes a button at the top and the violin turns to a bow*
Bianca:
Charles: He had blueprints and everything.
Bianca: I'm going to say something I swore I'd never say. Oh my Gods.
Charles: *chuckles*
Bianca: How much does he owe you?
Charles: Ah, it's on the house. It looked really cool and all of us wanted to take a shot at it. It was fun enough for us to make it.
Violin
---
Nico: *crying cuz he fell fown and scraped his knee*
Lee: Nico, calm down.
Nico: It hurts!!
Lee: I know, kiddo. I know.
Nico: I want Bia!!
Lee: Michael already called for her. Just be a good boy and keep still, okay?
Nico: *nods*
Lee: Okay, there we go. *blows on his wound and applies betadine*
Nico: Can I get a lollipop later?
Lee: Well, if you're a good boy, I can give you one in your favorite flavor. *patches him up* And we're done. See? That wasn't so bad, right?
Bianca, coming in: Nico?
Lee: Over here. He's fine. He just scraped his knee. Nothing a little betadine can't fix.
Bianca: Oh, good. Thank you.
Lee: Yeah. And he was a very strong boy. *shows lollipop jar* Here you go, Nico.
Nico: Yay!
---
Michael: Good. Don't close your eye. It'll be harder if you do. Stand properly
Nico: *does as he's told*
Michael: And...release.
Nico: *shoots an arrow bullseye* I DID IT!!!
Michael: YEAAA! *picks up Nico* Aww, great job, little man.
Nico: DID YOU SEE IT? MICKEY, DID YOU SEE IT?!?!
Michael: I saw it. And it was perfect. C'mon, let's go tell Bianca.
#pjo#percy jackson and the olympians#percy jackson#nico di angelo#grover underwood#jason grace#travis stoll#conner stoll#charles beckendorf#michael yew#lee fletcher#bianca di angelo#reyna avila ramirez arellano#clovis#baby nico#percy jackson incorrect quotes#pjo incorrect quotes#incorrect percy jackson quotes#incorrect quotes
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Lost (9) - Lost
Tara Carpenter x female Reader
Summary: To anyone on the outside, and to Tara’s friends, you were Tara’s fierce protector, the MMA fighter who’d take anyone on for Tara. The Guard Dog, as Amber called you. You had no idea you’d have to protect her from people who claimed they loved her. It didn’t matter. As long as you and Tara had one another there was nothing you wouldn’t be able to survive.
Story warnings: Scream violence, family issues, trauma, angst, certain sensitive topics
Word count: 6.5k
Story masterlist / First part / Previous part / Next part
-I'm lost in these memories living behind my own illusion. Lost all my dignity living inside my own confusion-
You were ten and your entire world fell apart. It wasn’t fair, it just wasn’t fair. Zack wasn’t dead, he couldn’t be dead! Your father had to be lying!
“He’s dead,” he repeated, looking like he was talking about spilled milk, and you felt sick, you felt lightheaded, your legs couldn’t hold your weight and you dropped to your hands and knees. “Stop crying, Y/N,” he ordered, his tone harsh and unforgiving, and it made you flinch as you covered you mouth to stop the sobs, but you couldn’t stop the tears, they just kept falling.
Your mother grabbed your shoulders and pulled you to your feet. “Go to your room, your father is expecting important guests,” she ushered you to go upstairs, to be the obedient daughter. And you did just that, climbing up the stairs to your room.
Once inside you stumbled to your bed and pulled a small toy boxer from behind your pillow. The only gift Zack gave you that you managed to keep, to smuggle into your room without your parents noticing. Anything else they took and you never saw it again, photos, toys, books, it didn’t matter what Zack got for you, it was gone. So, aside from the toy boxer, he gave you his time, as much as he could, and he gave you the basics of martial arts, he taught them to you, he taught you discipline better than anything your parents ever signed you up for.
Even now, at ten years old, you felt the room you were in wasn’t who you were. It was, as your mother described it, a girl’s room, flowery and colorful, filled with clothes appropriate for your parents’ wealth and a customary violin they wanted you to learn how to play. You were meant to grow into a young lady that scoffed at anything even mildly violent, someone who relied on other people to cook and clean for you, and if you really wanted to, you would get the education needed to take over your father’s company.
That’s who you were supposed to be, but meeting Zack changed that.
And you found your passion in martial arts and the vision your parents had of you would never come true.
But, just like you took away their vision of their perfect daughter, they took the toy boxer away, taking the only remaining physical reminders of your brother away. And to completely remove you from those memories they chose to move, hoping that maybe, leaving the city you spent so much time with Zack in, would made those memories fade away. At the start of 2012, two months after Zack’s death you and your parents moved to Woodsboro.
Woodsboro was a strange experience at first, a small town, with people suspicious of anyone new. You didn't care, you were still shaken by the loss, shaken by being torn from the life you had. Looking back now, there wasn't much of a life there, but to a ten-year-old you that was all you had. Especially after losing Zack.
Two weeks into your time in Woodsboro you just walked around, figuring out where what was when you noticed a tiny girl pushing a bicycle and carrying a bag. She was alone, and she seemed to be struggling. Why was a girl who didn't look older than seven all on her own with a bicycle that looked like it would be too big even for you?
The girl your parents raised would have minded your own business and avoided any attention. Zack taught you to be better than that.
"Uh, hey," you approached her awkwardly. She raised her head when she figured out you were talking to her. The first thing you noticed upon a closer look were her expressive brown eyes and freckles on her face. "Need help?"
She seemed genuinely surprised, but at the same time looked weary. You couldn't blame her, this was the first time she had seen you. "No, but thanks for offering help," she gave you a small, shy smile and walked by you.
Well, you weren't about to force her into accepting help. You offered, she didn't accept it, so you shrugged. But then she began coughing and dropped to her knees, her bicycle falling to the side as some of the content from her bag spilled out. You ran up to her since there was no one nearby to do it instead.
"Hey, are you sick or something?" you had no idea what to do, you were ten and confused and not used to situations like this one.
The girl nodded, pulling out something and taking a breath. Something that helped her breathe? "Asthma," she muttered. "I'm fine now, I'm sorry," you didn't understand why she was apologizing, but you began picking her things up. You noticed it was mostly food that was quick to make and cheap, but you didn't comment on that.
"Hey! Stay away from Tara!" health complications weren't something you were used to reacting to, but sudden fights definitely were. You jumped to your feet, grabbing the fist before it could reach your face. The girl that attacked you was a few inches taller than you, and she was definitely stronger as she pushed you back hard enough to make you stumble and fall.
"No, Sammy, she was helping," the smaller girl quickly hugged this ‘Sammy’ from behind.
"Oh. Sorry, I didn't recognize you, so," she trailed off, looking uncomfortable all of a sudden.
You frowned and huffed as you got up, really not liking that she went with the 'swing first, ask questions later' approach. "Right, I'll be leaving now," you just backed away and left the two. Hopefully, you won't run into them that often, because this was not a good first impression.
~X~
Something really seemed to push you and the girl together, because it only took a week at school to see her again. Or, well, she bumped into you.
"I'm sorry! I'm late for class!" she ran off before you could even comprehend what just happened.
"Huh, her again," you mumbled to yourself and then realized what she said. "I'm late!" there was no time to think about another chance meeting.
Ever since then, there have been small encounters, seeing each other in the hall, and coming across each other on the street. Never a conversation though, you still didn't exchange names, though the girl that attacked you said 'Tara' so maybe that was the girl's name.
The first time you spoke it was actually December of that year. So, nearly a year went by with occasional glances here and there, simply acknowledging that the other existed. The school had kinda awful karate class, but it was the only martial arts they had, so you went. Which was why you stayed at school after classes. It was a downpour outside, and you were not eager to leave, but, there was no telling if the rain would slow down. So, you pulled your hood over your head and stepped outside.
That was when you noticed her, trembling at the entrance, soaked from head to toe from the rain, alone. Again.
"You'll get sick, at least get inside the school," you tilted your head to the side as you spoke to the girl.
She looked up. "Mom won't see me if I'm inside and she'll leave," the girl said as if it was the most obvious reason in the history of reasons.
"Since when are you waiting?" you asked, honestly hoping she also had some after-class activities because the alternative was her freezing in this rain for an hour and a half.
"Since school ended," yeah, you doubted her mother was coming. What kind of parent would make their child wait like this? At least your parents made it clear they wouldn’t pick you up from school, regardless of the weather.
You frowned, wondering if there were any alternative solutions. The school bus was long gone. You didn't know if the local bus went near the girl's house, and you didn't have a phone. "Can you walk?"
She shook her head. "I'm tired," now that you paid a bit more attention to her you figured you were wrong. She wasn't going to get sick. She already was. Her face was red, and her voice was a bit raspy. And she just spent an hour and a half standing in the rain. "Mom isn't coming, is she?" she asked, her eyes brimming with unshed tears, but she tried to stay strong.
"Probably not. Come on, I'll take you home," you took your bag off and turned your back to her. "Get on," when she didn't you figured she maybe couldn't climb on your back as sick as she was, so you crouched down. "Sorry, I wasn't thinking."
"N-No, it's okay, I, I'm fine," she stammered, and you only held your umbrella out to her.
"You're light, I won't even feel you," well, you would, after some time, but you could handle it. Hey, it would be a good exercise. "I'm Y/N, in case that was weird because you didn't know my name."
You turned your head around and saw she had the same expression she had when you offered to help her when you first saw each other.
"Please, I wouldn't be able to sleep well if I just left you here," you tried, offering her your hand. Reluctantly she took it and took that step closer to you. Seeing that she agreed with your idea you went back to the previous position and waited.
"Thanks. I'm Tara," she sounded really shy all of a sudden. "I'm sorry Sam pushed you before," you wondered why she still remembered that when you felt her get on your back and put her hands on your shoulders. You got up as if she wasn't even there. Just how light was this girl? Definitely too light. Even for her age. You wondered for a moment if she had proper meals. Given her mother didn’t come to pick her up you weren’t so sure she was being properly taken care of.
"Don't worry, as long as she doesn't do it again," you chuckled and handed her the umbrella. "Uh, my hands are kinda full, so if you don't mind?"
Tara nodded, taking the umbrella and opening it just as you stepped into the rain. It didn't shield you much, but it helped. "How old are you?" you figured you might as well pass some time while you were walking to Tara's house.
"I'll turn ten in a week," she said. "You?"
Ten? She was about to turn ten?! This girl? How?! She was tiny! You thought she was eight at best!
"Uh, Y/N," she squeezed your shoulder a bit.
You cleared your throat awkwardly. "Sorry, I thought you were younger. I'm eleven," you finally replied.
"Mean," oh, she definitely understood what you were implying.
"Sorry, sorry, look at it from the brighter side, if you were bigger I wouldn't be able to carry you home," you tried to cheer her up a bit.
"Yeah, that really makes up for being short," ooh, sarcasm, you liked that.
"Exactly!" you chuckled as if you thought she was serious.
Tara groaned and hid her face behind your shoulder, but you heard a tiny giggle despite the rain.
And that was the start. The actual start.
~X~
Tomorrow you didn’t see Tara in the halls, you expected as much, but yesterday she told you what class she was in so you went and asked one of the kids in her class if she came to school. That’s how you confirmed she didn’t come to school, so, without bothering to tell your parents, because they wouldn’t notice anyway, you made your way to her house.
Boldy and without a hint of hesitation you walked up to her front doors and knocked a few times. No one answered, so you tried again, and again until finally you heard someone yelling they were coming. The woman that opened the doors looked somewhat like Tara, with dark hair and eyes, but she didn’t exactly look sober.
“What do you want runt?” the woman asked, confused by your presence.
“Good afternoon. I’m sorry if I’m bothering you, I’m here to see Tara,” you went for the polite approach, not really sure what else would work.
The woman nodded. “She’s a bit sick, but sure, go upstairs, you’ll hear her,” you raised an eyebrow at that. You’ll hear Tara?
“Thank you,” you quickly thanked the woman and slipped your shoes off before going up the stairs. You did hear Tara, as the woman said you would, because she was coughing. “Shit,” you cursed under your breath. Just how sick was she? You approached the doors and knocked.
“Come in,” came raspy and confused voice.
You opened the doors and waved at the girl. “Hey, you, uh, didn’t come to school, so I figured I could drop by to check on you,” you smiled sheepishly at her astonished face, but she didn’t sit up, she was too sick.
“Y/N?” she rubbed her eyes as if she couldn’t believe what she was seeing.
“One and only,” you grinned.
Tara giggled a bit, but that made her start coughing again.
“Easy,” you were reminded of Zack a bit before he died, and you remembered he would sleep while half-sitting up when it became too difficult to breathe. He said his body was exhausted fighting the heart issues, and because of that he easily got sick near the end of his life, only making his life even shorter. So, remembering that you went up to Tara and lifted her upper body up, much to her confusion, but it stopped her coughing for a bit while you looked around for something to prop the pillow up with. Eventually, you noticed a smaller pillow next to her and used it to lift her pillow higher. “This should help a bit, I think,” you lowered her back to the pillow and she smiled weakly.
“Thanks, it’s easier to breathe now,” she whispered and patted the spot next to her. “Stay with me for a bit?”
You nodded, and the two of you just sat there in silence, already strangely comfortable in each other’s presence. Half an hour later the doors opened again and you turned to see Sam standing there, baffled and confused.
“You’re… the one from that day? The girl I pushed? Y/N?” she asked, not sure how to react to you being there, but then she looked at Tara and visibly relaxed.
“Yeah, nice to meet you, properly I mean,” you grinned a bit and Sam just nodded.
~X~
After that the chance meetings turned into quick chats between classes or at least a high-five and a smile as you passed by one another. By the end of the month, you sometimes walked Tara home, carrying her if she was too tired and just chatting and joking on your way home. It didn’t matter your house was in the opposite direction, because you enjoyed her company way more than whatever was waiting for you at home.
Before you knew it, sometime after the holidays were over, she was tugging on your sleeve to meet a group of kids that were a bit younger than her.
“This is Y/N, my best friend!” she introduced you and you couldn’t hide your surprise. You were her best friend?
“Hey! We heard you like karate!” one of the boys, Chad greeted you cheerily.
You could work with that. “Martial arts in general, but sure I like karate as well,” you grinned, though your grin dropped when he rushed at you. You just pulled Tara to the side and let him run by you. “Uh, what were you trying to do?” you asked, chuckling uncomfortably as he tripped and fell into the snow, causing the other three kids to laugh.
“I was trying to tackle you! You like martial arts so I wanted to see if you were any good at it,” he got up and brushed the snow off his pants and jacket.
“So, don’t rushed at her like Pikachu?” the girl that looked a lot like him, his twin Mindy, from what Tara told you, teased him, causing another round of laughter.
That was how it was back then. Chad had Wes, and Mindy had Amber, so, before you came along Tara was the kid with asthma they met because Sam used to babysit them that was now in their grade because she had to repeat a year. Amber took liking to Tara and pulled her into the group, but Tara didn’t have her own best friend at the moment. So, you filled that gap. You were her best friend.
That being said, Amber was still the one who gave name to the role you played in Tara's life.
About half a year into the newfound friendship Tara invited you to go to a picnic with her and her friends. It wasn't even going to be much of a picnic since there wouldn't be anything to eat other than some snacks, but it was a chance to get out of home, so you accepted.
You joined the group at the park and high-fived Tara before waving to the other four. "Mindy, Chad, Wes, Amber," you grinned and sat down next to Tara as the four greeted you back.
The day was going the same way it usually did, usual banter, usual jokes, Amber trying to keep Tara's attention on her, Mindy teasing Wes, Chad trying to get into a joke scuffle with you and you, of course, not backing down from said competition, all the while Tara caught you up with what happened to her over the past few days.
Eventually, Chad, bored and mischievous as he was, grabbed Tara's bottle just as she was about to take it.
Tara was still tiny, and Chad didn't have to try to keep the bottle away from her. "Just say please Tara," Chad teased her by waving the bottle just out of her reach.
Tara smirked a bit. "Please, right?" she asked and Chad, now slightly confused nodded. She glanced at you, smiling as she saw you looking right at her while you lay down on the grass. "Y/N."
You couldn't help but snicker as you sat up, really impressed by how bold she got when you were with her. Chad caved in before you had the chance to get to your feet and you all shared a laugh.
Amber shook her head. "I'm telling you all, Y/N is Tara's guard dog," Amber laughed to cover it up as a joke, but there was a bit of malice behind those words.
You turned to Chad as soon as the laughter settled down. "Woof, woof?" and the six of you were once again laughing.
It became a bit of a running joke, really, that Tara only had to say your name in some situations, and you'd be right by her side. 'Tara calls and you bark,' was the original joke. The guard dog never bites though because it was always with friends. It was always small things that couldn't lead to violence. Guarding Tara from a stray ball in the park, or keeping her from falling if she tripped next to you, small things like that were why Amber began calling you the guard dog and others accepted the nickname.
And then the joke changed into 'Tara barks and you bite', because the guard dog bit. You got into a fight.
~X~
You were a couple of months away from turning fourteen and you just found out your parents chose not to help Zack. Your father wouldn't help to pay for the medicine and Susan had no way of getting enough money. She was already in debt for medical bills and couldn't even sell the house. Your father came from money, not old, old money, but his parents were rich enough to help him get very rich. To the point where he wouldn't even feel the medical bills.
He and your mother, plain and simple, didn't want to do it. 'Good riddance,' your father said. 'No son of his was a barbaric, violent no-good fighter.'
Your temper was short, you could feel anger rising within you in less time than it took to snap fingers. That's how short your fuse was. Somehow, the only exception to that anger was Tara.
Woodsboro was usually quiet, but a new Stab movie had just released, and some tourists were bound to come by. One of them got you to snap.
Tara had begged you to go see The Babadook with her when it finally came to your local cinema. So, you, of course, went with her. It was a good movie, though you probably wouldn't go to see it if it wasn't for Tara. Tara loved it though, it was her new favorite thing, and from the looks of it that wouldn't change any time soon.
"Man, that movie sucked!" someone complained as you were getting out and Tara turned around.
"No, it didn't!" she immediately argued, being with you gave Tara more confidence, the girl that was startled and timid when you met and when you finally spoke again that day in the rain was nowhere to be found. She was getting bolder, more confident in herself, and you being with her gave her that sense of safety that allowed her to act like that.
"What?" the guy that said The Babadook sucked was maybe two or three years older than you.
"It's a great movie," Tara declared boldly.
The guy laughed and was probably about to dismiss her, but then he raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you Samantha's sister? Tell your sister to get me my money for she'll know what," he suddenly got really serious and you stepped between him and Tara.
"Back off," you firmly stated.
"Yeah? Or what?" he challenged.
"Sam doesn't owe you anything," Tara said as she stepped next to you.
That, apparently made him angry. "Really now? She doesn't? So maybe you can give me my money?" he reached forward, and you just went and did it. You slammed a right uppercut into his jaw, and he fell on the ground. Security got called, he didn't want to call the police, for his own sake, and you got off with a warning from security and a year-long ban from the cinema. What a tragedy that was.
Perhaps it was because she could tell how tense you were, but that was the first time Tara held your hand as you walked to her house. It was a loose hold, but it was a hold, nonetheless.
"Sorry, I lost control there," could the guy get violent? Maybe. Would he? Perhaps. He still didn't exactly do anything that warranted a punch like that.
"It's okay, thanks for having my back there," she whispered and tightened her hold on your hand.
"Well, Amber does say I'm your guard dog," you chuckled, gradually calming down now that you were sure everything was okay. Rumors spread eventually and by the end of it, the tale of punching a slightly older guy turned into getting into a fight with two adults. Well, at least it got the message across as you officially became her guard dog that day, Don't mess with Tara.
~X~
Sam left about a year later, you and Tara kept spending time together, you made a deal with your parents that you’d be free once you turned eighteen, that you could leave and that you would play your role of a good daughter until then. And you did, for two and a half years you did just that, only breaking that deal once, a few months before you turned eighteen.
Tara came over to your place for once. You’d watch a movie in your room, eat a lunch, and then you’d do some homework together. You had an assignment about movies and Tara could easily help you with that and you would help her with some homework she was struggling with at the moment. The day was going great, until it was time to eat lunch, and since it was Sunday both of your parents were home.
You were getting better and better when it came to cooking, and today you were making a risotto for Tara and you. In a way you were lucky that Tara didn’t question why you didn’t make any for your parents as you set the two plates down.
Your father came into the kitchen to make himself a tea, it was one thing he always made for himself, because he had a very specific amount of milk he wanted added to it. And he came in with his cigar freshly lit and you saw red.
“Get out,” you warned, already getting up to open the window.
“No,” yet he refused, exhaling a long puff of smoke as he poured water into the kettle.
You didn’t want to even spare the time to argue, he knew Tara had asthma, you made it clear several times that you wouldn’t let anyone smoke near her. So, you just briskly walked over to him, grabbed the cigar before he could react, put it out and chucked it through the window.
Tara gasped, seeing the anger flash in your father’s eyes as the two of you glared at each other, you weren’t backing down.
“I told you to get out. I told you I don’t want anyone smoking near Tara,” you reminded him as he bared his teeth.
“Insolent child,” his tone was low, but you’ve learnt a long time ago that it was more of a bluff than anything, a tough act of a coward.
Tara didn’t learn that. She just saw you and your father being tense, as if you would start arguing any moment now. And she got up, running up to you and pulling you back. “Y/N, please, let’s just go to your room. Or to my place, please Baby,” she tried to get you to look at her, but you just made sure she was behind you, and not between you and your father.
“Baby?” your father’s eyes widened. “Baby?!” he yelled and Tara flinched, hiding behind you. “You are going to stop associating with this girl, Y/N!” he ordered.
“I’m sorry,” Tara whispered just loud enough for you to hear.
You just took her hand, squeezing it gently while glaring at your father. “Try to stop me, see what happens,” you warned, daring him to try and do anything, to raise his hand, to even try to hit you. He wasn’t stupid, by that point you’ve already spent over half your life training martial arts.
He snarled, but seeing he couldn’t intimidate you he just backed away, leaving the kitchen as the kettle whistled.
With him gone you pulled Tara into your arms and the sixteen-year-old girl clung to you as if she was afraid you’d vanish if she let go of you. You held her just as tightly before tucking a stray strand of hair back to its place. “I don’t care what he says,” you assured her gently and felt her relaxing a bit at that, but she still held onto you and you, honestly, didn’t mind. And as you held her in your arms, as her presence alone calmed you down from your anger, as you felt how wildly your heart was beating at her proximity, you realized you were in love with Tara.
~X~
Half a year later you had your first fight, you won, but you came back to Woodsboro a day later with bruises all over your body and several nasty swellings. Your lower lip was busted, and not just a bit. There were a few small cuts on your face, from punches and the one on your forehead nearly cost you the fight. Overall, you were in awful shape and just wanted to get into your apartment and sleep through the pain. You didn’t expect to see Tara outside your doors, chewing on her lower lip as she waited for you.
“Hey,” you spoke softly, trying to smile, but it kinda hurt to do that, so you winced instead and Tara turned to you with an unreadable expression on her face. You could see the worry and hurt in her eyes, but you struggled to identify anything else. “You should see the other woman,” you tried to joke lamely, but she just grabbed the keys you prepared and unlocked your apartment before dragging you inside.
You figured just behaving would be your best option, so you let her silently take care of you. She placed several ice packs on you, one over your eye, the other on your hurt left wrist, and the third she just applied on whatever bruise she could see for a few minutes at a time.
“Thanks,” you eventually said as you lowered the ice pack so you could properly look at Tara.
“Please don’t fight again,” she looked like she couldn’t take it, she was shaking, and frankly you were worried her asthma might get triggered.
You never wanted to get into this position, to basically choose between the memory of Zack and Tara. To chose between the only family that ever cared for you and the girl you loved and at the end of the day that was exactly what this choice was. It was painful, and you’d forever remember the look of utter rejection and even a hint of betrayal on Tara’s face when you finally replied
But… you couldn’t give up, even if Tara asked you to. You had to give it a shot, for Zack. “I can’t, Tara. This is what I chose to do, I just love fighting too much to stop after one fight,” you could only hope that she would understand, that this decision wouldn’t cost you your friendship with Tara. Given the look in her eyes, it wouldn’t go that far, and even as she nursed you back to health she still looked unhappy, because you chose fighting.
Because you didn’t choose her.
~X~
You were Tara’s guard dog, you were her protector, you were a skilled, almost ridiculously trained MMA fighter, but you couldn't keep her safe. Not from Amber and Richie, or their sick plan, not from the trauma, not from what she was feeling. You couldn't punch her way out of this problem. It made you feel weak and helpless, it was like an overwhelming weight you couldn't shake off, and a part of it was your fault. Because you betrayed her trust by not telling her about your troubles sooner, and now she couldn't believe you.
You glanced at Tara, knowing full well she was still awake. You were fairly certain she spent some of the night crying, but she never called out to you, and you weren't about to push her into contact she didn't want. Her pushing your arm away, even if you understood to an extent, hurt no matter how hard you tried to reason with that choice.
~X~
Tara thought everything was getting better, or as good as it could get, but it just felt like every time she felt things were about to get better something happened and made it worse. Sam was back, her mother couldn't help herself and screamed at Sam almost any chance she got. Tara's wounds healed, for the most part, her left hand was damaged beyond repair. Your heart was healthy, you were fine, you were forced to retire from MMA. It all came back to her. Sam would have left by now, or rather she wouldn't have returned in the first place if it wasn't for Tara. Her hand was self-explanatory. You would still have your career if you didn't choose to get involved with Tara.
A voice in her head kept telling her she was the one to blame. That she couldn't get her father to love her enough to stay. That she couldn't be there for Sam. That she wasn't there when you needed her. That Amber maybe wouldn't have done everything she did if Tara was a better friend and then a better girlfriend. That so many people died and maybe there was something she could have done to prevent it. That you nearly died and that she shot you and that she had no right to say anything about your mark being the only one she'll ever wear.
She curled up as much as her leg allowed her to and clenched the sides of her head, thankful that you were getting ready in the bathroom. She pulled the blanket over her head, fearing that she really pushed you too far this time. You didn't even sleep in your own bed last night. She curled the fingers of her right hand around the collar of the shirt she wore that night, your shirt.
Your apartment, your bed, your shirt, your mark around her neck. You were her safe space, yet ever since she finally had a bit of time to think about it, she ended up convincing herself she wasn't giving you anything in return. Or if she was giving you something back, it wasn't enough.
"Tara?" she didn't even notice you coming back. She wished you would just reach out and touch her, but as touchy as the two of you were you never initiated contact unless Tara saw it coming. It wasn't just since Tara was first attacked, that's how it's always been. She didn't move, she didn't want you to see her face right now.
She heard a sigh and then what sounded like you just dropping to the floor. Scared you somehow got hurt, Tara turned around and saw you sitting on the floor with your back pressed against the side of the bed. She could see how tense your muscles were even with the shirt you had on; she could see how exhausted you were.
You needed rest and Tara was convinced she was the reason you needed it.
You sighed and she couldn't remember ever hearing you sigh like that, like you were just about to reach your limit. "Tara, what do you want from me?" no, you were at your limit.
Tara, unsure of what exactly to tell you now, just went with the first thing that came to mind. "The truth. I want you to be honest," she only now realized how raspy her voice was. She reached for the water bottle on the nightstand only to see you already grabbing it and handing it to her, all without turning to look at her.
Your laugh was humorless, hollow, she hated it. "Well, there's our issue right there. You'll only trust a lie," you curled up, letting your forehead rest against your knees as your arms just dropped at your sides.
For a moment Tara thought that maybe, just maybe you were honest last night. That you really were fine with retiring. But she realized MMA wasn't just something you loved. She realized you did it as a way to remember your brother. "There's no way that can be the truth," she knew how protective of her you were, how you would keep what was bothering you inside just so she wouldn't be worried.
Your reaction was instantaneous. You got up so abruptly and forcefully that Tara felt the bed hitting the wall. "Why can't you just accept that I'm fine with retiring?" you still wouldn't look at her, but you began pacing around in what little space the apartment offered. Your movement was rigid, eyes clamped shut as you ran your hand through your hair, more frustrated than Tara ever saw you before.
"Y/N, please," Tara wanted, needed you to calm down. She wouldn't be able to reach you if you were this frustrated.
"Y/N, please," you repeated dejectedly. "Please what exactly? Please say you aren't fine?" you finally looked at her, your jaw clenching so hard Tara was surprised you didn't crack a tooth. And the way you looked at her. Frustrated, exhausted, pleading for her to trust you.
Tara met your eyes as much as it hurt to see you like that. "You said you were fine before. You weren't." she choked out.
You turned your head to the side, blinking rapidly. "So what? Now you'll think I'm going to fall apart every time something doesn't go my way?" you asked incredulously, there was clear accusation in your eyes, anger directed right at Tara, caused by what she just said.
It wasn't that! You were strong, you weren't going to, fall apart, as you put it! She just wanted you to rely on her enough to trust her with how you felt. "It's not that!" she had no idea what she was thinking as she, without her crutches, stumbled to her feet.
You froze only for a moment and then rushed to hold her. "What are you doing?" you hissed, holding her up. You didn't lift her, but almost all her weight was on you.
Despite the warmth of your skin seeping through the shirt she was wearing she still felt cold. This wasn't the usual way you touched her, there was restraint, anger, reluctance, behind the way you held her. She hated that you felt all that and still went to hold her. That's what frightened her the most. That you'd keep doing it like this, that you'd hold her and love her despite blaming her for what was happening to you.
So, she made a split-second decision. "Y/N, if you really are fine," the words got stuck in her throat.
"What?" the question came out harsh, impatient, pushing the words she struggled to say out.
"Leave me."
You froze, your hold on her loosening enough for her to pull back and stumble to her crutches. This was the best option. You'd either be honest with her, or you'd continue the lie and leave. Both would be good for you, Tara figured. She's been nothing but the reason for all your pain lately. She's been that way before she was attacked. She's been that since she got together with Amber. So, this was what it was. The lost MMA career was the last drop. Your wounds healed, your time apart could be made up for, but she couldn't fix this. "I'll call Sam to pick me up," she reassured you, frankly, surprised at how shell-shocked and still you were.
You didn't say a single word and from the corner of Tara's tear-filled eye she saw you just taking a deep breath and nodding to yourself as if thinking: 'Yeah, should have seen this coming,'
You asked her what she wanted, and she told you to leave her. Those words immediately hurt her, yet it would take two days for those words to start haunting her.
#tara carpenter x reader#tara carpenter x female reader#tara carpenter x you#tara carpenter#scream#jenna ortega x reader#x reader
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𝐓𝐎 𝐄𝐑𝐑 𝐈𝐒 𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐄 (𝐂𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐨 𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐫𝐮 𝐗 𝐕𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐭!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫)
˚• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . •
w/c - 9k
content - MDNI! 18 + , minors and ageless blogs do not interact! fem!reader, evil!reader, a lot of plot with porn, much hurt, much angst, cussing, mention of drinking and smoking, VERY shitty parenting, child abuse, character death but not one of the mains, manipulative themes, i invented suguru's parents names, did i say much hurt? everyone's in their early twenties, cellist!Geto, saxophonist!Gojo, violinist!reader, shitty!everyone, kinda dark really i guess so please read at your own discretion, I'm sorry, really
a/n - there will probs be a second part based on the ending, if my back will ever stop hurting from being hunched over my laptop for four days straight writing this insanity.
Dedicated to the dear @telvess who read every scene like five times while I wrote and re-wrote this.
• . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° . • . ° .•
Jealousy. As a result of your young age, you couldn't put it into words quite yet, but you felt it - choking up your dry throat as your father held your head steady with his fingers digging deep into your scalp to make sure your head wouldn't move an inch.
"Look, child," he said, "really look."
"M-My head, Dad," you sniffled, "It hurts."
You peered through the tiny crack in the large white doors into an empty rehearsal room. Bare walls, empty chairs - all but one, where a young boy sat in the middle, dragging his bow across the strings of a cello like it would be the last thing he does in his life. He did it fervently, desperately, repeatedly over the strings to rumble the sounds through the room. His brows furrowed. His raven black hair was a cluster of strands jolting up and falling on his face each time he moved. It made him look exactly like what you felt - electrified.
Your jaw slacked, and your heart raced within the confines of your chest.
"You see, child?" Your father's words lingered above your head, "Can you finally hear what beauty sounds like?"
You heard, and it haunted you.
-
When he's playing, anyone would agree that Geto Suguru is breathtaking. Below the cuffs of his white button-down are pale hands, guiding long, strained fingers to move feverishly across the fingerboard. Above them, his face, a marble carving with half-lidded eyes, pointed idly at his cello.
Weary music for weary people, he thinks, lifting his gaze just enough to meet the dull faces with greying hair filling the large hall. Their constipated expressions stare back at him. They're just waiting for the cue to clap, although he doesn't mind - not as long as each note of the concerto* he played was perfect.
And by god, do they clap. A standing ovation, long enough to escort him in his path to the stage exit, loud enough for the echoes to linger as he greets the tall, blue-eyed man waiting for him there and frenzied enough to make your knees buckle under the tight fabric of your tailored evening dress.
"It was a good one," the blue-eyed man says, "as far as alarm clock music goes, that is."
"Funny how you keep calling it that, Satoru," Geto chastises, his fingers undoing the clasps of his cello case, "but you're always on the verge of falling asleep when you hear it."
Oh, you think, fiddling with the violin in your hands, so that's Gojo Satoru. Everyone knew who he was; the Gojo family name was arrogantly plastered on the walls of every concert hall in the city, including the one you were about to play in now.
Your tremble. You can't help it - that standing ovation set the bar so high you fear the bow in your hands might snap from the intensity of your grip. But it doesn't, and someone briefly introduces your name on stage.
You glance at the two men, catching Geto's uninterested expression. Your stomach churns. The dignified way it graces his annoyingly good-looking features makes your muscles tense; it's as if he's exhausted from doing the crowd a favor by allowing them to worship his playing.
Arrogant fucker. You think, and he nods at you stiffly, acknowledging the misfortune of performing after him.
As you drag your feet across the polished floor, you can only hear the sound of your own erratic breathing. "Breathe in, breathe out," you mutter under your breath as your shaking knees give the last of their strength to get you to the center stage.
And then a twitch, a breath hitch, and a loud thud.
The room hums with gasps for an instant before going silent again, and every eye in the vicinity watches you lay splayed across the wooden floor.
The shame burns in your cheeks, rushing through your face down to warm your aching body. As a desperate escape you turn your head away from the crowd, only to catch in the corner of your eye the two men still standing at the stage exit.
Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't look at me.
"Oof," Gojo huffs, wincing at the sight as he turns to his friend, "Come on, we'll be late if we don't head out now."
Like looking at a trainwreck, Geto's unable to turn away. His lips purse; what a pity.
The silence grew, and you knew you must do something - anything to let this moment pass. You push yourself up, throwing a quick glance at your violin, a string snapped, fuck. "I hope -," you grunt, your voice hoarse from disuse, "I hope Rachmaninoff* gets the same gasps." A wave of suppressed chuckles and claps gushes around you. Oh, thank god.
Your cheeks are still hot, and the first stroke of your bow is hesitant, just a soft flick of the wrist to see if the three remaining strings are still in tune. Is this a good idea? But the crowd's anticipating gaze burns through you, rendering you unable to move. You focus on replacing the missing notes and play the piece - with jagged strokes coming from your still shaking hands, some notes cut it, but just barely.
Gojo nudges his friend's shoulder, "Hey, I said we'll be late."
Geto's pursed lips open lightly, his dark eyes fix intently on your bow, "Hmm?" He hums at his friend's words, dragging him back from his thoughts.
a/n - * - Bach's Cello Suite in C Minor, Sarabande.
* - Rachmaninoff's Prelude in G minor, originally for piano, transcribed for violin.
-
"A Jazz club?" you furrow your brows at the music and the tang of smoke already reaching you from the narrow entrance hall.
You'd only met Shoko a few short weeks ago when college started, and she quickly became your only friend - as often happens to two people in a room who prefer to be alone.
"Yes, my friend's playing - you'll hate him," she says. Shoko has that thing where she doesn't change her tone when she says something sarcastic, so you're stuck nodding at her words with an uncomfortable grin on your face.
She tugs you by the sleeve of your shirt, guiding you down the stairs and through the prematurely drunken crowd that eagerly awaits what would be the third song of the evening.
"This would never pass in our concerts," you mutter under your breath, although you kind of wish it did as you look at the people laughing, reaching for another drink, huffing smoke from their mouths while making idle chatter as the players take a short break between songs.
A bright, warm note pierces the room, and like an obedient platoon to an officer's 'attention,' all the eyes fall back on stage. The white-haired man under the mellow spotlight makes a swift move to wipe the mouthpiece of his saxophone before returning it to his lips and blowing into it again - this time, a cue for the drummer, who starts a ruthless pace on his cymbals.
"If jazz is a god," Gojo's voice rings through the room, "then the saxophone is its altar."
How could he say that with a straight face? You think, unable to take your eyes off his clearly pretentious demeanor that would be borderline comical if it wasn't redeemed by his outstandingly handsome face, from the rolled-up sleeves and undone button of his blue dress shirt to the round sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, he looks like pure sin.
"The Voice of Chunk*," he announces the piece and the room booms with shouts of excitement as the saxophone howls its first long and angelic Mi.
By the time the set ends, Gojo's a mess. A dusty red color flushes his pale cheeks as he pants, a mad gleam in his eyes when he looks at the crowd, which only shouts for another encore. He wipes the sweat off his brow and leaves the stage without a word.
Shoko drags you down to an empty table near the stage, a cigarette propped between her lips as she utters, "Ah," to the sound of a squeaking chair, which Gojo Satoru plops on, splaying his limbs on the wood.
He turns to Shoko, pointing a thumb at you, "Your friend?"
"Mhmm," Shoko confirms, "(Name)." She takes a sip of her cheap beer.
Perpetually assuming everyone already knew him, Satoru Gojo doesn't introduce himself. "What'd you think?" He asks.
"It was very good," you say, and mean it. He wasn't humble, but as far as performances go, he didn't need to be.
"Good?" He turns back to Shoko, looking at her like a wounded puppy, "Shoko.."
"She did say very, Satoru." Shoko sighs, "He hates the word good."
Your breath hitches as Gojo lays a large hand on your thigh, "Calling jazz good is terrible." He says, "It means it did nothing to you. Even calling it horrifying is a much better choice."
Another chair squeaks in your proximity, and Gojo removes the hand from your thigh to place it on the table, "Suguru!" He exclaims. "How was it?"
God, what's he doing here?
"Horrifying," Geto smirks at his friend.
His dark eyes turn to you as he says, "Geto Suguru," and extends a large, calloused palm, which you hesitantly shake. The skin contact makes you shudder. His eyes narrow, "Have we met before?"
The truth is - Geto knows rather well that you have met before. He spent two days after the concert thinking about your figure lying on the wooden floor, and it wasn't for the curve of your ass that pointed towards him, although that didn't escape his thoughts either. His mind raced with thoughts of how quickly you bounced back from your fall, made a joke, and started playing. Could it really be so easy?
"Oh - maybe it's - uh," you babble, your mind already trying to devise an excuse to leave.
"Ah, I know!" Gojo chimes in, "It's our tumbling violinist," he chuckles, "I never forget a girl after I've seen her on all fours."
Geto raises an eyebrow. "We both know that's hardly true."
You stare at Shoko with desperate eyes pleading for a change in topic. She puts down her drink, "Where were you Suguru? I didn't see you the entire gig." Thank god.
"Just there," Geto motions to the side of the bar, where a beautiful light-haired girl sips on a drink, "I've seen him play plenty of times."
I should be polite. "Oh, so you like jazz?" You ask.
Gojo chuckles, removing his sunglasses to reveal clear sky-blue eyes, "Entertain our guest, Suguru."
Geto leans back, arms crossed over his chest, and even his words sound carefully rehearsed - as if he's being interviewed, "It's not that I don't like it. There's just no merit to it." Against your wishes, you meet his gaze, restraining yourself from rolling your eyes at him. "It's mostly improvisation. Not one jazz piece stays the same over time - it blatantly disregards why we value music. Can you imagine someone changing even one note in Rachmaninoff's preludes?"
Is he talking about the ones I played?
Geto leans back, "And that's without mentioning the mistakes."
You furrow your brows, and your chest tightens at his words, "The mistakes?"
"Suguru's just jealous," Gojo smirks, and his arm snakes around your shoulders, "because I've got an ability he doesn't. I like to call it blue." His other hand traces lines across the wooden table, making an invisible note staff, "You see, in jazz, there's no such thing as a mistake. It's considered beautiful even if you play a note a bit too harsh or out of key. They're called blue notes."
"Well, a mistake is just a mistake, isn't it?" You lie, too proud to admit you were ashamed of the embarrassing performance they witnessed, "You shouldn't be proud or overcritical of it - it just is."
"It's a good philosophy," Geto says softly, and a faint smile appears on his lips, it makes sense now, "It works well if you just play for fun."
A decade of rigorous violin practice flashes before your eyes, the callouses on your fingers you were teased for as a child, and he dares to say it's for fun?
Your cheeks heat up, "Well, what do you play for? Suffering?"
"Perfection," he answers. Prick.
"Perfection?" You sneer, clenching your jaw, "Then what about improvisation?"
"Leave that vice for the jazz musicians." He says, and his expression suddenly changes, "I'm sorry, I know you improvised in your Rachmaninoff; you did the best you could - considering." He means it earnestly.
The veins throb in your forehead, Is he pitying me?
Gojo laughs, "If you keep bickering, I won't remain the star of the show tonight," and you notice the not-so-discreet looks of the people at the other tables ogling you.
"It's getting kind of late anyway," Shoko says, smothering her cigarette butt against the ashtray's bottom, "Why don't we go before we miss the train?"
"I'll give you a lift," Geto says, and you stare at Shoko, hoping that your wide, begging eyes will lead her to decline, "Come on," He adds, standing up, "It's raining outside, and our violinist can slip up even on dry flooring."
a/n - * - Voice of Chunk, The Lounge Lizards, 1988
-
"I'll see you in school," You say to Shoko, who exits the back seat of the silver Toyota, leaving nothing but a bitter smell of smoke and a long, strained silence lingering in the car.
"Which way?" Geto points to a fork in the road.
"Left, then straight for a while." And could you be so kind as to crash us into the nearest wall? You chuckle inside your head.
He turns his head as if he heard you, "So, a mistake is just a mistake, is it?"
And your fists clench momentarily, their tension softened only by the quiet, sweet sound of Samuel Barber* playing through the radio, weaving its melody with the heavy pounding of rain on the car roof, "Well, if you dwell on them too much, you're not going to have any time left to fix them." You wish you meant it.
He ponders silently before asking, "How'd you start playing?"
Is he only asking to make a snide remark? You decide to keep your answer curt. "My father gave me his violin when I was young."
The windscreen wipers work full force to make the dark road ahead visible, "My mother never let me touch her cello," he says, his unbothered tone now laced with somber notes, "I hated the thing."
The ache in your chest is almost unbearable, your fingers dig into the fabric of your trousers. He hated it, and he still plays like that?
"Then why play?" You inquire, watching the streetlights' reflections glint in his dark eyes.
Because it matters, it has to matter.
He laughs, and you can't help but notice how his face softens when he does, "It pays for college," a speck of red tint dusts his cheeks, and a strange pull flares in your chest at his defenseless look, "Don't I look like a scholarship boy?"
"Maybe if I squint," you say as he turns to look at you. You narrow your eyes, "Nope, can't see it," and he laughs again, making the remnants of alcohol turn in your stomach.
When you arrive, you step out of the car and he watches you disappear into the building's front, his fingers tapping restlessly on the wheel. A weak, burning sensation plagued the muscles around his jaw; were they really so unaccustomed to laughing?
a/n - * - Samuel Barber's Adagio for Strings, Op.11
-
15 years ago
The Geto residence was an ever-tastefully decorated one-story house in the rural areas outside Tokyo, always graced by the echoing sounds of an Italian-made cello. Geto Suguru himself was a wide-eyed child, six years old, and already praised for being prematurely intelligent by his parents' arrogant friends; "Your little Suguru is so clever," one of his mother's friends said, leaning over the dinner table to tug mercilessly on his cheek, "I bet he'd skip a grade as soon as he starts school, don't you think, Kieko?"
To which his mother only hummed in response, quickly diverting the subject, "The Bolshoi* is performing in the city next month. Will you come?"
Suguru didn't mind these things much. He wasn't the kind of child to look for praise; he didn't care for it from strangers' mouths and never knew the delight of hearing it come out of his mother's ever-pursed lips.
The next morning, Kieko Geto sat on a sturdy, padded stool and played with unwavering concentration until the midday sun sipped through the windows, blinding her eyes. Only then did she stop, turning back to notice her son's inquisitive gaze peering from the doorway.
"Come," she instructed, and Suguru took a few hesitant steps to the middle of the room. His mother positioned the cello upright, the wooden beast towering over him as she pressed a flat palm to the middle of the fingerboard, measuring his height against it. "One day," she said, "you'll be big enough to play it, Suguru."
A phone rang, and his mother stepped out. Suguru stood a long while staring at the instrument that leaned lazily against the wall. One day - he didn't want to wait for some vague, distant day, and his arm itched with impulse.
Suguru lifted the bow from the stool, ramming it violently across the strings. It made such a horrendous sound that he thought for a moment he hurt it, and now the thing was howling in pain.
"Suguru!" his mother shrieked as she shoved him out of the way, "What did you do?" Her pale fingers grazed the cello, searching for new marks on the wood.
The bow in her hand glinted like a Katana under the sunlight as she swung it at his head.
The next few minutes were a blur. Suguru guessed he screamed since his father stormed into the room, pushing him to stand behind his back. His eyes were fixed on the creases on the back of his father's shirt, changing their shape like sand dunes as the man's arms moved frantically through the air as if he were conducting his own shouts.
The boy placed a hand on his forehead. "Dad," he tugged hesitantly on the creases, leaving red stains on the pale blue shirt, "Dad."
a/n - * - The Bolshoi Ballet
-
A failed poet turned local journalist once described Geto Suguru's playing as having a gut-wrenching elegance, and as you stood at the large doors leading to the conservatory's hall, you couldn't help but hear what he meant. Angelic strokes on the rumbling strings, and each note is -
"Shit," he cusses, dragging the bow harshly along the strings as if it could saw the instrument in half if he tried hard enough. Even as he does so, he can't seem to make it sound bad. The bow drops on the floor with a hollow thud, and he runs a defeated hand through his hair, brushing back a long black strand to reveal a two-inch, pale scar on the side of his forehead.
He lifts his gaze up, noticing you standing by the door. How long has she stood there? "Violinst," he says. "Come to practice?"
Seeing him laugh a few days ago must have been a figment of your imagination. "Yes," you utter.
"It's occupied until six."
You make your way to the low stage through the aisle between the empty rows of seats, "It's ten past six," you remark, and Geto glances at the clock, frowning at it like it broke a long-standing promise.
You reach the stage, putting your violin case on the still-warm seat of the lone chair in the middle. You shudder at the warmth, watching Geto lift the massive cello case as his other hand reaches into his pocket, taking out a crumpled pack of cigarettes, "You want one?" he asks, holding it open.
You shake your head, "Thank you."
He puts one smoke between his lips, patting down his pockets, "Got a light?"
You shake your head again, "Sorry."
He shrugs, his eyes fixing on the violin in your hand, and you notice the slight puffiness under his eyes. "Not my day, I guess." And it's a long gaping silence while he puts the cigarette back in the pack, "Do you mind if I stay?"
"No," Yes. "But if you scrunch your nose at my mistakes, you leave."
"I don't scrunch my nose," he retorts.
"You do."
Geto runs a long finger along the bridge of his nose down to the tip, leaning forward slightly to meet your eyes, "Straight as an arrow," he says without a smile, and you turn red at the sudden proximity, fixing your gaze on the shiny white floor beneath your feet.
"Alright then," you mumble.
Geto sits in the front row, reclining on the backrest of the crimson-colored seat with his hands resting on his spread thighs while his cello case leans on the seat next to him like a second observer. You might as well put on a burlesque show from how naked you feel under his steady gaze.
You drag the bow across the strings, echoing a dissonant tone throughout the room.
"Are you testing me?" He says with a smug smile plastered on his lips, but you hoped for a heartfelt one instead.
"Mhmm," you hum, taking a few steps forward to the verge of the stage, where you take a seat with your legs dangling from the edge, "You passed." and he chuckles, soft and low.
As you begin to play, Geto gets up from his seat to pace back and forth along the aisle, his brows furrowed and his thumb pressed against his lips while he listens to the music.
Your muscles strain, bracing themselves for the suite's climax, now's the hard part, you think, letting out a frustrated huff as your eyes fix on Geto. You miss the first note.
He halts, and your bow leaves the strings as you await his reaction in the irksome silence of the hall.
For a moment, he's desperate. Desperate for you to do what he thought was an almost inhuman feat after such a mistake.
He takes a few steps closer, towering over you while his eyes stare intently into yours, "Keep playing," he demands.
Your breath hitches as you watch him slowly lower himself to his knees beneath you. He places large, calloused palms on your knees, eagerly spreading your legs while his eyes are still honed on your face, relishing in the red flush burning your cheeks. He runs a hand under your skirt, grazing your thigh with long, rough fingers, a hint of a smile on his lips when he hears your breathless gasps, "Keep playing," he repeats.
Smile, god, you hated that smile.
You play a few jagged notes before your arms give in, and you place the violin on the floor with a soft clunk. Your now free hands grasp his hair, freeing it from his neatly tied bun to fall down his shoulders.
"Eager girl," he mutters, tracing his finger along your wet panties, and you tug harder at his hair. I'm the eager one?
"Q-Quit teasing," you stammer as he yanks you closer to the edge of the stage, pulling off your panties with a swift move. You shudder as his warm breath fans over your exposed cunt, panting heavily as his fingers dig deep into your thighs.
"Hmm?" He murmurs, placing soft kisses against your inner thighs, letting his teeth graze the skin but stopping every time right before he reaches your soaked pussy. Just do it, for the love of god, just do it.
You're reduced to a quivering mess, fighting the urge to push his head into your wetness, "Please," you whimper breathlessly, frowning at the loss of your pride under his touch, "p-please stop teasing," and you finally feel his tongue lick a stripe up your clit as he grunts softly at your taste.
"Good girl," he groans out, letting his lips wrap around your bud, burying his face so deep in your cunt you feel his nose rub against your clit while he rasps out a soft "Fuck," that sends shivers up your spine.
He was messy, fervent, eager as his tongue worked on your clit, and you grew dizzy at the sight of the usually calm and collected man disheveled and red-faced between your legs, moaning out his name as you felt yourself clench against his lips, "S-Suguru, fuck -."
He'd never heard his name come out of your lips before, but this was a better first time than he could imagine. He grew unbearably hard in his jeans, rutting against thin air almost instinctively every time you rolled your hips into his face, "Say it again," he demands, and his deep voice sends a rush of heat to your face.
Can he do it? Can he make you even more of a mess on his fingers? Can he watch while you stutter his name, while your face is a beautiful flushed mixture of those blunders he loved seeing you make?
"Suguru," you look at him through glazed eyes, and he frees the hand that grabbed your thigh to slide two skilled fingers into your soaked cunt, "S-Suguru," you whimper out when they sink deeper, pumping into your sweet spot with a harsh pace.
A drunk smile grazes his lips when you clench against his fingers. It takes him all his strength to pull away from your cunt, "You want more, princess?" He teased, fingers pumping lazily into you.
You manage to whine a quiet, "Y-Yes."
"Then ask," he coos, his smile turning into a devilish grin, and you squirm at the loss of his tongue, clutching his hair tighter.
"Please, Suguru," you breathe. How many times will he put me through this? And your muscles contract when he flicks his tongue over your cunt again, "p-please, Suguru - I'm - " you babble as he resumes his harsh pace, your thighs closing on his head, hips rutting desperately for some more sweet friction against his tongue.
"Please, fuck - " you moan, arching your back. His fingers still push into you as he groans at the taste of your wetness gushing on his tongue, licking it hungrily while you pant almost inaudible whispers of his name, and he thinks he might come from the sweet sound of your voice alone.
His lips finally let go of your clit. He pushes himself up from his knees to face you, his mouth wet with your essence as he brushes his lips against yours. Barely a kiss, but you grow dizzy anyhow, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, running your other hand along his T-shirt-clad stomach down to the bulge in his jeans.
"No," he utters. No?
"Huh?" Your brows furrow, "Do you want me to take you out for a cup of coffee first?" It was supposed to be a thought, shit.
He laughs, and you watch the lines form in the corners of his eyes, "Could be nice," he says, "besides, it's your rehearsal hours; don't you want to practice?"
"Not really," you grumble, "You can use them if you like." You reach down to pick up your panties from the floor where he discarded them, only to see him grab them first.
"I could," he muses aloud, "I'm playing the Grand Hall opening in a few weeks," and he catches your gaze for a second, "but I'd rather watch you play." And you blush as he tucks your panties into the front pocket of his jeans, "You'll get them later," he says, "If you're good."
"If I'm good?" You furrow your brows, "If I don't make any mistakes, you mean."
"No," he asserts, his words a bit loud, catching you off-guard as you fumble for your violin, "If you're good."
After you refuse his ride home, it's a long walk of shame back to your apartment. You feel as though your pride was left in his pocket together with your underwear, but maybe, just maybe, you'll make something good come out of it.
-
"Dad put it - " Suguru's arm held his father's in a tight grip across the coffee shop's table, urging it to release the silver spoon in his hand, "Put it back, please."
"They've got plenty," his father barks, his eyes darting around to observe the busy staff of the cafe while he hides the spoon carefully in his bag.
Suguru lets out a weary sigh, focusing on the swirling cream in his coffee mug, "So do you," he says, the taste of stale regret mixing in with his drink when he lifts it to his mouth.
"Eh?" His father's eyebrows knit together, wrinkles forming under his five o'clock shadow when his lips purse, "You here to judge me, boy?"
Suguru takes a sip from his coffee but finds it stuck bitterly in his throat under his father's hostile stare.
"Thought so," the man says, his dirty fingernails tapping on the wooden table as he adds, "Now, will you finally quit fooling around with that thing?"
"I don't know, Dad," Suguru chokes out.
"She croaked this morning, the bitch. She won't come to see you play now, would she?"
Suguru's eyes widen, his hands quivering, pads of his fingers digging into the scortching coffee mug, threatening to tumble the liquid over the rim, "What?"
"Croaked, gone, dead. She left you that cursed cello of hers," his father eyes the sugar dispenser on the table, brushing his fingertips on it, "So you'll sell it. And give the money to your father," his shoulders draw back, he's proud, "for all the things he did for you, yes?"
"I don't know, Dad," Suguru mutters.
The man's agitated expression deepens the wrinkles on his forehead, "'I don't know Dad," his father mocked, "I'll tell you what you need to know. I took you away from that vicious whore when she'd done your face in with her bow, and you've never thanked me once, just begged me to buy you a damn cello when you knew that all our money was left in that house." A brute splatter of spit lands on the table as he sneers, "And I did, didn't I? Bought you the damn thing, drove you around with it like some chauffeur. Where's my thanks? Eh, brat? Where's my money?"
The man raises his arm, and a young, blonde waitress appears momentarily by their table, all smiles when she says, "The check, sir?"
"Yes," Suguru's father says, the chair under him screeching as he gets up, "My son will pay."
-
For hours now he'd been contemplating where to go. Who he wanted to see. but when Geto finally gets to your door, his face still flushes with the soft pink of an irredeemable shame while his urgent, stiff knuckles pound on the door. He knew you were home. He wasn't a brute - he texted to check, but he still couldn't calm the restless ache burning in his chest.
When you open the door, there's no hello, just the unyielding feeling of his body flat against yours as he presses sloppy kisses along your jaw, groaning when his teeth graze the tender skin of your neck, "Fuck," his breath fans over you neck as he pants out the words, "you smell sweet."
His face lingers in the crook of your neck, relishing in the warmth like a cold-blooded animal who'd die without the heat. His fingers dig into your thighs so harshly you fear they might bruise them as he lifts you up, "Smell so fucking sweet - " he keeps muttering under his breath as your legs wrap around his waist, your hands clinging to the muscles on his back to keep your balance.
"Suguru," you pant when he drops you on the bed, noticing the unfamiliar ruthless look in his eyes, hardly the same one you saw between your legs a few days ago, "Did something - "
"D'you want to stop and talk?" He chuckles, large, warm hands running across your body to discard your clothes, "Hmm?" He purrs, already confining you under his body, planting soft, teasing kisses on the valley between your breasts.
"N-No," you whimper at the feeling of his teeth against your hardened nipple, and you run a hand through his dark hair to yank him away, while the other hand tugs at his shirt to signal him to fuck, take it off.
He almost doesn't want to break away from your body, not even for the sake of finally feeling your skin rub against his. But he manages to regain his composure long enough to use swift movements to discard his clothes as you watch him, strong and veiny, a body that could be carved in marble if it ever stopped moving with devious intent.
"Suguru," you knew he loved it, the sound of his name coming from your mouth. "Please," you writhe under him, desperate for any kind of touch as he looms over you, holding himself up while deep pants escape his parted lips. He's too far for you to crash your lips against his, no matter how you try. You lift your head from the pillow, and he chuckles at your efforts, pumping his already hard and leaking cock, groaning when he lets the tip brush against your folds.
"So wet already, hmm?" His hand abandons his cock to push a finger inside your cunt, the squelching noises making the blood rush to your head. He's mad with need but can't let your squirming be over so soon, "All for me?"
"Fuck, Sugu - " you cut yourself off to grip his hair, making your lips crash, feeling his tongue swallow your moans as he takes his finger out only to push his cock into you with a deep thrust, "Ah - fuck - " you moaned into his mouth, feeling his tip rub against your sweet spot when he finally bottomed out.
He starts a mean pace, and a hint of pain jolts through you while you adjust to his size, loud moans escaping your lips, "Oh my, ah - God."
"Suguru," he corrects, reaching a hand to adjust your hips, and you moan at the friction against his abdomen, "moan it for me, princess," he groans out against your neck when you pant his name, "louder - fuck - " he pleas, his breath hitches when you clench against him.
He knows he can't hold it much longer, threatening to spill his load at every pant and moan and brush of his lips against your skin, "S- Suguru - " you whine, feeling his fingers draw circles against your clit, digging your nails into his back to leave shallow red scratches along his shoulder blades.
"You close, princess?" He lets out a shaky breath when he feels you clench again, gritting his teeth at the tightness around his cock.
The coil in your stomach tightens, and your eyes shut at the feeling of his messy, erratic thrusts, "Suguru - ," you moan, "Suguru - I - " you pull his head back by the hair.
"Mhmm," he coos, "you what?" he growls, his thrusts feeling almost impossibly deep when the heat pools in your stomach.
"I - I'm - close - " And it's all he needs to hear, locks of black hair falling to brush against your face as he smashes his lips onto yours, savoring the taste of your mouth as your back arches and walls contract around him.
"Good girl," he rasps into your mouth, pounding a few harsh thrusts before his hips stutter. You watch through glazed eyes how muscles tighten as he spills his seed into you with a low groan.
He collapses atop you, pressing his sweat-dampened face against your chest to relish in the sound of the fast, thumping beat of your heart. A few more seconds, and he can measure the tempo.
"Listen," Suguru says, smoking a cigarette out of the open window of your room while he watches you get dressed in the corner, "there's a few things I have to do early tomorrow," his eyes trail out to the street lamps out the window, their blinking lights reflecting on his car outside.
"Suguru," you stand over him, brushing the pads of your fingers against the scratches you left on his back, "did something - "
"Just a few things I have to do," he says, looking around the room for his shirt, "so I'll call you, yeah?"
-
"Uhm, so, did you hear from Su-" You cut yourself off, watching Shoko take a long drag from her smoke with her eyes waiting for you to finish your sentence. "I mean - " you clear your throat, "You know how a guy does something, and then he -" Your face grows red at the memory of Suguru's naked body, "And you think it was nice because you had fun, and then he -"
Shoko watches you babble for a while before saying a confused, "Yes?"
"Suguru didn't call me back," you finally utter. Wasn't it enough for him that I called first?
"Oh," Shoko takes a long drag from her cigarette, "and he needs to call you because..?"
Your face flushes crimson as you bury your face in your hands, "B-Because we fucked and I haven't heard from him since," you mutter through your palms.
Gojo Satoru has a habit of entering places like his presence was eagerly anticipated, swinging the door open with a dramatic expression, "Shoko!" He cuts through the conversation, his height exaggerated by the confines of Shoko's small dorm room as he puts his saxophone on the table, "The key is stuck. I'm going to need you to fix it again -"
"Later," Shoko sounds like a reprimanding mother as she motions toward your sulking face.
Gojo's eyebrows knit together, "Did something happen?"
"Suguru didn't call her after - " Shoko reconsiders her words for a moment, "after they had a nice time together."
"Hmm?" Gojo plops down on the bed in the corner, "Well, he won't call for a while."
You raise your gaze from your palms, tilting your head at the man, "What do you mean?" And your mind races, Oh god. He can't - hate me?
"You didn't hear?" Gojo's smirk fades from his lips, "His mother died last Saturday."
Wait, the same day he came and - ?
You widen your eyes at Shoko, who only shakes her head in response.
"His parents were divorced for quite a while," Gojo continues, "he hasn't seen his mother in over a decade - "
"But she's still his mother," Shoko remarks, huffing a cloud of smoke into the room that lingers stagnant above the table.
Gojo sulks, "I was about to say that. He's been stuck in his room for a week now. My father's pissed."
"Your father?" You puzzle, watching Gojo wipe his sunglasses on the edge of his shirt.
"He was supposed to play the Grand Hall this weekend." And you squint your eyes, waiting for him to continue, "My father pays his tuition for these shows, y'know."
"Your father pays Suguru's tuition?" You repeat.
Gojo chuckles, "Well, I'm not sure for how long, now that Suguru won't even answer his phone. Dad's been planning this grand opening for a year now."
Oh?
"Can't you talk to him?" Shoko was still holding onto the smoking cigarette butt in her hand.
"It's like talking to a - " Gojo cut himself off to knock twice at the white plaster wall beside the bed.
Your muscles tense, and the sound of your own racing pulse deafens your ears.
I should say something. "He's your friend," you croak out.
Gojo's expression changes to a stern one, a terrifying sight on his soft features, "What would have me do? Make him play while he's mourning for his mother? Fight with my father only to have him cut Suguru off anyway?"
You go silent, mulling over his words, but find nothing to say.
Shoko picks up the saxophone from the table, "Which key is broken?" she asks, and there's a hint of defeat in her voice as she waits for Satoru's answer so, at the very least, she can fix something.
-
Suguru had stared at the cello case for days now, hesitant to take the instrument out of its shell. He started staring at it when he took it from his mother's house after the funeral and kept staring at it on the two-hour bus ride and the three-hour train journey, and then, when he leaned it against the wall of his apartment, he still couldn't take his eyes off of it.
It called him. Not in the way you called him - the kind that made his heart flutter when he saw your name pop on his phone screen, which he ignored, simply having no clue as to what to say.
He still ran the imaginary conversations in his head every time you did, letting out sad chuckles into the stale air of his room. How have you been? Oh yes, my mother died, and I'm sitting here with her instrument, which she always loved more than me. Is it nice? Oh, it's more like a successful older brother - you want to hug him just as much as you want to chuck him out the window. Would you like to grab a coffee?
"It's been almost two weeks since you sat there," Geto stands in the little kitchen of his apartment, making a cup of tea he knew would join the others piled up on his bedside table. I'm talking to it now, he thinks, I've finally gone insane. "How about you pay rent?" He chastises the instrument.
For a moment, he thinks it really might pay his rent - for about four years - if he decides to sell it, and keep the money to himself. His hands find themselves opening the case.
He inspects it for a long while, his hands brushing reluctantly over the wood until they find the small scratch in the varnish, the one he'd left there over a decade ago, and he focuses on it. It's small, pale looking, almost too tiny to notice, like the scar on his forehead.
"Maybe it's fair," he mutters at it, "I hurt you, and she hurt me. Balance."
A knock on the door makes his hand falter.
"Suguru," you bang on the door, feeling your leg squash something under it. "Mochi?" you mutter as you pick up a bag from the floor, and the lock clicks.
He looks terrible, you think, with tired eyes and strands sticking out from his usually perfect hair. You hand him the crumpled bag, trying no to smile, "It was just here," you point to the doorway.
"Hmm?" He takes it from your hands, "Satoru's been leaving those here every day. I've got plenty. You can have it if you like."
The air in the room reeks of smoke and coffee grounds, and he steps away, losing your eyes as he moves clothes from a chair to his bed for you to sit on.
"How are you?" you ask.
"Fine," he responds instinctively. Silence. "Would you like some coffee?"
"Sure." Silence again. A good time to pick up smoking, you think.
Your gaze lands on the cello peaking from its case in the corner. "A new one?" You puzzle as he puts a cup of coffee in front of you.
"My mother's," Geto says, sitting on the chair across from you.
"It's beautiful," you say, and you watch a sullen look settle in his eyes. "Wrong thing to say?" you give him a half-hearted smile, attempting to lift his mood, "Because in that case, it looks terrible."
"I like it when you say the wrong things," He suddenly says, "They don't feel so wrong when you say them."
You take the cup of coffee in your hands, warming your palms against the glass, "You can say them too sometimes, y'know."
He takes a sip from his coffee, only to find he can't stand the taste anymore, wrinkling his nose, "I hate that thing. I've been contemplating whether to sell it or just throw it out the window."
"And what's the verdict?"
"Play it," he says.
"Then play it."
He gets up, pushing the chair back to the middle of the room as he walks to take the instrument out of its case. You're almost startled by how stiff he looks leaning it between his legs, a hold so tight on the bow his knuckles turn white.
He puts the bow to the strings with a feather-light stroke, and halts.
He looks scared of it.
Is that what stage fright feels like? He thinks as he watches you lean forward against the table, eyes honed on his hands.
"You just need to play it, y'know? Like children do, just wiggle the bow a few times." You say.
Like children do. "It'll be dissonant," Geto utters sternly, releasing his grip on the bow.
"That's how they laugh," your lips curl into a soft smile, "That's what my father used to tell me when he heard the horrible screeches I made on his violin when he first gave it to me, 'Don't worry, that's how they laugh.'"
His chest tightened at the words, and he forced the bow onto the strings, making a loud, off-key tone penetrate the room.
It's the first time you've heard him make a mistake, and it made every nerve in your system tingle. Your head went euphorically dizzy. This is much better.
He almost stopped at your wide-eyed look, but you just laughed, "Oh, please, you call that dissonant?" And you watch him push the bow onto the strings again, brows furrowed at the terrible sounds, but his movements unwavering.
It's fine to play it like this, he thinks, as long as it's accompanied by your laughter.
"Suguru," you utter, and he lifts his gaze from the instrument, "Will you play the Grand Hall tonight?"
He ponders for a moment, "I think I will."
"Then you better answer your phone," you motion towards the buzzing cell phone on the counter, "and take a shower," you laugh.
He looks down on his disheveled clothes, "That bad, huh?" He chuckles.
"Just a little."
You hear the shower water running as you fiddle with your phone, still dazed at what just happened. You press the contact and dial.
"Hey, Dad?" You chirp into the cell phone, "Are you still coming to the Grand Hall opening tonight?"
-
The new Grand Hall is a sea of white marble floors and golden framed artworks, crowded by black-suited CEOs and their overly lavish trophy wives.
Geto sits on the lone stool in the middle of the stage, watching them all take their seats, still busy exchanging pleasantries with each other while they wait for the show to start. His eyes drift constantly to the stage exit, where you stand with Gojo, smiling softly, mouthing, "Don't worry," at his stiff figure.
His mother's cello is still unfamiliar to the touch, a beast different than the one he owns which he had already spent years taming.
People fill the seats like ants, and the lights dim above his head. The pianist behind him is a weak-looking man, and he adjusts his glasses on the bridge of his thin nose before giving Geto the cue to start.
The first stroke of the bow is a hesitant one across the strings that once earned him a blow to the head, but the second one has more vigor, and his eyes, half-lidded still, find your smiling face again to soothe his nerves. His bow falters; he didn't have time to change the rusty strings; what would Elgar* say?
And you can't help but smile at each terrible pitch echoing around you; each horribly dissonant tone is more beautiful than the next to your ears.
The sounds are low and deep, growling against the marble hall. He almost has it - the feeling - the one that'd let him stop quivering in his seat. His bow jitters. He never knew he could make so many mistakes in a piece that he played hundreds of times, but with your smile at the corner of his eyes, he feels it creep up his fingertips, rushing through his chest - joy.
"My son!" The doors to the concert hall bust open with a bang; it overpowers the soothing sounds of his cello and the melody of the piano, "He's my fucking son. Let me see him!" Suguru's father stumbles drunkenly into the hall, two dark-suited men at his heels.
The hall washes over with whispers, women pressing their carefully manicured hands to their painted mouths in awe while their husbands are already halfway out of their seats with a proud "I'll take care of the bastard, honey" stuck on their lips.
"Fuck off, pig." Suguru's father spews at the guard trying to drag him away, "He owes it all to me, the brat. Play for our guests, Suguru! " He turns to the crowd, "Enjoying the show, money-rolling cunts?"
Suguru stiffens, his eyes two dull, widened orbs staring at the scene as he stops his playing, ignoring the piano player's whispers to just play, kid.
Gojo rushes to the man screaming in the hall, "Mr. Geto, long time no see," he says, one hand gripping him by the edge of his booze-soaked shirt, the other wrapping around the man's neck in an almost affable way, "How about you see your son after the show?" A smile is frozen on his soft lips, his blue eyes staring daggers at the man, "Now be nice, or they'll tase you," he breathes down the man's ear, motioning to the guards whose fingers are already clutching the tasers.
"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.
a/n - * - Edward Elgar, Cello Concerto in E minor, Op.85
-
12 years ago
"You hear that?" Your father stood over you in the rehearsal room of the conservatory, his arms crossed over his chest as he paced back and forth, "That's how they laugh. Every time you make a mistake, they laugh at you, girl."
Your eyes were red as you stopped your playing, "L-Laugh?"
"Instruments make that sound so they can mock you," your father explained, correcting your grip on the bow, "and you have to do everything so they don't do that."
Every day, he'd drive you up to the conservatory and stand over you in that room for hours on end, brows knitted together at each whine the violin screeched out. And when it was finally over, he'd walk you down the long white corridor to the room at the end, where a small, dark-haired boy would play his cello.
"See that, girl?" He'd point through the crack in the door, "Perfection."
Perhaps that was when you started to despise Geto Suguru. Over the years, the feeling only grew, but it hadn't peaked before his smug smile sat next to you in a jazz club, finally uttering the first words he ever directed at you, "Geto Suguru, have we met before?"
And it felt strange because you had - or at least you thought you had, over a decade ago. Not that he'd know that you watched him play almost every day through that time, with the scrutinizing words your father whispered above your head, "Look. Really look," your father held your head steady with his fingers digging into your scalp, "It doesn't laugh at him, see?"
And you did see. And you wished that it laughed at him, too. Why were you the only one supposed to be laughed at?
You didn't mean to at first, really. Something about him just ticked it off, the urge for revenge. How dare he hate his instrument and play it so well, when you loved the violin and it betrayed you with every stroke?
You didn't mind the sex; he was still a handsome man. It made him trust you - and as long as you made him make a mistake - every laugh, every encouraging smile, every word, was worth it.
-
"Fucking bastard," Geto's father mutters at the white-haired man, "Money-rolling cunts," he slurs all the way out of the doors. They close with a soft thud, leaving the hall in a dead silence.
Suguru looks for them - your eyes, and that smile that seems to perpetually grace your lips - but when his eyes finally land on you, he finds it gone. You mouth something he doesn't quite catch before disappearing from the stage exit. He can't do it; he can't play anymore. His hand freezes against the strings.
You finally made a fool of yourself, Suguru.
You wait outside the Grand Hall doors, body shivering with anticipation when the crowd finally starts to leave the hall.
"Dad!" You shout when you see him, making your way through the people, heels clacking against the marble until you grab your father's arm, "Dad! It was horrible, wasn't it?"
"Hmm? Who'd you come with dear?" Your father inquires.
"Leave it, Dad. He was horrible, right?"
He looks at you a long time before saying, "It's a shame for that boy, the beginning was perfect."
-
10 years later
When he's conducting, anyone would agree that Suguru Geto is breathtaking. The moment he dropped playing the cello ten years prior, every one of his admirers had almost lost hope - that is, until he picked up the baton. A true genius, they'd say, forgetting his last horrible performance, which graced the headlines for a long time after he ditched it in the middle, and how he disappeared for the next two years after it. Lonley? Gods no, he's a busy man, or perhaps struggling with all his greatness to find a mind akin to his own.
But only the small orchestra that played under him knew that all these words were just flattery - he was cold and unforgiving of any and all mistakes, and he really, truly despised the violinists.
Or he did, until the new violinist ran late to the first rehearsal of the year.
#geto x reader#geto x you#geto x y/n#geto smut#geto x reader smut#geto x reader angst#geto suguru x you#geto suguru x reader#geto suguru x y/n#suguru geto x reader#getou suguru x reader#suguru x reader#geto suguru smut#getou suguru x y/n#getou x reader#getou suguru x you#getou smut#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen x reader#jjk x you#jujutsu kaisen x you
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Incase my Y/N cookie thing didn’t send through here it is again- (I did revamped it a little)
This is my Y/N cookie design that I wanted to share, they can go by Y/N cookie or Music Note but they love to be called “The Great Benevolent Golden Songwriter of The Beautiful EarthBread”  
But if you can’t tell they have quite the ego. Along with having a big ego they also are super smug so even if someone tried to insult their glorious songwriting and violin playing skills, they would not care in the slightest!
Buuuut if Music Note cookie got interrupted during a rehearsal or worse, a performance… they might throw a tiny tantrum…
Now besides their beautiful golden violin! (That was painted gold with nail polish-) they have a little magic orb on their belt that makes their performances magical!
And also they are decently buff. Why? Idk violin strength ig??? And hair, hair is optional.
I can definitely see this version of Y/N Cookie to also be a type of support cookie, using their tunes to strengthen their allies during a scuffle! They better not be interrupted though, they might get just a tad cranky!
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Good Omens s3 clue
I realised I never posted this, although I made it ages ago! So here y'all go!
This is going to be long, and I hope it will make sense. Please bear with me to the end, I will eventually get to the Judgement Day, Armageddon, Death (and four horsemen of Apocalypse) and I will mention goats.
I noticed this tiny clue when watching s2ep3. Aziraphale drives to Edinburgh and the Bentley plays classical music. But not just any classical music – it’s Danse Macabre by Camill Saint-Saëns.
I am a musician and I've played this piece in the past, so I knew there was a lot of symbolism to uncover. And that thing is deeper than I thought. I will be speaking about some music theory, but I will try to make it as understandable as possible.
I think it would be best, if you listened to Danse Macabre: https://youtu.be/…zrJ
I would like to speak once more about the scene in which Danse macabre appears. Aziraphale is driving to Edinburgh in now a yellow Bentley, and he even has his "car sweets". He is quite satisfied. And he plays this, certainly dark-themed, music. It is a major contrast.
Danse Macabre, "the dance of death" is a memento mori. Memento mori is a theme we see in art, and it originated in medieval times as reaction to the plague. It should remind us of our own mortality. “Memento mori” literary translates as "remember death". And mark my words, do remember death!
The composition uses tritones, a special kind of a music interval. (Interval is the tonal distance between two tones, you can play the tones together and/or separate.) Tritone is seemingly dissonant because it uses seemingly inharmonious tones. (You can hear tritones just at the beginning, the violins play it.) Because of its dissonance it was called "the devil in music" and was considered forbidden and associated with Hell/demons/death.
Since the music piece and the poem is based on the theme of Memento mori, I had to look into it as well. Turns out Danse Macabre was inspired by a poem by Henry Cazalis. Here is the poem: https://oxfordsong.org/…bre Memento mori doesn't only remind us of death and our mortality, it also reminds us, that everyone's equal in death. Henry Cazalis, the poet, writes: Long live death and equality! The poem is called, of course, Danse Macabre, but I found that it is also called Égalité - Fraternité (when reading stuff about it in French). This is a reference to the French revolution motto: Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité (Liberty, Equality, Brotherhood), but Liberty is missing. Is there then no Liberty in death and we are all doomed to obey someone's will, The Ineffable plan? (Good Omens book and season one also deals with topics of free will, look at Crowley and Anathema. She has been doing only the things her dead ancestor told her to do, she overcomes it in the end. I think it nicely illustrates the problematic of a free will. And Crowley values free will a lot.)
Memento mori says one thing - remember death, no one can outrun it. And there I would like to get back to season 1, because who else we meet here than Death itself.
Death is one of the Four Bikers/Riders/Horsemen of Apocalypse. But I always thought Death has a higher rank than the others. If you think of it, War, Pollution and Famine all lead to one thing- to Death. Why would you need all three then? Isn't Death qualified enough to do its job? Also, rewatch the scene where Adam and his friends battle them! War, Pollution and Famine all get destroyed by the flaming sword. But not Death- it spreads its wings and says (quote from the book): "You cannot destroy me. That would destroy the world." And later he adds that they are never far away. And he flies of. He isn't destroyed.
Death didn't appear in season two and I think people are starting to forget it, but Memento mori! Remember Death!
I would also like to remark that Neil Gaiman says the whole story is plotted out and that he has done this with Terry Pratchett. In every Discworld series book (the magnum opus of Sir Terry Pratchett), apart from two or three, there is the character of Death. And I think it would make sense that Death would appear in Good Omens as well, after all, it is also Pratchett's book. I think we might see Death returning in season three, because the Day of Wrath/Last Judgement/Armageddon is coming. And this music piece could serve as a literal memento mori - remember Death, it has not exited the scene yet. (A lot of Pratchett's humour is based on puns, and this seems like a joke/plot twist he would try to use. It's my personal opinion based on how I know his style from his books.)
And what's next? Armageddon is coming, the Day of Wrath is here! Both sides are pretty eager to do this ending-of-the-world thing and after all, it's what they have been trying to start from the begging of the show. It was delayed by Gabriel's "disappearance", but things are now getting into motion, I think.
But back to the Danse macabre, because it (surprise surprise!) has quite some things to do with the Judgement Day. In the middle of the composition Cammille Saint-Saëns uses a musical theme from a different work, a Gregorian chant called Deis irae ("Day of Wrath").
Here is a link to Wikipedia page about the chant, you can listen to it there. (I didn't find any recording on YouTube, only other musicians using the quite popular words of the chant and not the actual music.) https://en.m.wikipedia.org/…rae
About the chant itself. It is written from the point of view of a sinner/normal person, and it describes how the Last Judgement shall be. Before dealing with the themes of the chant itself, I would like to say, that Saint-Saëns has used the Deis irae in a major key. Allow me to do a quick music theory intermission.
You can play in two keys, major and minor. These are, if I oversimplify things, sets of notes with different intervals. The melody, played one tone at a time, can be used in both major and minor key. The melody isn't the thing that determines the key of the song, the tones played with it do. And depends on what tones you use, you either get major or minor. Major is (in western culture) associated with happiness and good things, while minor with sadness. (It's not always like that, but for the sake of understanding we are going to pretend it is.) Now, the Deis irae is usually written in the sad minor key. Saint-Saëns decided to use the happy major key with this depressing chant, once again creating contrast. I'm stumbling over contrasts more than usually, so this may be important. End of the intermission.
In the third and fourth strophe of Deis irae, it's described how the sound of a trumpet will sound everywhere and the Death will resurrect all dead creations to be brought to the Judge. (Death is back again and resurrecting, that sounds familiar, where have we seen that before?)
In the fifteenth strophe, the writer, a sinner, prays for this: Put me with the sheep and separate me from the goats, guide me to the right side! Goats again, there they are! This strophe of course references the chapter 25 in the Gospel of Matthew, the Separation of sheep and goats. Sheep go to the right and goats to the left. I think the side symbolism is pretty clear in Good Omens. Right is the righteous side and left is the sign of sin. And we also know how Crowley cares about the goats. There is also the Jewish tradition of scapegoat. Either way, goats are connected to Crowley, their symbolism of being “on the left side” is clear. This interesting bit can play part in Armageddon.
In the fifth strophe of Deis irae the Book, that is exactly and perfectly worded and that will judge all world, appears. And this book is no other than The Book of Life.
We know about Book of Life from the season 2, Micheal threatens to force "extreme sanctions" (erasing them form the Book) upon anyone who knows about Gabriel.
Enter a fan theory I read: Nor Heaven or Hell actually have the Book of Life, we never see it on screen. This was mentioned in a tumblr post, and I will probably never be able to dig it up from the depths of the internet, so remember this is not my theory. (Although I find it very interesting.) The post continues and remarks, that when Crowley in the first episode of the second season learns about the Book and the "extreme sanctions" from Beelzebub, he doesn't bat an eye. He is pretty calm and doesn't seem surprised. (He literary says: "That will teach them a lesson", man, we're talking about being wiped from the earth's surface completely!) The writer of the post thinks, this is because Crowley knows that Heaven doesn't have the book and he knows where it is. The writer claims, it was Crowley, who took it as a little souvenir before his Fall, and later has hidden it in Aziraphale's bookshop. ('Cause one single book will definitely stay hidden in all those piles of old books.)
I think this is really interesting because of Crowley’s reaction. He knows what Aziraphale is risking, and he loves that angel, yet he seems so calm. When the bookshop burned down in the fifth episode of season one and Crowley thought Aziraphale died, he went feral: he was angry and furious, and he was destroyed by the fact that he has lost Aziraphale. He mourns and gets drunk. Nothing of this happens in season two!
So, what are my thoughts on season three? It will get really dark and serious, the Armageddon is coming, after all. I think we will see Death return and the Book of Life will appear. The goats may not be used literally, like on screen, but I think we will get some metaphors.
In all of this, I tried to say one thing. All of the cards are laid out, we have all of the clues. It would be pretty cheap trick to use some ineffable "deus ex machina", that's not Gaiman's and Pratchett's style.
I think everything is now foreshadowed; we have been given all the information. We just haven't made the links in-between. Given the uproar the second season has caused, I think people are forgetting the first season a bit. But it must end with what it started with.
I think we should look at both seasons equally and try to pick up as much as we can, after all the third season will not be based solely on the season two...
We have all the clues, now it's Neil Gaiman who plays an ineffable game of his own devising, a poker that nobody has the rules for and the dealer, Neil himself, is smiling all the time. Ineffable, indeed. If you ask me, he's enjoying it bloody-well.
#good omens#neil gaiman#s3 speculation#good omens clues#good omens meta#good omens 2#ineffable husbands#aziracrow#aziraphale#crowley#good omens fandom#go 2#david tennant#micheal sheen#good ineffable omens#ineffable fandom
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How would your yandere Levi go about punishing reader if she tried to get away or leave him? NSFW please!
Bad Pet
Yandere Levi x Fem!Reader
Tag List: @issamomma
Warnings: Yandere themes, kidnapping, sadism, unwilling reader, noncon fingering, spanking/beating with a belt, abuse, NSFW, orgasm denial, pet play, nudity, aggressive behavior, no comfort, cages, choking, makeshift leash, degradation, controlling behavior
Checkout my Master List here.
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You could count how many times you’ve tried to escape from your captor on both hands. However, you can’t say that any of those times were successful. He always drags you back, kicking and screaming.
Today is different. The air is clearly not the same as it usually is when he confronts you after you try to run away. Imagine the string of a violin being pulled taut, just on the verge of snapping in half. That’s what it feels like to you right now.
Levi hasn’t said anything yet, not even to utter a single word when he roughly stripped you of your clothes, and you’re not sure if he’s going to. All you know is that you can’t take this silence anymore.
“If you’d just let me go-” you whisper, unsure if you’re allowed to talk.
He looks at you with a cocked eyebrow. He’s heard this before so many times, but he allows you to finish your sentence.
“I wouldn’t have to keep running away,” you mutter.
“Well, from what I understand, there’s nothing for you to go back to. Your home was destroyed, your family was eaten by Titans. You need someone to look out for you, to take care of you. Living in the Underground is no way to survive. I get it. Everything is fucked up these days, but I’m doing all of this for you.”
He scoots his chair back as he stands up and walks over to you.
“But after all I’ve done to punish you, you’re still unable to learn your lesson. I’m not letting you go, so wipe that fucking notion from your tiny brain. It’s so frustrating having to deal with brats all day and then come home to one. You could at least act a little bit grateful.”
Crossing your arms is the only way to feel like you can distance yourself from him. You scowl at him, but your mouth drops when you hear the next sentence out of his mouth.
“Go get me the belt.”
No, oh fuck no, anything but that horrid leather belt. You vividly remember the first whipping he gave you with that demonic implement. You received the lashing for your third escape attempt, but you haven’t been disciplined with it since then. Not wanting to go through it again, you anxiously shake your head.
For some reason, Levi is being patient with you today. He gives you a few moments to sink in the pit of panic.
“Go. Get. My. Belt. You know the one.” He turns you around, giving you a slight push towards the bedroom. “Go on.”
Stumbling down the hallway, you find yourself standing in front of the bedroom closet too soon. Your hand caresses the thick black belt hanging on the door. You shiver from the memory of how it bruised your ass for days.
“I’m waiting!” comes the booming voice of your captor as he shocks you out of your reverie.
With shaking hands, you reach out for the belt and take it before going back to deliver the leather monster to Levi. You almost release a whimper as you place the thick belt in his open palm. His cold, gray eyes dart to the coffee table before finding yours again, subtly hinting for you to bend over.
Placing your hands on the low table, you’re forced to bend at an awkward angle. Trying to think of pleasant things to take your mind away from what’s about to happen, you let yourself drift off. However, you come right back at the first stroke of the belt.
“Oh, fuck!”
Levi relishes in the twenty licks he gives you. He batters your skin, pushing you overboard. There is no safe word with the captain. Either you take your punishment or you pass out.
———
When he finishes, you aren’t even holding yourself up anymore. He takes your jaw in his hand and forces you to look at him.
“You took your beating like such a good girl, but we’re not done yet. Aw, I know. You think you’ve had enough. Maybe if you had learned your lesson from the last time, I wouldn’t have to do any of this. You didn’t though. You only have yourself to blame.”
You see a flash of a smile on his lips before it falls back into his usual distant demeanor. This thought only lasts for a quick second before you feel warm leather wrap around your neck. He pulls one end through the buckle, tugging on it roughly. The motion causes you to fall from your rigid position on the coffee table.
Choking on the belt as it bites into your throat, you try to keep up with Levi. The sick bastard forces you to crawl around. It doesn’t register that he’s actually leading you somewhere until you come face to face with a rather large dog cage.
“You see that cage? I had Hanji make it for you. It’s for bad pets who run away from their masters. Before you go in, I have another little surprise.”
His hand slips in between your crimson thighs with indigo colored bruises spattered across your flesh. His fingers brush your sensitive slit, pressing on the button with a thousand nerves. You don’t want it to feel good, not after everything Levi has done just now and in the past. However, your body betrays you. Your chest sinks lower against the hardwood floor as you unintentionally arch your back, giving him perfect access to your velvety lips.
“What a little whore. Pretending you hate me, pretending you hate it here. I bet you misbehave on purpose just to get me to punish you.” He pulls on the belt gently to force you to listen but not enough to raise you from your perfect position. “I can see how wet you’re getting. Fucking bitch in heat.”
Your wanton sex drips from the stimulation. His words are cruel, but his hand feels so nice. Your eyes flutter, breath hitching upon Levi’s digits finding their way into your pussy. Further in and almost out, he creates a wonderful friction, one you find yourself moaning to. Levi can feel your slick walls grip his fingers while you feel a pleasurable pressure building in your womb.
“Such a pretty slut. Are you going to come on my fingers?”
Spontaneously, he withdraws his hand from between your sticky thighs, and you whimper from the loss of an orgasm as the pressure dissipates.
“I don’t think so. Bad pets don’t get to come.”
Standing above you, Levi pulls on your makeshift leash until you’re fully inside the cage. He closes the door behind you after releasing the belt from around your neck.
You rub the raw skin of your throat as you kneel on the bare floor of the crate. It’s not big enough to accommodate your size, causing you to hunch over a bit.
“If you touch yourself, I’ll know, and you won’t like the consequences. I’ll beat you until you pass out and leave you in the cage to lick your wounds like the bitch that you are,” is all he says before turning to walk away.
Hating the feeling of being all alone, you have nothing to focus on but your physical state. You’re left to feel every bit of your punishment from your sexual frustration to your flayed backside.
You can’t help but think that Captain Levi Ackerman really knows what he’s doing.
#yandere#yandere x you#yandere x reader#yandere x y/n#yandere x darling#yandere x resisting reader#kidnapped darling#triggering content#triggering themes#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#levi ackerman#levi ackerman attack on titan#levi ackerman aot#levi is hot#captain levi#yandere levi ackerman#yandere levi ackerman x reader#choke me daddy#spank me daddy
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Strawhats with Himiko Toga!reader.
-You remember being an outcast as a child, not only by your peers, but your parents, the ones that were supposed to love you no matter what, because you liked to see the blood of others, thinking it was beautiful.
-When you ate a Devil Fruit, not knowing what it was because it looked like a blood red apple, and your ability came into light, you were ostracized even more, chased from your home, called and treated as a monster.
-You cried as the sky poured down upon your village, the rain washing away the blood of your parents after they attacked you, telling you to be normal, and your powers lashed out, killing not only them but everyone else in your village.
-You hadn’t meant to kill them, you just wanted them to stop hurting you, you wanted them to be proud of you and love you, like how you saw other parents treating their own kids. You were such a pitiful child, just wanting someone to love you.
-Years passed and you honed your skills, discovering you could take on the form of those whose blood you ingested, for a short while, and if those people had Devil Fruit abilities and you had the basic idea of how they worked, you could mimic those as well.
-This made you very dangerous, as you had become a pirate, as you were constantly treated like a villain, so you became one, and if any were to accuse you of being a monster, you would just smile brightly, showing off your fangs, “But you’re the ones who made me like this!”
-Everything changed when you met the strangest person, a young man wearing a straw hat, who had seen you fighting against the marines on the same island he and his crew had been on and you were thrown off when he caught you after you were thrown off a building and he beamed brightly at you, “So cool! You have fangs!!”
-You had never had someone tell you that your fangs, the results of your Devil Fruit, looked anything other than evil or monstrous before and when he asked you to join his crew, you immediately agreed.
-Other members of his crew were very comically afraid of you, like Usopp and Chopped, showing you their crosses and holding garlic up to you, as you were known as Devil Vampire Y/N, but you just laughed at them before taking the garlic and handed it to Sanji, who was fawning over you, and you asked for something made with garlic.
-Robin felt a kinship with you, as you had both been called monsters and were raised as such, but you were bright and bubbly, trying not to let anything get you down but there was something about you, telling her that you weren’t to be underestimated.
-You adored Brook, your eyes bright and sparkly when you first met him, as you loved creepy things like skeletons, but when he talked, sang, and played the violin as well as cracking jokes, you immediately glued yourself to him, adoring him.
-Nami had to rescue you, leaving a lump on Brook’s head when he asked to see your panties, and she warned you about the perverts on the crew. Nami was friendly to you, being almost like the big sister you never had but always wanted and she loved to drag you out shopping, something you always hated doing because you were never welcome anywhere.
-Franky was so nice to you, saying that your fangs and abilities, once he had seen them, were SUPER!!! He had never met anyone like you before and he appreciate you hanging around him because you were curious about his work, asking him all sorts of questions about the machines he was making.
-Luffy was self-explanatory, wanting to know more about your skills and while some were against it, you bit Luffy, taking just a tiny bit of blood and you transformed into him, being able to mimic him exactly including being able to stretch your body. This had led to some shenanigans with the rest of the crew, pulling pranks.
-These pranks are what got Usopp and Chopper into trusting you, as you were easily able to make them laugh after you and Luffy, using your own ability, went and asked Sanji for meat, acting identical. Sanji was furious because he couldn’t give either of you lumps because he didn’t want to risk hurting you.
-Sanji was so sweet with you, not at all bothered by your blood related ability, saying that it was just another part of you that made you the beautiful Y/N he knows and loves. His words meant more to you than anything as they made you truly happy.
-Jinbei was a bit thrown off by your enthusiasm, as not many humans were all that willing to meet with a fishman, let alone sit in his lap and ask him a ton of questions about the ocean, since you were one of the many ‘hammers’ in the world, due to your Devil Fruit.
-Zoro was the only holdout, like normal, not trusting you, thinking you were dangerous and he didn’t even hesitate to threaten you if you were to hurt any of the others on the crew, right before Sanji and Nami left lumps on his head for threatening you.
-You proved yourself to Zoro after using your abilities, creating a whip made out of blood, to catch Chopper and Nami after they were thrown from the ship in rough waters before taking a hit for them after you pulled them back onto the ship. That night, after your crew’s victory and after everyone was patched up, Zoro was the one who handed you the first mug of ale.
-You loved your crew, your family, calling them as such, calling them all by either big bro or big sis, as they were your solstice, your safe space, they treated you like Y/N- like a person, rather than a monster and they all fiercely defended you if anyone was to call you by such cruel titles.
-By joining the Straw Hat Crew your bounty went up, something you enjoyed as your crew insisted on a celebration for it, which made you laugh, but you never said no, especially since you were finally over one hundred million!
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buckle up lads— i’ve played cello since before kindergarten and even if i’m no virtuoso, i’m about to unleash my thoughts on the scheherazade job upon the world anyways.
look, if hardison was good enough to play the scheherzade solo at fourteen there’s just no way he sounds that shit even if he hasn’t touched the instrument for ten years. he’s supposed to have been the most promising violinist in the city which has to be stiff competition because most classically trained string players start playing young. like three to five years old young. and we know hardison was a foster kid so he almost certainly started later than most. obviously he was talented, but now he can’t even play a scale? it just doesn’t make sense to me from what i know. i’ve gone a month without touching my cello and pretty much hopped straight back into the stuff i was practicing before after fifteen minutes of warm up. the knowledge of how to hold a bow and pull it across the string and make quality sound is the kind that doesn’t leave you— for anyone of teenage hardison’s supposed skill, that instinct is part of you for LIFE. so no, the persistent portrayal of present day hardison as completely incompetent just doesn’t sit right with me.
but that doesn’t mean i think he could pull off scheherazade’s solo without nate’s rather convenient hypnosis. so i googled around and here’s the sheet music:
to be honest i thought it would be absolute batshit crazy the way they treated it in the show. the shifts are kind of crazy but i can see a very dedicated fourteen year old who practiced the shit out of this solo being able to play it. not to say it’s not still hard! there are some SERIOUS high notes that you’d be hard pressed to hit perfectly every time even with weeks of practice under your belt. shit makes me sweat and i don’t even play that instrument.
it’s a damn impressive solo for a teenager to be playing and an absolutely deranged one to try and perform on such little notice. that’s why i need someone to rewrite the scheherazade job with more focus on hardison and his violin dammit! i feel like hardison would be able to bluff his way through the other parts of the piece with enough practice in the time he has before the job, but there’s just no way he’d be able to play that solo on his own after ten years of not touching the violin. he might not even be able to practice during all the time he has— his calluses would be gone!! that’s a whole other story!!
string instruments strings are vicious y’all. and a VAST majority of the scheherazade solo is on the teeny tiny e string that basically slices through raw fingertips. i can barely make it through five minutes of dedicated practice shifting around on my thinnest string and i’ve had my calluses built up for years; i can file these babies with a nail file and poke a hot pan with them— they get pretty damn thick, and hardison’s working with nuthin y’all. you can only go so far before you give yourself an actual blister you physically cannot play on.
as a result, i feel like hardison would’ve let nate hypnotize him if ONLY the oily little slime ball (with hate and love) had told him. i really don’t understand why nate didn’t say anything until the first place. aren’t they supposed to have learned that you’re not supposed to con your own crew already?? (not that i think nate would ever really take that to heart.)
anyways, that’s my hardison-should-be-better-at-violin propaganda as well as my why-the-scheherazade-job-needs-to-be-rewritten manifesto. maybe i’ll write it myself one of these days— leverage brainrot is real and it is a sickness. hope this 2 am rant didn’t disrupt anyone’s dashes too much!
#leverage#the scheherazade job#alec hardison#hardison#aldis hodge#leverage meta#nathan ford#nate ford
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¸,ø¤º°`𝓦𝓱𝓲𝓬𝓱 𝓸𝓷𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓻 𝓯𝓪𝓴𝓮 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝓼𝓬𝓮𝓷𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓸𝓼 𝓬𝓸𝓶𝓮 𝓽𝓻𝓾𝓮 ?`°º¤ø,¸
All the pictures are from Pinterest. If you like this post, do reblog.
𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓲
The scenario will likely happen on someone's birthday or after a long hectic time at work. There will be a candle light dinner on the beach, with romantic lighting. For a very tiny portion of people here, there will also be violins playing in the background. It could be live or just a recorded version. After dinner, you will be having cute, little desserts. It will a be peaceful date and a chance to bond again. It can be Oriental or sea food cuisine.
Anther scenario will be you both cooking and dancing in the kitchen together. It will start with a mainstream pop song playing in the background. You will use a wooden spatula and try to sing the song, your partner will laugh and join you.
Someone in this relationship will have a soft, loving,motherly energy. They will be fierce and protective over their loved ones.
𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓲𝓲
You have a confident and attractive energy. If you don't feel too good right now, then just know that your confidence will definately grow.
You guys will be having a lot of game nights. It could be pictionary, board games, card games or lazer tag/darts. Mostly it will be between you both, and a few with a group of friends.
You both will be best-friends, with a comfortable and non-judgemental relationship. You would be able to tell your deepest thoughts and fears without being apprehensive of their reaction. Reminds me a little bit of Barney and Robin from How I met your mother. In the sense, how similar they are and can understand each other.
𝓟𝓲𝓵𝓮 𝓲𝓲𝓲
Sweet, loving and intimate relationship. You will know each other's thoughts like your own. You both will be transparent to one another.
A little 18+ message, the scenario that will come true will be related to your physical consummation of the relationship. The sex will be slow and errotic. This might be right after you both express your love for each other. A lot of looking in the eyes, and crying. This can be because of just how good the sex is or because of the vulnerable moment.
Another scenario will be when you come late home from work. You will be exhausted and your partner will pamper you. Massage, a bath, scented candles. The adoration and dedication towards you is palpable. You both will be deep in love.
#pick a card reading#intuitive readings#pac#tarot#intuitive#tarotblr#divination#future spouse reading#romance
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Could you write a sickfic type thing about Luffy where like the marines or someone uses kairouseki against him in a way that just wipes him out for a while Nd the crew looks after him??? much love <3
x
Sea stone bullets are a cause for concern, but not as much of one as a person might think. Nami’s captain has always been unsettlingly perceptive when it suits him, since well before any of them had any idea what observation haki was. He knows when a bullet is coming that he can’t bounce away.
It doesn’t do him any good to know sometimes, though. Not when he disregards the warning of danger on purpose.
And there was really nothing else he could have done in this case, Nami is reluctant to admit even to herself, because if he had dodged, Chopper would have been shot in the back of the head. Luffy had, to his credit, thought to deflect the tiny missile with armament, but it only caused the glass casing to shatter and the substance inside to spill free. A few drops against his skin was all it took.
He dropped like a stone.
Usopp lunged in at the last second and caught him before he hit the deck. But then they all had to watch Luffy’s head loll, limp and unresisting. It was horrifying. It happened so fast. Despite everything Nami had seen up to this point, she had never been more afraid than in that moment.
“What is that?” Zoro bites out, an arm spread to the side to keep his nakama from getting too close to the spill.
It shimmered eerily in the late afternoon light, the sky overcast but still just bright enough for Robin to grow an expendable hand near the mess and pinch a bit of it in the corner of the picnic blanket they had all been lounging on all of ten minutes ago. She ground it between her fingers, protected by the blanket, to feel the texture. Within moments, understanding touched her face.
“Infused with sea stone,” she said.
Chopper squirmed between his nakama’s bigger bodies, shouting, “Take him to the infirmary!”
Usopp was off like a shot, Luffy in his arms, Chopper right on his heels. Sanji joined Robin and Zoro at the starboard side of the ship, staring out at the remaining warships with the same look of murder in their eyes. Franky was already at the helm, and Sunny was turning in the water to face the Marines; the cannon mouth hidden in the figurehead opening to rain destruction. Brook was laughing, high-pitched and chilling, in a way that surely carried across the distance between themselves and the unlucky bastards who thought a cheap ambush would be enough to net the Straw Hats’ collective bounty.
“A squall is coming,” Nami said, feeling the shift of the weather in her bones. “Destroy the ships but leave the soldiers alive. They’re so eager to play with sea stone—let’s give them a taste of how it feels to drown.”
“Fitting,” Jimbei rumbled. He was the most honorable person Nami had ever met, but just like the rest of them, all bets were off and morals thrown aside when it came to anyone who would try to rip Luffy away.
By the time revenge had been swiftly doled out, and Brook’s violin easily covered the sounds of the Marines in the water, Usopp reappeared on the deck to say, “He’s okay.”
Nami’s heart still didn’t settle, not until she had bullied her way into the infirmary, planted herself on the side of the bed, and held her captain’s face in her hands to see for herself.
“He’ll sleep for awhile, probably,” Chopper said. “Until that compound works its way through his system. There isn’t a counter-agent for sea stone—” yet, the glint in his eye suggests “—but it only weakens Fruit users, it doesn’t kill them outright. If it were a bullet lodged in his body, maybe ultimately it would fester and poison him, but this is just a trace. It’s like, um…like a sedative!”
“Maybe we should keep some on hand for when he’s being annoying,” Sanji said dispassionately, as if his hands weren’t trembling around the cigarette he was trying to light.
Someone nudged Nami’s shoulder. She glanced up, and Zoro said, “Storm.”
“Right,” Nami remembered. “We need to get Sunny prepared.”
She was reluctant to leave Luffy, but he trusted her to lead them safely through troubled waters, so that much she had to do. Brushing her thumb over the scar under his eye, she eased her hands away then stood up and started barking orders.
It took some effort, but Sunny danced through the wind and rain like it was all play, and hours later they came out the other side unscathed. There was a small island ahead of them, a crescent moon curve of pink sand and tropical flowers and a dilapidated, long-forgotten pier. The New World being what it was, Nami didn’t trust the peaceful picture for a goddamn second, but it would be a convenient place to moor for the time being.
Besides, Luffy would whine if they started an adventure without him.
He missed dinner and slept through the night. Sanji is prickly and short-tempered at breakfast the next morning, crafting fluffy omelets and frying potatoes and chainsmoking angrily out the window. But his entire attitude shifts when familiar voices outside bicker their way toward the dining hall, and the galley door bursts open to reveal a wobbly-looking Luffy, an irritated Chopper, and Brook, who continues serenading their journey with a tiny ukulele.
“SANJI!” Luffy calls across the room. “Feed me or I’ll die right now!”
“No you’ll die ‘cause I killed you for leaving before I said you could!” Chopper snaps.
“He’s already here,” Sanji says, across the room in seconds and frogmarching his captain to a seat at the table. “Might as well eat.”
“Lu, how are you feeling?” Usopp demands, leaning across the table eagerly and nearly sticking his elbow in the butter dish. “You look like shit.”
“Mean!” Luffy says.
“Accurate,” Nami butts in. She takes him by the chin, turning his face towards her. His brown skin has an unhealthy pallor, lethargy clinging to him despite his animated good cheer. He looks like any other flu-ridden teenager. As she studies him, he wrinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out. “Brat,” she scolds without heat, releasing him.
It’s such a relief just to have him at the breakfast table. Franky starts in on a wild story about the storm Luffy missed, and Robin discreetly pushes the platter of brown sugar glazed ham closer to his plate. The morning sun, pouring through the window, suddenly seems warmer and brighter than it did moments ago.
Still, Chopper is right. Luffy, force of nature that he is, starts to flag almost immediately following the meal. The burst of energy deserts him quietly. Nami only notices by chance, on her way toward the garden with Usopp. She casts her gaze out over the deck as she crosses it, and pauses mid-step.
Zoro is sitting back against the side of the ship the way he always does when he’s trying to catch a few extra minutes of rest, the brim of a worn straw hat tipped over his face to shade it from the sun. Nothing about that stands out.
But his strong arms are curled comfortably around Luffy, who naps sprawled against his first mate like a clumsily-thrown blanket, slack face pillowed on Zoro’s shoulder.
“Luffy’s sleeping?” Usopp says, a bit too loud in his shock. “He just woke up.”
“Chopper did say it would be a few days before that shit was out of his system,” Franky pipes up. “Poor bro must really be feeling it.”
“I told him to stay in bed,” Chopper gripes irritably. By now most of the crew has gathered, a combination of mirth, curiosity and lingering concern preoccupying their thoughts, and Nami watches Chopper cross the grassy deck and tug lightly on Zoro’s sleeve. “Hey, hey. Will you take him to the infirmary, please?”
Zoro opens his eye, a sharper gray than any blade, but never cutting when he looks at his family. After a second, he closes it again.
“Nah.”
Zoro may be a shithead at times to Sanji and Nami and Franky and—okay, most people—but all of his younger crewmates tend to get an automatic pass. Nami honestly can’t think of a time he looked at Chopper and said “nah” about anything that didn’t involve his own health. From the baffled look on Chopper’s face, neither can he.
“Huh?? Why not?”
“We’re sleeping.”
“And he can sleep in the medbay!” Chopper insists.
Zoro scoffs and moves his captain closer.
“Go get your own.”
Chopper gapes wordlessly. All the rest of Nami’s nakama have a similar expression on their faces, something between stupefied and offended—save Robin, who presses a secret smile behind her hand, and Jimbei, whose rumbling chuckle is just barely audible over the sound of the sea.
Nami—who knows very well what Zoro looks like when he’s trying to get a rise out of someone, who knows very well that she has a claim on Luffy that only a handful of other people in the world share, one that can never be broken or stolen or changed—feels herself bristle, too.
“HE IS OUR OWN!” the majority of one of the most infamous pirate crews in the New World shriek like schoolchildren.
Luffy’s eyes drift open in the chaos that follows, squinting through the haze until he can bring the faces of his nakama into focus. They’re all so lively, shouting and arguing about something, their ship the brightest, busiest thing under the whole sky. The sun touches his skin, warm and laughing, like it’s trying to tell him a joke.
It’s so comfy. Soon he’ll get up and shout with them, and eat some more, and fish and play and plot a new adventure. But first he’ll dream a little while longer. He knows his friends won’t mind.
#one piece#opfic#cat burglar nami#monkey d luffy#roronoa zoro#nakamaship#my writing#prompt#anonymous#op#this was so cute and fun to write#i love sickfic and i have a deep compassion and sympathy for chopper#whose job is to doctor the most insane and stubborn people in the entire world#if u see any mistakes no u didnt#im on a time crunch :')#& i normally dont like to write pov shifts like this but i couldnt help it this time
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Happy 100 @jkloserdazai !
Sebastian from black butler x male reader uwu
Thankfully I know a lot about the Victorian era
X
Something Sebastian looked forward to was the visit of (name), Ciel's violin teacher.
He never met such a human like him, someone somehow untainted by the harshness of the world.
"Hello Mr.Sebastian, how are you fairing?" (Name) asked kindly as he was led to Ciel's Drawing room where the classes were always held "those kittens were born this morning if you ever wish to visit and see them"
"Perhaps I shall" Sebastian said with a soft smile as he leaned down to the violinist so their faces were almost touching "I will await your letter then Mr. Sebastian " he said gently before allowing Sebastian to inform Ciel of his presence.
"Hello my Lord, are you ready for today's lesson" (name) said with a slight bow to the Earl who nodded and the lesson began.
"You are improving a bit my lord, I have nothing but high hopes you will excel!"
Sebastian escorted (name) to his carriage"I hope to see you soon Mr. Sebastian" (name) said looking into Sebastians deep plum eyes as the demon said nothing but based on the expression (name) knew he would see him soon.
X
It was a warm summer day when (name) heard a knock on his door, his music shop closed today and he was spending his time with the tiny kittens as their mama and (name)s cat took a rest away from her scrappy little Tykes.
"Mr. Sebastian? What a pleasant surprise!" (Name) said letting the demon in and Sebastian looked at (name) dressed in more casual clothes, not much different from his usual attire but no coat "let me start the kettle! I picked up some treats this morning from the bakery!"
He brought Sebastian to the sitting room where the five little kittens were playing "do you mind terribly watching them while I go make us some tea?"
Taking Sebastian's coat he hung it up before going to make tea and get snacks.
When he returned with the tray he watched Sebastian play with the tiny kittens who were absolutely overjoyed with the new climbing toy they had.
"I have Lady grey tea and this new tea called 'orange peakoe" (name) said softly as the two sat in the floor "do these little ones have names?" Sebastian asked petting the belly of a kitten, the little fur ball purring away happily as his siblings play with some toys (name) made "ah no, though when they're older the undertaker wants to adopt them, he has a bit of a rat problem and these guys would help that enormously"
"I see..."
"How do you take your tea Mr.Sebastian"
"Just Sebastian, I believe we have become more than mere acquaintances at this point" Sebastian said letting the tiny kitten go as the kittens went to go eat "so are you just vistiting for the kittens mr--- Sebastian"
"Well, I actually came to see you"
"Really?"
"Yes you forgot something your last visit"
"And what is that?"
"This" and with that Sebastian pulled him into a kiss and (name) sunk into it before realizing and pulling away "we can't! The scandal!"
"Then I suppose I should sneak into your home in the dead of night and steal away your lips"
"S-sebastian..."
"Now, hush"
#black butler x male reader#black butler x reader#sebastian michaelis#sebastian michaelis x male reader#Sebastian Michaelis x reader#sebastian x male reader#Sebastian x reader
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