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#and like. its not fool proof either. but it still is a great help
night-daily · 29 days
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It's always been you | Luke Castellan x Apollo! fem! reader
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summary: It's Valentine's day at the half blood camp and you try to show your love for Luke but you aren't the only one who wants him.
warnings: not proof reading, sorry!
a/n: i know its not valentines anymore but its still february, so enjoy ;)
It's Valentine's day, finally. You've been waiting for this day to come since you stepped into the camp a half year ago and then got claimed as Apollo's children, which wasn't a full surprise, according to Luke, you fit just well at his cabin, you're an expert archer, a healer who always helps everyone and a great singer with the sweetest voice I've ever heard, you put to shame at anyone who thinks can sing. And since that moment, Luke stole your heart, well, not literally, of course, but sometimes you doubt that, why else you only feel alive when he's around you? or when one of his smiles is directed at you or when you hear his laugh and you're the cause of it.
So yeah, you were waiting Valentine's day just to confess your feelings to Luke, it was cliche but it was the perfect day at the same time, and to be honest, you couldn't wait another day.
You sealed the letter, keeping the contain in secret, a nervous giggle escaping from your mouth, “Today is the day, what can go wrong, right?”
“Luke will be a fool if he rejects you, and I don't think he will either, he looks at you with heart eyes, even a blind person can see it, so you don't have anything to worry about” One of your sisters gives you a quick hug before heading to the bathroom.
A sudden confidence runs through your body at her words, taking a deep breath and you walk out of your cabin to Luke's, holding carefully the letter in your hand.
As you walk, you see everyone rushing from side to side carrying flowers, cakes, even swords, so this is Valentine's at the camp, uh? Not so different from the exterior world.
You're finally a few steps from Luke's cabin, but apparently you're not the only one, there is a big crowd outside, waiting for something, no, someone.
what the f—
“If Luke keeps receiving more chocolates, he'd open a candy store for sure” A group of guys says at your side. You knew Luke was popular, and you expected that would be a few people aside you who will try to gain his heart, but damn, how could you compete with half of the camp? Why he would like your gift? Why he would choose you?
The confidence left your body, feeling defeated, you turned in your steps, and walked away not before glancing behind you, only to find more people arriving with gifts in their hands.
A bitter smile is on your face now, “It could be worse, I guess”
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
The rest of the day you felt irritated, seeing everyone so happy holding hands, exchanging gifts, or just talking to each other lovely, 'cause you were supposed to be doing all this stuff with Luke. Your friends noticed your change of humor but no one dared to say anything, and you were glad they didn't, you know the moment they asked you if you were okay, you'd cry. And that's the last thing you need right now.
Also, you were going to ignore Luke but it seemed the other way. Every time he tries to reach you, a group of girls will come out of nowhere and interrupt him, and being the nicest person you know, which is one of the things you love about him, he won't tell them to back off and that gives you time to leave without him noticing. At least that's what you thought.
The night before Valentine's, Luke barely slept, he spent half of the night, out of the camp, he went to the city when everyone was sleeping to get your gift. He was supposed to get it a week before but the store said they'll get new ones until February 13, so here he was.
He knew you'd like it, after all, he saw it in your eyes at the moment your gaze fell on that beautiful harp.
It was night, and you were walking to your cabin, you were tired after practicing with your arrow.
“Hey, wanna get out of the camp with me?” Your head turned faster than you anticipated at the sound of his voice reaching your ears, “Sure” You shrugged your shoulders, trying to act indifferent but to be honest, you'd follow Luke to the Tartarus without thinking, you trusted him with your whole life.
He extended his hand to you, an invitation, your heart beating faster, and you finally lied your hand on his. And then the two of you slipped through the forest, holding hands and glancing behind you, to make sure no one would snitch on you.
All the way to the city was an adventure, like always when you were with Luke. A few monsters appeared on your way but the best swordsman was beside you and quickly, he defeated them. And you were ready to help him (not that he needed it) but Luke told you, “If someone can't take a few monsters for you, then they're not worth it” And he returned to fight while you were too stunned to do or say anything.
After that, he cleaned himself with some water and you two continued on your way to the city, talking and laughing all the way, and sooner you were on some random street of the city, watching all around you. Everything glowed almost like your cabin, but what really caught your eye, was a big golden harp, with crystal flowers on it, and it made it brighter, but instead of making you look to other way it only made you look at it intensely. Your eyes were glued to the harp, and your feet to the ground, so when Luke noticed you weren't by his side, he got worried, looking at the crowd around him, he finally spotted you, you were in front of a store, looking something. When he walked next to you, he understood why you stopped, indeed was beautiful.
“Wanna ask the price?” Your eyes didn't move from the harp, “No need, there's the price but it's too expensive, I can't afford it” Luke looked at the sign and you were right. “Who says you have to pay for it?” He was teasing you now, “I'm not stealing it, Luke” Rolling your eyes, you grabbed his hand and walked away from the beautiful harp.
The son of Hermes just smirked shaking his head, you don't have to steal it.
He laughs just remembering that night, now with the harp in his arms, rushing to his cabin without being caught. He was seriously exhausted from being chased by the employees of the store, they're seriously worse than the monsters.
He placed the harp on one of the night tables beside his bed. The plan was to leave it at your cabin, so it'd be the first thing you'd see when you wake up, but the tiredness screamed to his body to just lie down and he promised he'd deliver to you in the morning, which will it be in two hours-ish.
But when the morning came, he only woke up by the noise around him. Who could be making so much noise so early? Opening his eyes, he noticed he was surrounded by boxes of chocolates, roses, everything.
what the h—
“You're finally awake, we're trying to clean up the entrance, but there's a huge mountain of gifts for you, so we'll be glad if you help us”
Gifts? Mountain?
“Shit! It's Valentine's” The sudden realization makes him fully awake. The harp was still on his night table, untouched. He cursed himself and hurried to take a shower, he couldn't wait to see you.
But the day didn't go as he planned, everything was wrong, and it was night already. Luke was waiting for you at the campfire, the harp by his side, but ten minutes went by and you didn't show up. He begin to worry, why would you miss it? You adore singing and everyone loves to hear you, especially him.
Once again, he grabbed the harp, and made his way to your cabin. You're outside, sitting alone, your legs crossed and with something in your hands. You close your eyes and your sweet voice breaks the silence, you're singing, but it's not a song he can recognize nor the sentiment you're used to sing, usually you sing only happy songs, it's weird when you sing something so... nostalgic.
He walks closer, he's only a few steps from you, when his name comes out of your mouth.
And you've seen all my darkest fears Like you've known me for a thousand years The girl who's really underneath All the scars and insecurities, baby I swear that you've been sent to save me You're Luke, the only one that my heart keeps coming back to
The song is about him. A million thoughts running in his mind. When did you write it? Why didn't you sing to him? And—
“Do you really feel that way about me?” Your eyes don't meet his at first, but you are tired of running away from your feelings, it was or never “Yes” His eyes look at yours deeply, almost like he could see the truth from them. If it weren't for the harp on his arms, he would just run to you, but instead, he put it on the floor next to you, your eyes open fully when you see it. It's the harp you wanted.
You jump into his arms, and he catches you quickly, holding you tight, your faces so close that you can feel his breath, he looks at your cherry lips, licking his, you're waiting for him to kiss you, but he takes his time to admire your face, how could someone be so pretty?
You can't wait any longer, and connect your lips, they're soft and rough, the perfect combination, and the best part it's, that they fit with yours, like a puzzle piece.
“This belongs to you” He nods his head to the harp, “Now you can sing it again”
♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡
song: Always been you by Shawn Mendes
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asherisawkward · 7 months
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My reaction to the below post
Hello! Fan of Philip here. (I do NOT think he did nothing wrong. He did quite a bit wrong.)
I can’t help but notice that despite your claim of attempting to see things in an unbiased manner, you clearly have made no effort to step outside your favorite character’s side and look at things objectively.
So, I will list the facts:
Fact one: The Wittebane brothers were orphaned at a young age. This resulted in Caleb becoming entirely responsible for his little brother, who was dependent on him physically, financially, and emotionally. Especially when it is strongly implied that they had difficulties fitting in, as referenced by Masha, “They tried to fit in with this town, and its unsavory practices.”
Fact Two: Caleb participated in and even supported Philip with the witch hunting culture. Masha said, “They became witch hunters.” They, not he. Additionally, Caleb is seen in Hollow Mind making the mask that Philip uses when he plays “witch hunt” with his brother and interacts with the witch hunting community. There are also scenes of them witch hunting together.
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Fact Three:Caleb met a witch named Evelyn and began to communicate with her. It’s never specifically stated how they met or when, but the memory painting below indicates that it was during a witch hunt. Take note of the pitchfork in Caleb’s hand.
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Fact Four: Caleb and Evelyn kept their interactions regarding the Boiling Isles a secret, as noted by the rebus, Marsha’s statement of “They used a secret code to travel between worlds,” and the buried Titan Blood. They took great care to ensure that nobody would be able to find them out, including Philip.
Fact Five: Caleb is never mentioned detailing his change of heart and opinion to Philip, nor does he make any apparent interest in introducing the pair to each other until the scene depicted below, which is after years of Philip struggling to survive in the demon realm and thinking his brother was kidnapped. This leads Philip to having no reference for his brother’s growth and thinking that such an extreme change could only happen because of witchcraft.
Fact Six: Caleb and Evelyn had a constant method of transportation between the realms. This is supported by Masha’s previous statements, the buried vial of Titan’s Blood, the abundance of the aforementioned liquid and knowledge of how to get it, and the designated arch they used to travel between the realms.
Fact Seven: Caleb canonically abandoned Philip. This is not an opinion or a take, it is fact. One day, Caleb stopped coming back to the Human Realm and decided to live in the Boiling Isles with Evelyn. Not only did he ignore the fact that his brother was still clearly a child who seems to be closer to Gus’ age than any other members of the cast, but there is no proof that he even left a note behind to is brother or tried to take him along. Instead, Philip witnessed his brother seeming happy and free with a witch, something his entire society and even Caleb had taught him to hate, and he never comes back again.
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Unless this portrait is just make believe?
If Caleb really didn’t intend to get stuck on the Boiling Isles, then why didn’t he try harder to get back to his brother? Philip has shown from his time on the Isles that it takes some dedication and knowledge of the dangers of Fool’s Blood, but it is entirely possible to get access to Titan’s Blood again. Caleb either was not nearly as motivated at getting back to his orphaned brother or he was not nearly as intelligent as we were led to believe through Hunter.
Fact Eight: Evelyn is in the late stages of her pregnancy when Philip finds them, implying Caleb was there for at minimum 8-9 months, which could play a factor in him not wanting to leave the isles and return to Philip. When Philip first arrives in the Isles, he is in his late teens or early twenties, as seen by his appearance below.
When Philip finally sees Caleb again for the first time, he has a beard and his face has matured to resemble his thirties. That is about ten years that Philip believed his brother to be kidnapped and brainwashed, if we believe both the math and Philip’s diary.
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Credit to Teasnap on Duscord for fact eight.
Fact Nine: When Caleb and Philip finally do reunite, the former takes no consideration for Philip’s struggles to survive the Isles, the fact that he grew into adulthood with the same people reinforcing his biases as when he was a child, the terror and confusion he must have experienced at losing his only connection/parental figure, or any of the other trauma and issues that happened because of his choice. What does he do instead? He hugs Philip and introduces him to the woman he abandoned him for.
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None of this is to say that Caleb is an inherently bad person or that he deserves to die in the manner he did, but he made some serious mistakes by choosing to leave his family behind for the Demon Realm, much in the same way that Luz does to Camila. What it does characterize him as is selfish and thoughtless.
I could go on a tangent about how with the way Philip was conditioned, he would have considered any kindness coming from a witch or demon to be a falsehood made to ensnare him and steal his soul, or I could do a lengthy analysis on how Philip desperately needs Evelyn to be evil or else the only person who ever mattered to him chose to willingly abandon him to a town that likely hates him. I could even do or link some explanations of the Boiling isles policies on magically weak or magicless beings are considered inferior and tormented (including Philip) (also note Hunter and Willow as victims of this).
The point is that Philip grew up in a place that taught him everything different, including himself (note his use of his left hand), was bad and needed to be destroyed. These assumptions were never challenged by anyone who could get through to him, and eventually he became a victim of the Sunk-Cost Fallacy.
Sunk-Cost Fallacy: the phenomenon whereby a person is reluctant to abandon a strategy or course of action because they have invested heavily in it, even when it is clear that abandonment would be more beneficial. (cited: Oxford dictionary).
Philip mutilated himself physically and corrupted his very being and humanity in order to save humanity and atone for his brother’s sin of loving a witch. It’s even implied that he doesn’t have any real plans for living beyond completing his goals, at the end of “Elsewhere and Elsewhen,” he says, “It doesn’t matter. I just need to live long enough to see this through.” None of this is indicators of someone who only wants to play the hero and be lauded with applause and praise.
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All of this indicates that he is genuine and serious about his beliefs regarding witches, demons, and humanity. The change from a scared child to a horrific abuser planning genocide that is shown through the evidence I’ve detailed proves that Philip is anything but a one dimensional caricature of a villain, and that to say such is an insult to all the hard work that was put into making him.
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timidloner · 1 year
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me ascending every time you call me ram <3 (it's like a power up i love it, like joren with mc, you're enabling me to ramble more each time)(sorry in advance for the amount ill send) watch me call you lolo for the loner in your username
it was very clear so we appreciate it!! and exactly omfg you get it, there's nothing wrong with being a conventionally attractive white man but personally it's so underwhelming compared to what i sometimes imagined (one time i played a game where i thought the guy had long black hair brooding and sharp looks like babygirl right? but then i saw the pictures and he had short very bland looks i cried.) tiktok goes crazy with THESE especially with the fancasting people do for books, its always the same kind of dudes its tragic (definitely an interesting topic from a sociological perspective but ill stop too lmaoaoa)
moles are so attractive normally but now with your concept too? brain rot i cant believe... is joren's neck sensitive? please i need to know because just MC touching the moles but instead they watch joren's neck turn red and both end up blushing like fools and THE SCARS WOAHHHH????? MC turning his scars into something joren can love by admiring them (tho the angst would be crazy if the MC was to be disgusted but personally my MC could never cause joren is our big meow meow)(im still not over the fact he can purr like can the MC scratch the back of his ears too? i need MOREEEE MONSTER FACTS)
AWWW, I love it!! Lolo is such a cute nickname!!
And I actually went to booktok to study (laugh at) this phenomenon and you're so right!! There's nothing wrong with these dudes, of course, but when the entirety of your male cast looks the same, it just becomes booooooring. They look like brothers!! Add some spice, please!!
Fortunately, that kind of surprise hasn't happened to me, I either never see the characters' portraits (IF) or that's the first thing I do (VN). But I won't go into detail about my feelings here, gotta stay away from controversies now that I'm a game dev (never gets old), haha!!
And yes! I've always loved moles, on someone's wrist, neck, below their eye, or the edge of their mouth... Doesn't matter, they are great.
I'd say both his neck and wrists are sensitive. And I love that idea, but due to his skin tone, his blush isn't really visible! So instead of turning red, we could say that MC is touching him and suddenly his skin heats up under their palm and he starts to sweat a little bit!
And ugh, now I can't help but imagine MC calling Joren their handsome man while tracing his scars...
Like, he doesn't really care if he's considered good-looking or not, but MC calling him that???? He'd melt. Suddenly, he'd understand why everyone is so concerned about beauty, and how good that kind of validation feels. He'd even start putting more effort into his appearance.
And maybe he could start seeing his scars as proof of how brave he's been throughout his life? He could stop being neutral about it, and become proud of them?
On the other hand, if MC finds him disgusting for his scars, it would make him insecure for the first time in a really long time. He'd try to dress in tunics with long sleeves, and always face MC with the "better" side of his face, so they don't have to look at his scar.
And yes!! Of course MC gets to scratch his ears, I'm pouring all of my impossible dreams of cuddling a big cat in those scenes. I'll think of some monster facts for tomorrow!!
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nrr-jaune · 1 year
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I don't know what I did. The only thing that matters is that I like it.
And, sooner or later, April Fool's Day! A reminder to not be pranked too hard nor go do a harmful prank :)
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⚠️ ALERT: Blood, lotta blood, but ain't too much, still lot of it.
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If you read it this far and don't mind reading more, here something from a very pessimistic and nihilistic person:
To whoever it may concern, cheer up. Life is naught but up and down. You can't hold either sadness nor happiness forever. Think about the memories, the happy times, and hold onto them for the time being. Think about why do they make you feel happy and how are you going to feel like that again. Believe that you're human, you're an equal to everyone else. If anyone can be anything, why can't you? What limits you? You might find the 'flaw' on why do you keep feeling sinking as if you have nothing to hold onto already. Don't worry, said flaw is what makes you human, a being that always seek to find meaning for its existence. For now, you live and breath, and that is enough proof of you living your life. Now, you need to pull yourself out of that dark place and live more than just a life that keep breathing in and out. If you can't do this alone, I'm sure there are great people willing to help, as long as you're determined to get out of that sad swamp. Find what makes you happy, as little as watching a frog jumping in a pond or as big as cleaning those little specks of dust at the corner of your room, and live. It will takes time but I promise it's worth every little second of it :)
Thank, Them Changes by Thundercat for being an inspiration for this experiment (great funk <3)
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caramellody · 3 years
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A LOT of us (myself included) have fallen down the pit of parasocial relationships. yes, its nice to like a creator or celebrity but please please please monitor yourselves.
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yanderart · 4 years
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He caught you when no one else did; defeated you when no one else could. Whether you liked to admit it or not, Eraserhead had clearly proven his worth.
So why didn't you prove yours, little villain?
Another portrait for my POV yandere series, this time of Aizawa. Got a few people requesting me to draw/write for him so hopefully y'all enjoy it 🖤
Below the cut, as customary for the series, is a longshot one-shot that delves further into the backstory (Aizawa x Villain Reader, nsfw, dark themes, 8k).
TWs: dub-con, graphic smut, Bad Bondage Etiquette, degradation/humiliation, brat (villain) taming, cumplay and slight bimbofication. Scumbag Aizawa is real.
— — —
   The day you met Eraserhead, looking back, saying your worries had been misplaced would be an understatement. With not being apprehended and losing street cred at the very top of your list, it was decidedly easy to skip over any of the other big red-lettered warnings.
   You first felt the tickle in your nape while you carried your acquisitions across downtown Musutafu, accompanied by the familiar presage of someone watching your every movement. The city around you was bustling, as was the norm, as loud and meandering in its complaints as a chronically diseased elder, yet the alleys you took as shortcuts grew quieter and quieter with each step. 
   It was eerie, alarming, and a platitude of other adjectives you shamefully chose to neglect. 
   “So this is the great V/N in the flesh,” the lazy cadence of someone calling out your alias froze you mid-step, the way his owner dragged each syllable telling you he hadn’t yet decided whether you were worth wasting his breath on. 
   Your body was responding before you even had a chance to properly process the threat, running on instinct and muscle memory as you twirled to face the mysterious man and prepared to...
   “Cute dress, kid.” Eraserhead in the flesh stood barely a few feet away, glowing scarlet orbs illuminating his preternaturally blank expression and transforming it instead into a visage of pure intimidation. “Didn’t pitch you for the frilly type.”
   The growing panic in your chest put a hitch in your breath as you stared back. Yet you couldn’t help but still try, fruitlessly hoping—hands clenched, nails puncturing your own flesh as you tried to force your dormant quirk awake. And all for naught, considering your efforts were only repaid by the hatchet of your sinking realization being buried even deeper. 
   Although, the Pro-Hero also appeared to notice your meager attempts, taking a few steps closer to your form with a condescending gleam in his otherwise somber features. 
   Before you were conscious of what you were looking at (and before you had half a mind to attempt a quirkless attack on the hero), you observed the weapon wrapped around his neck unfolding fluidly, the extensions of fabric reaching out to envelop you in a forceful embrace that left your arms tucked to your sides and your back uncomfortably straightened. 
   “Better to trap you before you get any wild ideas. It’s your fault you’re in this position in the first place anyways,” he was taunting you, prodding you and poking you as you found yourself completely at his mercy, uselessly struggling much in the same way many of your victims had surely felt in their last few moments at your hands. 
   "Eraserhead," his pseudonym resembled an insult on your tongue, your rage and resentment making for rather colorful enhancements. "Don’t you have anything better to do than trapping helpless girls with this weapon of yours? Didn't peg you for a pervert."
   Usually, you managed to reign in some of your nastier attitudes, channeling them into your quirk and the violence you could inflict with it…
   But tied up and under the influence of his own ability as you were? All you had was pettiness. 
   "You can dress up as a civ all you want. Won't be fooling me." He took several steps, closing the distance between you two with barely the hint of a smile morphing his stern expression.  
   You could see the faint stubble on his handsome face from this up close, blood-shot eyes that refused to blink as they studied you in ample detail. Could even see the scar carved onto one of his cheekbones, a textured promise of the fight he had survived and now wore as a medal. 
   Such was your luck, that the Pro to finally catch up with you had to be this rugged scumbag. 
   "I'm not even engaging in any criminal activities, Eraseridiot." Your insult was terrible, but you were never much of a verbal sparrer. Not when you could use your fists instead. "What are you gonna send me to the pigs for? I know my rights."
   And you did. So when the condescension on the lazy hero's face turned into a full-on expression of mockery as he approached your "bag of acquisitions," you audibly gulped. Goddamn stalker couldn't have been following you for that long? Could he? 
    If only you knew. 
   "Then," he held up the bag with an indolent brand of interest, the contents dangling tauntingly from his clutch. "How do you explain this over here? I reckon even dirt like you knows what stealing qualifies as." His other hand dived for the contents and before you could voice any protest, cheeks blushing furiously, a slow hint of a chuckle was bobbing his adam's apple. "It would be a fun thing to peg you down for, though."
   That damned weapon of his didn't give out an inch as you started to furiously struggle, becoming instead impossibly tighter with each futile attempt at freeing yourself.
   "You fucking psycho, is this your sick way of trying to pick me up or something?"
   But your quip did not deter him at all (if anything, it spurred him on). The hand inside the bag tensed for a moment before he was retrieving the sole object inside. To say mortification was written all over your face would be an understatement. 
   A dark pantyhose now hung from Eraserhead's nimble fingers, not a second being wasted by the Hero before he proceeded to bring it up to his face, carelessly stretching the garment until you could see every single one of his features through the sheer material. The way the moonlight caught in it, bouncing off and bathing his patronizing face, made for uncomfortably intimate imagery. 
   (Yet a part of you, one you would never admit existed if further questioned, also could not help but notice the striking attractiveness of it all, making you want to squirm for completely different reasons while the man continued to exert his quirk on you through the fabric of your fucking lingerie.)
   "Gotta say, didn't take you for a pantyhose kind of gal either. Girls like you…" He uttered the last part more like an afterthought, tossing the bag aside before his hands continued toying with the tights absentmindedly. "Are suited for something like fishnets much more."
   By that point, you were sure he was just playing with you. You were such a harmless joke, restrained and showcased like a prize for his viewing pleasure.
   "Reckon you must own quite a few pairs, uh?" He continued egging you on when you failed to give a timely enough answer. 
   (Perhaps the fact that he so easily guessed that detail should’ve been your first real warning, too.)
   Yet you couldn’t help how his condescension and the downright dirty way he stared at you sent dark shivers up your spine, the threat he represented turning strangely alluring under the dim street lights illuminating you both. 
   As a villain, you had robbed, murdered, set people ablaze, and even stolen a popsicle or two from some crying kids. So why were Eraserhead's words having such an effect on you? Why did, a part of you deep down, seemed enthused by the awful way in which he was speaking to you?
   "You don't have any proof I stole them. I just threw away the receipt after I bought them. Very environmentally unconscious of them, too, when electrical ones are a thing."
   Now you were just rambling. What an adorable sight. 
   "Hmm, never thought I'd hear "environmentally unconscious" being uttered by a two-bit criminal." He stopped stretching the lingerie for a moment, thoughtfully scratching at his incipient stubble with his free hand instead, "Are you really trying to sell me the good samaritan angle?"
   To his credit too, he seemed genuinely puzzled by your approach for an instant. Guess even an experienced pro like him still had room to be shocked. 
   "I'm not trying to sell you anything, imbecile." The snobbishly controlled tone of yours was back, the shaking of panic subsiding while you held onto your only hope of leaving this confrontation unscathed. "And my rights clearly state you need proof to apprehend me. Need causality to exert your quirk on me, too, or you would be the one breaking the law." 
   Now, Eraserhead wasn’t annoyed per se. You could tell from what little he had already spoken (and from the myriad of cautionary tales you had been told) that little could rattle the man at all, but your comment definitely appeared to intrigue him. It made you feel like an animal being studied, pinned down, and ready to be dissected for his own morbid curiosity.
   "Isn't this just rich?" His tone was almost lethargic, words dragging on with a faint rumble. "Are you going to run off to the police, then? Tell them how a Pro trapped you and tried turning you in for a very obvious act of theft?", his eyebrows were raised, eyes more awake despite his monotone voice carrying on. "Be my guest then."
   Because of course you were all bark, no bite and he was more than willing to call you out on your shit. So instead of continuing down that route, you decided to veer for a new approach, switching from your assortment of insolent tactics. 
   "Do you get off on this, then?" Your voice morphing into meekness while you adopted an expression of distress, bottom lip jutting out with the sparkle of thinly veiled sarcasm glimmering in your eyes. "Do you like thinking of yourself as the Big Bad Hero, maybe?" And you could tell by the way the incipient smile froze on his lips that your question had caught him off guard. Made you wanna press even harder, "Do you like the idea of taking a defenseless little girl into an alley and showing her just how bad you can be? Maybe planned on teaching me a lesson, is that it?"
   His frown mimicked yours now, no longer any hints of cruel enjoyment on his part. His eyes still glowed red, but he was now squinting ever so slightly, zeroing in on you not only due to the limits of his quirk but also due to the words rapidly continuing to escape your impudent mouth. 
   "Does Eraserhead like to fuck his lays into being law-abiding citizens? Is the power over someone else what really gets you off, perhaps?"
   It was like a spell was cast on the both of you. He couldn't drift his attention, his eyes couldn't stop scanning your face — quickly flickering from the hatred coloring your gaze to the slight quiver of frustration shaking your lips. The hand which he still used to grab your stockings was now a closed fist, knuckles growing pale from the poorly contained strength.
   "Bet you plotted this entire thing, you creep. Wanted to take me behind an alley and show me my place." Your taunts were becoming increasingly more risqué, the anger blurring your sense of preservation—and the hint of something else too, a secret excitement you were unwilling to recognize. "Wanted to have me all submissive and obedient under you, surely. Show me what a scary hero cock can do, is that it?"
   But instead of earning another entertaining grimace, you had a first-row seat to the rapidly darkening expression on his face. Eyes squinted at the same time that the bandages settled even tighter around you, cutting off your breath for a moment before relenting just enough not to suffocate you. 
    And that's when you first felt it for the first time, just when your jests died on your lips and you drank on his foreboding reaction. The grip of Eraserhead's quirk, more constricting than any ropes, wavering faintly around the prison he had constructed around you; the distinct buzzing in your hands returning for a mere instant before flickering out again.
   Now that was interesting.
   "Should watch what you're saying," the pro-hero sounded gruff, voice tinted by a new kind of intensity.
   Like a shark smelling the smallest whiff of blood, you couldn’t help your instincts urging you to dial down. 
   "Always knew you hero types had a hard-on for the power trips. Bet you were using all of this as a decoy. Is this when you strip me and hold me down? When you plow me into the floor of this alley and tell me to "behave or else"?" 
   You knew your jabs were going too far, getting too brazen… yet as much as you enjoyed making the Pro visibly uncomfortable, once he decided to close the distance between you two there was little you could do to stop yourself from flinching. A fire inhabited his expression, the vivid brightness emanating from his stare not only intimidating, but downright frightening too.
   "Are you trying to rile me up?" His hand gripped your face with force, bandages shifting until they were enveloping your neck, holding you up and forcing you to reciprocate his glare, "What do you think will you achieve by antagonizing me even more, V/N?"
   You just looked at him through your eyelashes, still somehow managing to play up the innocent act through the layers of fear settling in. And as expected, it only served to further his irritation, calloused fingers digging even deeper into your cheeks and coaxing the claws of terror to continue trailing their nails all around you. 
   "I’m just trying to understand you, Eraserhead." The way you smiled at him was defiance personified despite it all, your tongue wetting your lips while you caught his eyes following the movement. There was the slightest give of his quirk again, a fluctuation in his concentration informing you that you were finally on the right track. "And I think, given the fact that I haven’t been cuffed yet, that we can both still come to a mutual agreement."
   Fingers twitched around your jawline, muffling your words while your sides were squished together harshly. But even manhandling you, the Hero couldn’t hide the spark in his eyes, an interest you foolishly believed to be ignited by your former comments. 
   "So you are indeed trying to rile me up then." It was an assertion, not a hint of doubt in his leisure intonation. 
   Instead of replying this time, you just slowly blinked his way, observing your imitation of meekness reflected in a gaze that refused to abandon yours. It had been so long since you last tried to play coy, so long since you needed to depend on anything besides your own strength and ruthlessness. You couldn’t help the thrill you got from playing the role. 
   "Think you’ll get me distracted enough to break away, I bet." He was whispering directly against your skin after getting dangerously closer, the heat from his cushioned lips provoking an involuntary shiver. "Do you believe nobody else tried this approach before, little villain?"
   You gulped, feeling caught before you even had time to properly set the stage. 
   "I wasn’t..."
   "Weren’t what, trying to seduce me?" There was a sense of levity hidden somewhere under his timbre, stored between words that kept dragging on in a mantle of aloofness. "Or did you not mean any of your words?"
   When you didn’t reply, you could feel the cruel smile resurfacing against your earlobe. 
   "If I lift your dress right now, do you think I’ll have my answer?" His question sounded almost casual, as weightless as your alias had been when he first called you out. 
   Your heartbeat sang in your chest, an anxious hummingbird trapped inside your ribcage. Because you knew the answer, you both did. 
   When the hand still clutching your bunched hosiery came up to press the fabric against your thighs, you could not help the gasp that escaped you.
   "I bet all those things you were just saying…" His tone drifted off as the stockings were slowly guided up the vastness of your legs, fingers barely grazing you through the thin layer of the stolen undergarments. He was thoroughly teasing you, enjoying the manner in which your expression contorted in response. "You just want me to do them to you, don’t you?"
   Even if you would’ve wanted to object, the pressure of his nylon-covered digits finally reaching your dampened panties was enough to kill any possible refusal. He traced the outline of your slit, soft touches running across it with deceitful lightness, and your mind became positively staggered as you were rendered overwhelmed by his actions. 
   You didn’t have to worry about his next move for long, either, because barely a moment’s notice passed before his entire palm was eagerly covering your crotch. And the new way in which he groped you was demanding, the heel of his wrist putting just enough pressure to drag a shamefully loud mewl from you. 
   The douchebag even had the gall to laugh at your reaction, the sound of his mirth prompting you to writhe even harder as he continued to feel you up through your rapidly soaking underwear. 
   "Knew you’d be a slutty one." His breath was hoarse against the side of your face, the stubble on his jaw scratching against your skin in a way which made you wonder how it would feel pressing elsewhere. "So fucking wet, it must hurt being this eager."
   He didn’t specify what exact kind of pain he meant, whether your growing need for release or the insufferable blow all of this represented to your pride. Somehow, though, you had an inkling that he was referencing both. 
   "Wanna show me just how needy you are?" His words echoed with each laboured breath of his, one of the few signs you had that he was clearly very much into the whole affair despite his detached demeanor. "Maybe you could show me more of your adorable little cries." 
   As Eraserhead rutted his palm against you another time, you found your hips lowering down to chase the feeling much to your own chagrin, more moans making their way out of your panting mouth while he coaxed you to sing the notes of his preferred melody. 
   It was true that you hated his guts… but another fact was that you hadn’t had action in a long while either. Even with the threat of imprisonment hanging over you, you could not deny how desirable the idea to get to cum against that veiny hand of him was, to grip those muscular shoulders as you reached the perdition he was so tantalizingly offering. 
   Decidedly forgotten was your plan of you being the one distracting him. For fuck’s sake, you really were a needy whore. 
   "Why not show me how you cum for me in this alley, if you’re really that desperate?" His words kept getting cruder, his tongue tracing a languid stripe from your earlobe down to the side of your neck, a beautiful path of distractions threatening to dip your sanity even lower. "Be the dirty little villain that I know you are, doll."
   But just as soon as the stimulation was hitting you a second time, so it suddenly disappeared. One second fingers were flexing against your tender flesh, coated by your arousal through the layers of fabric separating you and fluttering with the promise of an impending release, and then the very next instant you were left to whimper (a villain like you, actually whimpering!) in the unbearable wake of their absence. 
   When your eyes searched for the Hero’s again, in his blown out pupils you could only dare interpret part of the enjoyment he was getting from watching you scram for his touch, beautifully bold handwriting spelling out arousal for all to read.  
   Watching you so easily betray your own ego after all of your lip service? More than simple music to his ears, it was an entire sonnet. 
   "But, now that I think of it, you were the one trying to walk away free from this. So why should you be the one getting pleasured?"
   Even in your precarious situation, you couldn’t help rolling your eyes. 
   "Are you fucking kidding me?" Apparently, your discomfort at being denied was enough to forego your better senses.
   The bindings contracted around you in quick response to your insolence, your neck being craned even further and your arms mishandled until they were behind your back instead of at your sides, a sharp pain blooming from your shoulders as you struggled to adjust.
   Treated like this, he really did make you feel like a helpless little doll. (Goddamn, that thought alone was enough to have your juices gushing again, the trails of your excitement starting to make a mess of your inner thighs.)
   "You don’t get it, do you?" He asked in a despondent voice, unblinking eyes still refusing to abandon your face as he elaborated, "you should already be on your way to some second-rate villain prison, cuffed and muzzled and someone else’s problem."
   At his reminder of what you believed to be your impending fate, the mocking pout on your face transformed into a retelling of real horror. Because your spotless reputation was the one trick in your book that had managed to give you a sliver of notoriety over the rest of the unremarkable criminals, much more significant than any quirk or grandiose crime. 
   So for someone like you to lose that? You might as well hang up the villain costume and retire, for all anyone would care. (And yes, you had been called an attention whore a lot throughout your life, but who could blame you when you couldn’t help but thrive on it?)
   Sensing your spiraling thoughts, the Pro raised his eyebrows in an almost pitiful stint, as if he was truly empathizing with the agonized look of your face. 
   "I know you don’t want that, doll." As his declaration dragged on, the grip that had been steadying your jaw was swapped instead for the peculiar feeling of damp fabric —your pantyhose being pushed against your cheek and spreading your own juices around, all while Eraserhead intently studied the new wave of disgust coloring your features. "So why not show me that even a villain slut like you can behave? Give me a reason to believe that and..." The slickered garment was now pressing to your closed lips, your eyes starting to water with the weight of the humiliation you were being made to endure. "Maybe then I’ll consider letting you go."
    You knew he was lying, had every right to doubt the sincerity of his promise and, in its place, conclude he just meant to take advantage of you in your desperate state and then leave you for the pigs to find anyway. 
    You knew all of that, and yet you still opened your mouth and allowed him to do as he pleased. When he worked the pair of soiled stockings inside, you had troubles recognizing the pathetic sight being reflected your way from the wild hue of his gaze. 
   For someone who had always prided herself in being a predator, you had never looked more like prey.
   "Fuck, that’s it, doll." He pushed the piece further with his fingers, forcing you to stretch your lips until your jaw started to hurt from the strain. His fingers swirled inside, pressing the soaked material against the flat of your tongue and instructing you to eagerly lick it.
   You had never felt as debased in your entire life, being forced to choose between savoring your own arousal while tied up in an alley or ruining a reputation you had fought so earnestly to maintain. 
   (And yet your thighs were pressing together now, attempting to create some meager friction to alleviate a yearning that did nothing but shift, demand, grow.)
   "Look at you cleaning up your own mess," he almost sounded proud of you as you kept dutifully sucking, his other hand brushing your hair away from your shoulders in a strangely consoling way. "Seeing you all obedient like this, one could be fooled into thinking there is yet hope for reform."
   By the time the Hero finally took his hand away, bunching up the stockings before fitting them into one of the hidden pockets of his dark costume, you thought you could discern a mocking smile through the clouds of tears.
   "But now, now, doll… are you gonna keep crying or do you wanna try and take proper care of me next?"
   Not finding it in yourself to raise your voice again, you instead opted to wet your lips hesitantly as you awaited for him to elaborate further. There was a question dying to be asked, struggling somewhere alongside the myriad of insolent retorts and insults you wished you could swing the Hero’s way without being harshly reprimanded. 
   "I wouldn’t call that proper exactly," a chuckle reverberated from the back of his throat, gravely and dark as he misrepresented your movements. Fingers still slick from your saliva caressed your bottom lip, massaging it in a way which played straight into the undermining tilt of his words. "Although I’m sure you must be dying to wrap your pretty lips around my cock. Would give you a good reason to stay quiet, uh?"
   You really had been intending not to fall for his obvious goading, not trying to give the Pro anymore reasons to be harsh with you (or even worse, give him an excuse to leave you alone and to a fate worse than his company ever would be). 
   Had tried so hard too, but the cocky villain in you could only take so much degradation before it snapped. 
   "Goddamn it, are you trying to fuck me or bore to death?" As for the slight quivering in your voice, you dearly hoped he wouldn’t pick up on it. 
   Predictably enough, that slip earned you another harsh tug from the capture weapon, your whole body pulled back until you thought you were about to be snapped. 
   "I was just about to praise you for being all sweet for me, V/N." The switch from his pet names to your alias felt like a bucket of ice being dumped on you, voice a slow drawl while he tugged once more from your bottom lip, but this time harsh enough to have you wincing. "I’m trying to teach you how to be a proper girl, so don’t make me regret it. Or would you prefer to go take a prolonged vacation in a holding cell?"
   He already knew your answer judging by the way his eyes coldly studied you, unearthing the secrets you uselessly attempted to hide with an ease that unnerved you (and, as much as you loathe to admit, fascinated you). 
   When he tugged at your mouth again, nails sinking just enough to be noticeable, you knew he was expecting a verbal answer. And a nice one, at that. 
   "Then fucking get on with it…" Words slurred at the end, caught up in the increasingly somber aura of your captor before you swallow thickly, quickly adding as an afterthought, "Please."
   At that, his scowl receded enough for some satisfaction to find its way back into his grimace.
   The more you struggled, the sweeter your surrender became.  
   "Not perfect, but better," he conceded with a thoughtful hum.
   If you had properly studied just who he was beyond his active Heroism, then you would’ve understood just how accustomed he was to insubordination. If anything, your act only served to make him feel more at home.
   You had barely any time to wonder about whatever he had planned next though, because in an instant that damned contraction of his was moving you around once more, twisting you until you were facing the brick wall of the alleyway with heaving breaths. 
   Your legs were now maneuvered until you were forced to keep them apart just a smidgen, the new inviting space between your thighs surely a most intoxicating promise for the sick man manhandling you. And your back experienced pain afterwards too, harshly pushed until you had no option but to allow yourself to be pressed against the dirty walls; As a result, you found yourself with your ass backed up and for the world to see, the frilly skirt of your dress caught somewhere between all the movements.
   Yet even being roughed up as you were, when a hand reached out to tug your ruined underwear away you couldn't help greedily rutting into it, too worried by the fire gathering in your lower belly to care about maintaining a semblance of the reluctance you would later claim to have experienced. 
   It was almost comical for the Hero to observe the pathetic image you were now serving up on an ornate platter —especially when compared to the list of deviant crimes and horrors your spreadsheet of accomplishments preached. For all intents and purposes, you really were a horrible, messed up individual…
   So it was a wonder why his mind had kept supplying him with the same descriptor ever since he first saw you, the same sweet little word that he thought might as well be written all over your skin for how accurate it described you.
   A cute little doll (soon to be his cute little doll). Despite believing himself to be a fairly responsable Hero, the man had never wanted to play with anything as much as he did with you.
   The sound of a zipper being lowered was alarmingly loud in the emptiness of your surroundings, as loud as a wail to your sensitive ears. When you squirmed below your restraints, nonetheless, you could no longer pinpoint whether it was from unadulterated fear or a sick sense of anticipation.
   How easy it had been to break you, even if you would never recognize it openly.
   "Knew you were into it, and now watch your ass trembling in excitement for me." He was chuckling again, not pretending like the cruelty coating his words had any other intention but to degrade you further. It had been just his luck, to find the one villain who just so happened to enjoy it. "I really hit the jackpot with you, didn’t I, doll?"
   When the lewd sound of one of his fists pumping his cock reached your ears, you didn’t even bother disguising the whines of complaint refusing to be contained any longer. 
   "Stop..." Words spilled from clenched teeth, growled out with an annoyance that no longer sought to defy, "Fucking..." but to demand instead, "Teasing."
   "Hmm, that’s cute. Why don’t you try begging me though?" His cadence was growing as bated as his breath, littered by intermittent curses as his eyes dined on the sight of your glistening core, held up and offered up for him to do as he pleased. "Beg for me to use you, and if you put on a good enough show I might just let you off."
   Another shiver rampaging it's way through your body, an exhilaration that could not be entirely pinpointed. 
   "Please…" You started, rough intonation dripping with venom —But Eraserhead didn't seem to mind the sardonic nature of your pleading though, not as you heard the litany of damnations being spilled from his lips. Your shameful excitement, your bitterness, your hatred… he would feast on it all and do it gladly. "Get on with it, bastard. Didn't anyone tell you never to toy with your food?"
   A low murmur was your only response at first, followed by the lewd sound of his pre-cum covered cock being harshly jerked.
   "Hmmm, aren't you being a bit too demanding…" His steps echoed again behind you, his unoccupied hand coming up to massage your ass with a rather firm grip. "Even with the begging, I don't think you've learned your place yet."
    When he planted a slap in the same place he had been eagerly caressing before, sharp and flaring up your nerves with the sting of pain and humiliation, you couldn't stop your scream from turning into a wanton little moan halfway through. 
   Even if he was hitting you, it still meant he was touching you, and so enticingly close to the place you actually needed tended to.
   "Do it…" your breathing was too heavy to speak in full fluid sentences, body flushed and mind filled with the buzzing of desire. "Do it again, fuck."
   You were still not begging him like he asked, but it seemed like your choice of words still greatly pleased him. Another slap rained on your ass, his big warm palm massaging the same reddening spot right after.
   And he kept going, the spanking echoing through your body and sending both pain and pleasured shivers up your spine—lewd sounds mixing in with the increasing pace of his other fist pumping his cock. Even without directly touching you, your pussy clenched and weeped with each firm hit. 
   "Damn, it's my first time meeting such a masochistic whore." Punctuated by his most painful slap yet, the globes of your ass left trembling and a furious shade of crimson to match his lust-filled eyes. "I can see why you've managed to stay free for so long, little villain." The debasement, paired with the pain of his firm strikes, had you moaning even louder. You couldn't even recognize your own sounds, nor the thrills you felt at this entire fucked up ordeal. "Wonder how many other Pros you showed this beautiful sight to."
   Even through the fog of sensations impeding you from being wholly coherent, though, you still couldn't help but want to set the record straight. 
   "None, fuck…" Words merging into another expectant whine when you felt his hand gripping your flesh again, only this time he was kneading you in an oddly tender way —Urging you on, fingers creeping closer to your needy hole. "I'm not… usually in the business of fucking Heroes. Shit, I hate this…" 
   But you didn’t, and when you were surprised by the warmth of his naked erection barely grazing the sensitive outer lips of your cunt, you couldn't help the sigh of relief that escaped you. 
   "Goddamn, V/N, even while you're an ill-mannered brat you still manage to know just what to say." 
   And then the older man was sliding his cock in the juncture of your thighs, teasing your core by pressing against it while grunts began to escape him. You thought you could cry from having him so close yet still not where you wanted him, but then his shallow thrusts against your legs proved to be much more stimulating than you first expected. 
   The fat head of his cock even managed to somewhat stimulate your puffy clit with its movements, pushing in its direction as your essence continued to leak out and cover you both. And It was so absolutely debauched, to think a Hero was using your thighs like a fucktoy while you were tied down and unable to stop it....
   But it felt so good. Even without him actually in you, you had never been this turned on before. 
   "More… ughhh," you were now screaming with the side of your face pressed flush against the disgusting brick walls, needy sounds filling the night and making it privy to your descent into madness.
   Another thrust, this time angled just precisely enough not to caress your pleasurable areas. Punishment, you feverishly thought while you attempted to wiggle your ass, eager to force more of that delicious friction you were quickly becoming hypnotized by. 
   "Now, V/N," his gruff voice had adopted a mocking tone of reprimand as he continued to rut against the soft skin of your thighs. "Haven't I taught you anything, yet? If you want something…" The hand returned to your heated skin, digits underneath you both spreading your pussy enough for the chilly night air to send shivers straight to your core. "You gotta say please."
   And say please you did. Screamed it even, so eager for more and already far beyond feeling any embarrassment. 
   He didn't fuck you, not like you really wanted, but suddenly his thick shaft was sliding between your lips as his capture weapon aided him in angling your body just right, pulsing against your hole while he found a new rythimn. When both of his hands returned, one of them held you back to make the process even easier while the other swiftly joined his cock in tending to your eager pussy.
   So lost were you in the new raw excitement seizing you, in the knowledge of just how messed up you both were for engaging in such debauchery —so distracted that you didn't even notice the faint buzzing returning to your arms, the vibrancy of an old frequency being reactivated and allowed to encapsulate you again.
   (You didn’t notice, but fuck if it didn’t made your orgasm all the sweeter.) 
   You were cumming like that, your moans resembling squeaks, your body feeling closer to a used fucktoy than a human being. The hero kept rutting against you, the joint efforts of his cock and hand mercilessly continuing to abuse your spasming cunt while your cries filled the space with their decadence. 
   You felt dirty, guilty, maybe even a little ashamed as the orgasm briefly gave you a clarity of mind your arousal had clouded.
   And yet, despite it all, it had been the best you felt in years, possibly ever. As the Pro now tugged your hair, forcing you to wrench your neck just enough to look at him over your shoulder, you couldn't help licking your lips in expectation of what he had in store next.
   "You're gonna show me your face next time you come, little villain." He gave you just enough time to nod, eyebrows drawn as your pleasure got impossibly dragged out by the stimulation he still bathed you with. "And you're gonna keep begging me, keep showing me why you deserve to stay free, okay?"
   It was commendable, how collected he managed to sound while thrusting into your thighs like that, the sounds of skin slapping against skin driving each of his words home. 
   "Yes, fuck, whatever you want…" Despite your senses shortly coming back earlier, you were still too far gone to rethink your poor choices. You just knew you wanted more, and so you asked for it. "Just give me more, please."
   So fucking obedient. If your parents could see you know, their failure of a villain daughter being all proper and learning to beg for what she wanted? Well, perhaps saying they'd be proud was a stretch, considering you were also the one getting fucked in the middle of a filthy alley. 
   What you hadn’t expected, however, was just how well your begging would work. 
   Because the next thrust of his shaft was not between your legs, but aimed to finally breach your needy cunt instead, easily filling you up in one go with how utterly soaked in both of your juices you already were. The girth of him had you already clenching with renewed vigor, his hand stopping his assault on your clit just to give you enough time to truly savor the new intoxicating sensation.
   And when your eyes found his again, so drunk on the waves of pleasure you were that you also failed to notice the lack of scarlet coloring the orbs boring into yours, now inescapable voids of dark desire and a type of intense fixation you thought hadn't been there moments ago. 
   (Or maybe it was always there, and you had been too busy with your own turmoil to notice the clues being left by your so-called enemy).
   "Want me to stuff you properly?" His guttural question hit you at the same time as his sharp movements found your tender spot with experienced ease, walls tightening around him while your entire body struggled to continue holding yourself upright, relying more and more on the capture weapon to keep you from toppling over. 
   The binds still hurt from how tightly they wrapped around you, bruises sure to be left on their wake, but by that point you weren't so sure anymore the sting was an entirely bad thing. If anything, it just made the pleasure all the sweeter by comparison.  
   "Want me to fill you with so much cum that you reek of hero cock for the rest of the week?" He laughed while he regurgitated some of your words from earlier, the hand pressing against your lower stomach caressing you with a distinct sense of ownership as he elicited another loud moan with a sharp movement of his hips. 
   Noticing you reacting not only to his actions but to his quips, you could practically hear the self congratulatory smirk as he spoke next.
   "Bet the other villains would love knowing how much of a cockhungry whore you turned into too, doll. Talk about fraternizing with the enemy."
   And he was right, in a way. Because what would your fellow villains think, seeing you being wrecked by one of the most infamous Pros in the business, lowering yourself to pleading and screaming as he rearranged your insides. 
   Would you get called a disloyal whore or just a plain traitor? Not only would your spotless reputation and the myth you had fought to build collapse, but from its ashes your eternal shame could be erected. 
   A shame that would tower over you, looming around you while the eyes of your peers followed you everywhere. You could even picture the jests veered your way, the looks of utter disgust and ridicule...
   Somehow, the idea of anyone finding out only made your screams grow louder, impossibly more fervent. 
   "Fucking… get on with it."
   However, his rhythm was rapidly interrupted after your jab, his cock pulling out almost entirely as your core convulsed with the sudden staggering emptiness it was left to grapple with. More whimpers, struggling against the set of eternally unforgiving ties encasing your body. 
   "But you're making me do all the work, little one" Another slap shook your entire frame as it landed heavily on your still pained cheeks. You were so sore, both from the previous set of hits and from the sheer exhaustion starting to set in, muscles tight and resentful from the awkward positions your body had been manhandled into. "If you really want to continue this, how about you start doing some of the heavy lifting, uh?" Just like before, his palm started massaging the tender spot he had just smacked, fingers digging into your supple flesh being as close to comforting as the Pro seemed capable of. "Show me just how good you can be."
   And you could've argued, truly, could've even attempted to hold onto the last vestiges of your pride…
   You could’ve done a lot of things, but the truth was that when his weapon relented its hold at last, retreating from the underside of your knees and giving in just a smidge for the first time since you had been captured, you didn't waste any seconds before you were chasing after your high with renewed vigor.
   Greedily sinking into him with an obscene sigh, you audibly marveled at the curve of his member being deliciously imprinted in your insides. While you copied the cadence the Hero had previously employed, his grip on your lower belly fluttered, almost like he couldn't decide whether to take control back or allow you to humiliate yourself further with your own zealousness. 
   It seemed like the later prospect won him over in the end though, because he remained almost impassively still as you did all the work needed to bring you both deliriously close to your peaks. 
   The sight must've been spectacular, watching you, renown villain V/N, so thoroughly broken and willing to heed his every command. Impaling yourself on his cock, moaning and continuing to beg him for something you were already taking for yourself. 
   If he died right then and there, he doubted Heaven wouldn't have as much appeal as the scene still unfolding before his eyes. (But again, considering his actions, Heaven wouldn't really be the right place for either of you.)
   You were just about to reach your second orgasm, toes curling inside your shoes, fists clenched and a face that spelt poetic extasis. Angling the way you took his cock, every single movement driving him painstakingly deeper, slamming against a spot that made you imagine the stars falling from the sky all around you, their light being the one bathing you instead of the malfunctioning street lamps. 
   So goddamn close…
   Only to have him pull out again, this time completely. You were clenching against nothing, all stimulation stolen from you, and the bitterness of a ruined orgasm promptly dragged curses and complaints out of you before you could even think to stop them. 
   Eyes searched his, urgently seeking an explanation for his withdrawal only to find his glare fixated instead on that same dirty pair of stockings that had started it all. 
   Eraserhead must have taken the garment out of his pocket sometime while he fucked you, unfolding it from its scrunched up state until the crotch was visibly presented for both of you to admire, dark sheer fabric still stained from a mix of your arousal and spit. 
   When the Pro looked at you again, a beautifully dark smile topped his attractive face. He looked painfully content, the way he studied your own mortified expression reminding you of an artist studying his masterwork. 
   "Only the truly obedient ones get their cunts filled." You noticed then how his other hand was jerking him off again, erection rubbing against the nylon undergarments in a most obscene depiction. Too bad you were too frustrated to appreciate any of it. "I don't think you've… hell, you haven't earned it yet, V/N."
    You didn't even notice you were tearing up from the annoyance until it was too late. And maybe that was what finally did it, seeing you actually crying at his refusal to breed you like the slut you both knew you were, writhing in exaggerated despair as you found yourself feeling jealous of a stupid pair of tights, because not long after your pathetic reaction the man was letting out a pained groan of his own and spilling himself all over the damned garment. 
   But instead of rubbing your wailing in your face after he came down from his own delicious high, last few spurts of cum slowing down to a halt, you were surprised instead by the weapon that had been binding you for the longest time finally retreating.
   As expected, you unceremoniously collapsed to the floor, feet now unprepared for supporting your weight and your entire being wholly exhausted after enduring the roughest fuck you had ever experienced. It hurt all over, although you weren't sure whether your still present longing wasn't what pained you the most. 
   When you looked up to the Pro again, trying to find an answer to the new freedom you were experiencing, you were surprised by having the cum-dripped stockings thrown in your face. 
   And quite literally so, the still wet seed dribbling down your cheek and into your trembling lips, all before you collected enough wits to grab the offending item and pull it down with an expression of unadulterated disgust. 
   "Sorry, doll, but you were pouting so irresistibly," The Eraser user actually laughed, this time the sound coming with an untroubled merriment you did not think he was capable of.
   He actually looked worn out while he tucked himself back into his costume, accommodating the pieces of clothing until all hints from your ravenous affair disappeared. The bandages were wrapping themselves around his neck once more, looking more like an extravagant scarf than the most precise set of inmovilazing gear you had ever endured. 
   However, something about his attitude had you forgetting all about his newest slight, much too worried by a new cause of worry. 
   "Hold on..."
   Eraserhead looked down at you from his place after you raised your voice, urging you to continue as he finished getting himself presentable. The air of nonchalance around him was almost more intimidating than any of the actual threats or vulgar comments he had voiced prior. Almost.
   "Are you…" you swallowed the sudden lump in your throat, voice still raspy and hoarse after what had just transpired. "Are you really letting me go?"
   The man just raised one of his eyebrows at that, eyes crinkling for the first time and looking strangely amused. 
   "Doll, I stopped exerting my quirk on you while I was still teasing you good and proper," he declared bluntly. When his orbs glimmered again, you now felt like an imbecile as you finally realized they had completely lost the reddish hue to them. "So you know what? I thought you deserved to get an out of jail free card for behaving yourself… even if you still need to work some more on your manners."
   To call your shocked expression dumbfounded would be a disservice. 
   When his now bottomless eyes bore into yours for one final time, all you could do was stare back in dazzled shock. Your quirk was back, the Pro himself had just confirmed it, and yet you were still nailed to the spot, still anticipating his next words without even thinking of attacking him in the meantime.
   One little tumble and you were already his brightest pupil yet. He was now so glad to have waited that long, it only made the outcome all the more fulfilling. 
   "You don’t need to be so surprised, Y/N, we'll be seeing each other soon,” He kneeled in front of you for an instant, both hands reaching out to hold up your face in a gesture more resembling a lover than… well, whatever the hell you two were. So entranced you were then, that the use of your real name barely even registered. “It’s been difficult to keep you away from trouble thus far,” his acknowledgment reverberated in the alley, its meaning something else lost to you as you couldn’t help but become entranced by the new peculiar softness he addressed you with, “but getting you like this now, seeing you break so easily… fuck, I’ll mold you right back up, doll, you don’t need to worry your pretty little head about anything else.”
   And just then, for the first time you realized, the Hero’s lips were brushing against yours gently, uncharacteristically careful as he kissed you slowly. Even his hands were tender while they guided you, treating you as if you truly were a doll that could just be snapped with a mere wrong movement. As if he hadn’t just been treating you like a dirty hole for him to use and abuse just short instants ago. 
   But at least he did not seem to care about the mess that was your face at the moment, about the cum stains or the still damp trails of tears. And, for whatever reason, you found yourself returning the gesture in kind, melting into the oddly affectionate touch of a man you were still halfway sure you loathed. 
   Even after he left you, alone and a mess still toppled over on the floor with the shadow of humiliation cloaking your shoulders, your fingers couldn’t help but touch your lips with a bizarre mixture of bewilderment and horror.
   He told me I would see him soon, your mind supplied as you found yourself irreparably fixating your stare on the pair of now completely ruined tights you were still holding onto. The fact that you felt any type of excitement about the notion did not fail to mortify you. 
   God, even for villain standards you were fucked. 
But it was okay, because misery loved company and, with time at his disposal and the right amount of coaching, Shouta was sure he could teach you to properly crave his soon enough.
— — — 
And, 8k of foul smut later, if y’all read through that whole thing... drop by my ask to recieve your congratulatory gold stars! ⭐ (jk but I do appreciate hearing y’alls thoughts, it’s what keeps me halfway productive 🖤)
Last but not least, very special thanks to my best pals @reinawritesbnha��, @snappysnapo​ and @drxwsyni​ (who actually proof read this and helped me out immensely with her Big Brain Feedback. A TALENTED ANGEL). 
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aurora-light-blog · 2 years
Text
The Mysterious Leng
       By Shella Longclaw
Westeros has had to rely on mostly Qartheen resources to inform us about Leng. Colloquo Votar only traveled as far as Qarth and possibly Yin, though he claims to have visited all the islands of the Jade Sea. Like Lomas Longstrider, who claims to have visited Asshai, maesters didn’t believe his claim, nor I do believe Votar’s. My sources of information concerning Leng comes from half Yi Tish half Lengii of Jinqi and Yin. They attest to the fact that there are apes and tigers on the island. As for "ten thousand tigers and ten million monkeys,” this allegation is obvious wrong. Leng has no monkeys. Yi Ti has four different types of monkeys. As for the spotted hunchback ape, the interpreter is partly to blame. There are spotted apes, however hunchback is a famous illness for the spotted apes. They are intelligent. As for hooded apes, I was fortunate enough to see one. I’m not a tall woman. The ape’s height was to my belly. They’re not the size of giants. As for the ten thousand tigers, there are truly just two breeds with five different color furs. This attest to the inaccuracy of previous records. My conclusion for the Qarth influence stems from the statement of “not welcoming outsiders.” A look into the history and culture of the Lengii will help gain insight.
Lengii worship the God of Balance. The Lengii in Leng Ma still worship only him and the god-empress. Some people of Leng Yi worship various gods and goddess of Yi Tish. Since the conquest of Leng by Emperor Jar Har, Lengii and Yi Tish have intermarried. Emperor Jar Joq evilly tried to forced all Lengii to marry Yi Tish in order to dissolve Leng. The great orange eye conspiracy was establish. They fooled the emperor by making him believe that half Yi Tish and half Lengii offspring could have either light orange eyes or golden eyes. Lengii secretly had affairs. The truth was only revealed after Leng gained its independence. How is this important? All of the Maroon emperors were in fact part Lengii. This gives more insight into the Leng. They’re a fierce people, who fought to keep their culture and ways under Yi Tish rule. They’re very strict but fair people, where females play an equal part in government and the army. According to the God of Balance, all men and women are equal. All men are equal. This point contradicts Qarth who practice slavery. 
A Qartheen prince once visited Leng Yi with his slaves. He and his fellow Qartheen were sacrifice to the Old Ones, while their slaves were set free. Lengii are violently opposed to slavery. With the Free Cities practicing slavery, it is a good thing that they only venture to Yin. Though, I saw Summer Isles swan ships in the ports of Leng Yi and Turrani. My dragon and I were barred from visiting the island. Dragons are considered too destructive. They would consume too much food, thus causing the island to be imbalance. The Lengii didn’t harm or threaten me. This could have been because of my fire breathing beast. Yet,other tales stated similar polite behavior.
The most interesting finding is the shared origin of Naath with Leng. According to the Lengii, a group of peacefully Lengii left their home during the great battle against the Bloodstone Emperor. They believe the Naathi are their distant relatives. The Naathi golden eyes, which Lengii shared with them does add some merit to this. We could conclude the Lengii mated with the Summer Isle people and created the Naathi as we know them now. There is another proof. A mysterious group of Lengii called Hunters of the Forest have practice of small poison drinking. It isn’t sorcery. It’s science. They believe if a person consume small amounts of poison, their body will grow stronger than the poison. This might be how the Lengii were able to settle on Naath without dying from the Butterfly Fever. The Hunters of the Forest are skilled assassins. There are no sorcerers on Leng. Interestingly, the warlocks of Qarth are terrified of the Hunters of the Forest. The Lengii don’t fear magic. Some Yi Tish said that, “Leng protects the world from the evils of Asshai.”
The only true mystery of Leng is the Old Ones, who are still alive. They don’t seem to be worshiped by the Lengii. They’re closer to a powerful Small Council. All the rulers of Leng seek their guidance. Only the ruler and their sworn guards can be in their presences and live. Even Emperor Jar Har knew better than approaching them. They are one mystery, which should be trodden carefully. I hope to visit Leng to learn about the island, once I can find lodging for my dragon. The kingdoms of the Far East are not to be fear but understood by their own words. I hope more maesters and explorers venture there.
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capri-ramblings · 4 years
Note
Ooh requests are open! Can I request some headcanons on how the yandere octavinelle trio + Malleus and Lilia would react to their s/o being poisoned and afflicted with sleeping death where the only cure is true loves kiss? And surprisingly, their s/o actually wakes up afterwards.
Excuse me,yansweet, how dare you have such a deliciously well thought idea? I didn't do Azul and Floyd because they ended up a bit too similar with Jade though,so I hope you don't mind! 💖💖
Please Refer to Pinned Post. [This post was set on cued!]
[ True love's kiss? ]
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Malleus Draconia
- Malleus is furious at first.
- He's blundering the halls of his castle when he hears of the misfortune cursed onto you
- How dare anyone lay their hands on you? And who were the fools who were so incompetent to allow it in the first place?
- This Fae King is ready to tear down the walls of his ancestral home until Lilia comes to soothe his anger, reminding him that if it was a curse begotten by another other than himself that there would be a cure for it no doubt.
- So,he simmers down. Compels himself to unsheath his claws and fury for another day.
- For now, he must go see you
- He smiles lightly when he does; The mere figure of you laid atop his bed in what seemed to be a deep slumber dousing his rage of fire.
- What an odd feeling he has when you are present. This gentleness that you evoke in his core is something Malleus believes no other being could give him.
- You are his special bride. His soulmate.
- "A true love's kiss" He murmurs underneath his breath, earning glances from both Lilia and Silver as they stood on each of his sides.
- Malleus considers this notion thoughtfully, wondering if he'd be able to do so for he wasn't a fool (though he felt he was one for your love) and he was aware of how stoic and reserved you had been with him despite the closeness he's tried to build with you.
- If he had kissed you then and you remained asleep. It would shatter a great deal of both his pride and heart.
- How would he cope with such a rejection?
- Truly,if he couldn't have you then no one else would have the chance to be.
- But if he did not attempt this then you'd remain asleep forever, and that seemed a fate worst than death or rejection.
- For then you'd be further away from him. You would have your freedom,your peace and he would be left with just a remnant of your existence.
- No, Malleus didn't want that.
- He wanted you, your soul,your laugh. He wanted to see the glistening of life kindling in your eyes, the sound of your voice cooing in his ears.
- If you remained in deep slumber, he would have none of this
- And he'd go mad.
- The world would matter not to him.
- If you demanded a kiss to awaken, he will give it to you. And if you refused him, he would litter your body with each mark of affection he has to offer.
- For if the Fates denied him your love , he would deny the world of peace.
- "Leave."
- The words were an order,drawled out with enough demand that Lilia and Silver didn't spare a second to obey.
- Malleus strode to his bed and allowed his gaze to drink the sight of your serene beauty bared before him, the way the light sprites lingered around you reminding him of a star he saw when he was younger.
- He wanted to ask you if you'd be willing to have him. If you could find it in your heart to accept his twisted one.
- Surely, a life encased in a dream was far from what you wanted as well?
- He knew you always had a spirit for living, and that by keeping you at his side Malleus had taken that away from you.
- But he'd promise to not repeat his mistakes.
- He'd allow you the freedom you so wished for so long as you accepted him as your one and only.
- Your true love. That's what he wanted.
- Malleus takes the place beside you, his weight causing the bed to sink ever so slightly as he leaned down to your face.
- Your subtle scent of flowers and grass greeting his senses almost immediately.
- "Be mine" He cooed,coaxed. Voice as gentle as a summer's breeze, a yearning song from the woods. "And I will give you the world."
- His lips presses onto yours gently and without a hint of greed in it. The sensation of being ruffled by the wind causing Malleus to furrow his brows before he loosened his body and deepened the kiss.
- Once he pulled away and your eyes remained shut, Malleus gripped the sheets. Expression feral, like a wounded beast.
- But then, your chest heaved a fraction more than it did before and Malleus watched in awe as your eyelids began to flutter open and your lips parted in a silent murmur.
- "___?" Your name leaves him breathless as it slips from his mouth and you turn your head in his direction.
- The glazed look in your gaze slowly regaining its composure the longer you lingered on his expression.
- "Malleus..." You called,soft and gentle it has him craning his head over you like a shrine to be worshipped. His hands gathering yours as he lifts them up to his lips where he lets it linger on your skin.
- "Malleus,I...I was asleep..."
- "Cursed,my raven." Malleus cut in, the hint of aggression he held before returning. "Someone had cursed you into an eternal sleep"
- Your expression shifted,from dazed to disbelief as you looked around the room before returning to Malleus's grief stricken form.
- "Eternity didn't seem to change much of your room."
- Malleus's eyes widened.
- Then,he laughed at you for that. A sound so broken and worn,you had trouble believing it came from the very same Fae who you knew to be cold and proud.
- "You didn't reached an eternity yet. I broke the curse." He said, and you tilted your head.
- "How?" The question was a quiet one, as if you didn't want to stir up the silence in the room.
- Malleus looked you straight in the eyes then. Gaze still and unwavering.
- "With a kiss." He said "A true love's kiss."
- And if that didn't answer his pleas, then perhaps, you could tell him yourself. For now, he knew the Fates were on his side and nothing you say would make him think otherwise.
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Jade Leech
- Jade is livid.
- The very seams of control and patience he's paid attention to uphold slips through his facade like sand and his fists feel cold.
- The rush of aggression coursing through his veins then makes him see red as he strides his way to you.
- Floyd and Azul are waiting on him there, each standing at either side of your bed. He wants to tell them off for it, to bare his jaws and tell them that he didn't need anyone to play nurse for you.
- He knows it's unreasonable to act in such a way but he can't help it.
- All that meticulous planning to keep you from others reach, wasted.
- And it's entirely your fault,isn't it? You and your stubborn will to slither away from your one and only. The ungratefulness has Jade seething with more rage than he could ever contain.
- If only you'd stay put and not run off...This wouldn't be happening. You wouldn't be hit by that curse and Jade wouldn't need to wrack his brain for a solution to this mess.
- His wrath is silent though. Not a single word escapes him as he takes in the sight of your sleeping figure.
- Floyd makes a chide comment about it, ignoring the harsh glower in Jade's eyes but ultimately saved by Azul who seemed able to read the mood and divert the topic towards another.
- It takes days for them to figure out the cure for your curse but even when it's laid on the table before him, Jade finds himself frowning.
- A true love's kiss? What kind of childish fantasy was this? How could a curse strong enough to keep you asleep for an eternity be broken by a mere kiss?
- Surely this was some sort of joke. Jade turns to Azul for another possibility, but the Octo-Mer simply shakes his head.
- Jade involuntarily clicks his tongue, something he rarely does so openly but he thanks Azul for the information and asks to be left alone.
- He doesn't need anyone telling him the consequences if his kiss doesn't stir you awake.
- Then again, if he doesn't at least attempt to do anything, you'd remained unconscious and that was practically a death sentence wasn't it?
- Jade applauds you for making him internally conflicted. The fact that you alone could make him want to tear apart the world was no small feat after all.
- He somehow feels entitled to answer this ridiculous demand of yours, seeing that if he does wakes you up then it will be something he'll use against you
- Because if Jade breaks the curse it means you and him were meant to be, and he'd have the proof for it.
- So,he swallows his rage and he leans down to kiss you.
- In that moment where you actually stir awake and let out this almost pained gasp, Jade finds himself staring at you in awe.
- The very chains of his possessiveness coiling around you as his thoughts gathered together in one single notion of acceptance.
- He was your true love's kiss.
- How fascinating. How rewarding.
- Safe to say after this little event, Jade's primal aggression over you heightens to a frightening degree. Though oddly enough, he lets you do whatever you wished, going as far as allowing you to live away from him.
- And this is because, Jade has the full assurance that no matter how far a distance you placed between you and him or how harsh you acted towards his affection, it doesn't change the fact that if you were to fall into a deep slumber, the only one to pull you out from it is none other than Jade himself.
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Lilia Vanrouge
- Lilia's temper simmers but he isn't entirely mad enough to start a war.
- No,he's a patient man and one with boundless knowledge.
- He's quick to identify the curse as a traditional sleeping curse and finds the cure for it rather amusing.
- He doesn't know if he's your so called true love, knowing very well that the relationship he's put you in is one similar to eternal confinement, but his heart flutters at the thought of you waking up because of his kiss, even if he knows it will never happen.
- Lilia is enamored by you, so much that he's taken note of every single aspect of your life. From your lineage to the people you linger about with to that boy you've always been in love with ever since your childhood years.
- You can't really hide anything from him, can you?
- He wonders if he can cheat the little curse with a transfiguration spell but then laughs at himself for such naive thinking.
- Instead, he sings you songs, every night. Not lullabies or love poems, but songs of ancient Faes. The kind that spins humans into a web of submission both body and soul.
- Oh,he knows he isn't your true love but he could be the one you can't live without, and that's all the same for Lilia.
- The song weakens the spirit of a human, and in turn the body itself, and a curse will only last for either a certain amount of time or until the one afflicted by it is dead. So, Lilia pushes you into a near death state, lulling your senses so dangerously low until you're pale as death and he can barely hear your heartbeat.
- Then seconds before you die, he cuts the curse off and reverse the song, healing you completely. It's a flawless plan yet risky if not handled by the right hands. Lilia smiles at his success, and that smile broadens when he leans down to kiss you, minutes before you stir awake and find that the person you lifted your curse was none other than Lilia himself.
- You're confused, but relieved. You hadn't remembered how you were placed under such spell but you remember the death-like state you felt, the way your body seemed to grow weaker each passing day you kept your eyes shut, but then as immediately as it happened, the heavy burden disappears and is replaced by the most soothing sensation you've ever experienced.
- And it's all because Lilia kissed you?
- You couldn't actually believe it, but how do you doubt something that felt as gentle as the lips that saved you?
- Perhaps, you've misjudged him. Suddenly,Lilia didn't seem all that hard to love.
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bubblegumbeech · 2 years
Text
The Librarian’s Trick
Day one Ectoberhaunt: Trick or Treat
https://archiveofourown.org/works/34213519
 1:
 Wes was certain this Cassius guy was a ghost. He had to be. Humans didn’t live on the outskirts of town in large decrepit clock towers that Wes was      pretty sure didn’t exist last week    .
 Humans didn’t have red eyes and white hair (unless they had a condition called Albinoism, Wes had looked it up. But Albinoism      also     meant they had no melanin      anywhere    and Cassius Dark was decidedly tan in an admittedly attractive but decidedly not Albino kind of way)
 Humans didn’t have fangs when they smiled but normal teeth whenever Wes tried to point out that      He had FANGS. They were right there!!!  
 Humans didn’t spend all their time either with Danny Fenton (who was Also very much a ghost!! Which should be in the list of proof but no one believes it so it’s seperate but still!) or mysteriously absent.
 And humans didn’t seem to know everything all the time but talk like a bad astrology website.
 So Wes was going to find a way to prove it.
 His first try had him sneaking a “ghost translator” he didn’t remember the stupid name Fenton’s dad called it when he bought it with his allowance, into the library where Cassius Dark supposedly worked.
 Supposedly, because while he could be found there, Wes had never actually seen him doing anything other than reading. And it was never a book Wes recognized, like, he wasn’t reading the Twilight series or anything. The last book Wes saw had been a large ancient looking tome written in a language Wes didn’t recognize. But Everytime he tried (subtly! He was super nonchalant about it!) to take a picture it ended up blurry!! And No Kyle, it wasn’t because he was      bad at taking photos    .
 But that didn’t matter because Wes had a different plan now. He was going to use the Fentons’ new version of their “ghost translator” thing, and see what happened. It was supposed to be both a translator and a truth decoder at the same time. So no matter what a ghost said, the device should say what they actually mean. Or something.
 With Danny, a bunch of innocuous stuff went off around him, but people always hand waved it as faulty tech. Wes wasn’t sure that was the case, in fact he was positive it wasn’t. But if he could get something useful to build up from, that would be a good start. And every good reporter needed a start.
 He stepped up to the Library’s front desk, where Cassius was sitting reading what was      clearly     a spell tome if the different summoning pentagrams in the open page Wes could see were anything to go by.
 “Welcome Young Weston,” Cassius said, the hint of a smile hidden behind his red eyes as he closed his book. Wes could swear they were glowing slightly. Geez did this guy get his ‘how to pretend to be human’ classes from      Fenton    ?
 … that would certainly explain why no one ever believed Wes, since that was a long beaten dead horse in his closet.
 He, very discreetly, had the device hooked up to one of his earphones, which he kept in one of his ears like any normal less than perfectly mannered teenager as he asked Cassius Dark his questions.
 “Excuse me sir? Do you work here?” he started with, it was a more or less innocuous question and one he actually wanted the answer to.
 Cassius Dark smiled. “I do.”
 My Job is all that was, is, and shall be. That which I set as my goal is beyond mortal comprehension and those I call master shall fall to my machinations. But yes, I get paid for sitting at this desk and answering questions sometimes. I am a ghost, fear me.
 Wes tried not to sweat too obviously. What the fuck?
 “Can you tell me where the journalism section is?” Wes decided to make a tactical retreat, at least his voice didn’t crack.
 “Straight back for eight shelves and then turn right. It’s next to the Non-fiction books.”
 I know what you’re looking for, I know why you are here. I know the exact time of your death and what will happen next. Your efforts amuse me though. I am a ghost, fear me.
 What Wes did next was not      exactly     fleeing. But it wasn’t      not     fleeing either.
 He’d have to try something else.
 2:
 The next thing he wanted to try was a bit riskier. If you thought about it a certain way. But it also wasn’t if you thought about it the way Wes did.
 He was going to use a phase-proof net.
 Genius, because unlike the translator machine thing, it would actually stop the ghost from attacking Wes if it got angered. Which it would, probably, since Wes was throwing a net at it.
 The plan was really simple though, he’d gotten a very large net, paid extra for the little aim thing, practiced half a billion times of his brothers before they went to the parents and got him grounded for a week, and then memorized the path Cassius Dark took in the mornings to go to his “job” at the library.
 Right now he was hiding in one of the leafier trees, right above the path that Cassius always used, waiting.
 And waiting.
 And…      waiting.  
 Honestly he was about to go home and was fairly certain this guy was going to be like, super late to work, when he finally appeared.
 Wes wasted no time aiming, making sure the trajectory was absolutely perfect, and firing the net off. He was just about to jump in celebration, watching the net as it curled slightly around its target, but before it could hit and wrap around him, Cassius was suddenly not there.
 Or he was, but just a little bit to the left, so that the net sailed harmlessly past.
 Wes cursed.
 3:
 The third one was fool proof. It had to be.
 Which was why Wes was staring at a large conspiracy board, covered in paparazzi-esque shots of the librarian and random notes he’d taken, all connected with a dizzying amount of red string.
 “Kyle, seriously. I need to figure out what kind of ghost he is or he’s always going to have the upper hand!!”
 Kyle just rolled his eyes and continued playing his video game, as if he didn’t care that Wes had set up his very important planning and plotting in the middle of the living room so long as it didn’t interfere with his own plans.
 “It has to be pretty powerful, he was able to dodge my net before it even touched him. And the translator thing clearly said ‘my goal is beyond comprehension’ or something,” Wes mused, “and he also said his job was like, everything?”
 Wes checked his notes, “yeah, ‘all that is was and shall be’. What could he mean by that?”
 His very annoying and clearly not taking this as seriously as he should brother just chuckled. “I don’t know Wes, maybe he can see the future?”
 That… no. That’s way too OP. Just the thought of it sent a shiver down Wes’ spine. There was no way a ghost could see the future right?
 Right?
 He had to test this theory.
 But how do you even test something like that?
 “Kyle, how would you test if someone could see the future?”
 “Throw something at the back of their head and see if they dodge?” He answered way too quickly.
 Wes thought about it for a moment. “No, what if they just have really good reflexes?”
 “Oh huh, I guess that could be true. No idea then.” He shrugged and Wes had to fight the urge to throw something at the back of      his    head.
 Whatever. He had to make plans.
 He’d tried just throwing things. It was risky, and kind of terrifying, but Kyle was right it      was     the first that came to mind.
 But Cassius never dodged. He was always just, not where Wes thought he was. Or Wes had      really bad aim,    which he didn’t!!! He was a basketball ace!! He had great aim! And great situational awareness!!
 So why couldn’t he hit Cassius Dark?
 Obviously it was because he could see the future. And the smug smile he always had when he knew Wes was looking reminded him an awful lot of a certain other Phantom.
 4:
 Ask him about his family.
 Easy enough. Especially without the Fenton’s weird translator because that might have been a bit terrifying. And also this time he had back up.
 He dragged Kyle by his sleeve into the library.
 “Mr. Cassius!”
 Cassius looked up from his book, removing the delicate reading glasses balanced on his nose. “Can I help you Mr. Weston?”
 “Yes!” He smiled broadly, taking out a small notebook that he had used to take notes on the suspicious and ghoulish things going on around town until it was mostly shreds of paper. “I’m writing an OP ED on the town library, and would like to know more about the librarian. Can you answer a few personal questions?”
 Kyle snorted and Wes had to elbow him in the side to get him to shut up. He was here as back up, not to ruin his plan.
 “So,” he began, “is Cassius a family name?”
 “No.”
 Wes nodded. And then frowned. Did ghosts have families? Supposedly they were alive once right? At least that was the general idea, Wes thought.
 “So what can you tell us about your parents? Like, what’s your father’s name?”
 Cassius raised an eyebrow, and had a soft smile filled with good humor. Wes felt it hit him like a threat. What was this ghost hiding?
 Well, other than the fact that he’s a ghost.
 “I can’t tell you much I’m afraid. My mother is long gone and I never had a father.”
 Kyle grimaced and elbowed Wes himself before saying, “I’m sorry for your loss.”
 “It’s no matter,” Cassius replied, still smiling, “I may yet see her again.”
 Ah, so either she wasn’t dead or he’s convinced she became a ghost too. That made sense. It could be his unfinished business as they say among the paranormal hunters. At least, the not fight-y and crazy ones.
 “So Dark was your mother’s name?” Wes asked, wondering if he could maybe find any records on her where he had failed to find them on Cassius himself.
 The smile slid right off his face. Wes and Kyle both felt the subtle chill in the air as Cassius leaned back and looked off to the side, as if to glare at something that wasn’t there. “No, I’m afraid Dark is my ex-husband’s name.”
 “Why keep it?” Kyle asked, completely ignoring the danger of the situation.
 The smile came back, except this time instead of soft and barely there as if he were indulging a child, it was sharp and twisted. He chuckled at an inside joke no one else in the room would ever understand and then he said, “Well, it’s not like      he     has any use for it now.”
 Wes paled. Had he killed his husband?!
 5:
 After a hasty retreat from the library Wes treated Kyle to a milkshake and fries at the nasty burger just as he had promised. Payment for going along with his ‘weird ghost theories’.
 But Wes couldn’t eat, he was too busy thinking. This one actually helped! He found information about the ghost’s previous life! He had a mother, but not a father, and had a husband.
 With the current politics it was one of two options. Either he was from a previous culture that allowed men to marry each other, or he was a more recent ghost than Wes had been expecting. He had already taken out his laptop and was scrolling through obituaries with the surname Dark, trying to think if he knew any off the top of his head that might have been in town when they died.
 Nothing particular came to mind.
 Wes’ thinking was interrupted by a loud, obnoxious slurping noise from his brother. He shot him a glare, but Kyle didn’t react. Wasn’t even looking at him. Instead he was looking out the window and watching one of the daily ghost attacks with Phantom playing hero as always.
 “You know, it’s kinda cool that they’re hiring actors to build the town’s lore like that,” he said, clearly ignoring the obvious evidence of ghosts right outside his window.
 “What the      hell     are you talking about?” Wes groaned, rubbing at his eyes. He needed coffee or something, it was a shame the Nasty Burger only served sludge no sane person would drink.
 Kyle finally looked away from the window, his eyes wide as if      he     was the one confused. “You know, how they got the librarian to say he was married to Pariah Dark? And then imply he’s the reason he’s a ghost?”
 Wes felt like the seat underneath him had suddenly disappeared. “Where did you get      That    from?!”
 “He said his ex-husband was named Dark! Pariah Dark’s Ghost Zone show is the first thing that comes to mind!” Kyle argued back. “Isn’t it?”
 Holy shit this guy was married to the ghost king.
 He thought back to the ominous answers he’d gotten that first day from the Fentons’ translator. Maybe he should leave this one alone.
 +1
 Wes was at the library, studying quietly and absolutely avoiding the librarian. Not that he’d seen him today, but it didn’t hurt to keep his head down. With any luck the guy had a short memory and would forget Wes had been trying to find a way to out him to the town.
 A portal ripped from the air in front of him, sending a static energy throughout the library and causing Wes’ hair to stand on end. It was a swirling purple, deeper and more… well      more     than most of the natural portals that Wes had seen appear around town.
 He wanted to scream, but years of living in Amity Park had fully trained that out of him. Screaming was the number one way to get a ghost locked on you as their first target. Especially if you were there when the portal opened.
 Before Wes could even think to duck under the table he was using a figure stepped out of the portal, poised and composed. He had a deep purple hood that seemed to swirl with the fabric of galaxies and a large ornate clock embedded into his chest. His skin was a rich blue and he had glowing red eyes.
 Wes recognized him immediately.
 “Oh, hello Mr. Weston, is there something I can help you with?” Cassius Dark asked.
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wonder-kid-pugh · 3 years
Text
Waiting Long Enough - (Rose Lavelle x reader)
Happy Valentine's Day everyone!!! I was thankfully able to finish this late last night (sorry I was busy and only got to post it now). I'm working on another one but I'm not sure if I'll get it finished for today but I'll post it as soon as it's done. But for now I hope you enjoy!!!
The idea of soulmates is great. Scratch that it's euphoric. I mean imagine having someone who was literally made to be with you. Someone to be there for the good and bad days. Someone who does the little things for you just cause. Someone who gives you that sense of calm when the world might be falling around you. The perfect partner who knows you better than yourself sometimes.
In theory
The idea of soulmates is brilliant. But there's the small fact you have to consider. The fact of you have to find them first.
That's the part Rose struggled with.
Now they did have some help. Everyone had the day they meet their soulmate tattooed on their wrist. So you could imagine the feeling when Rose's tattoo told her she would meet her soulmate on Valentine's Day of all days.
Rose couldn't believe her luck. It seemed like something out of a movie. When she was younger she would always imagine these romantic chance encounters that would lead to her meeting her soulmate. Like something out of a fairy tail. How she would meet her soulmate and would be swept off her feet for the love holiday and fall in love.
The thought of it sounded perfect except for one thing......
The tattoo told you the day....not the year
So it was a repetitive cycle of heartbreak as Rose would wake up excited for Valentine's Day only to be disappointed when she wouldn't meet her soulmate. She tried to stay optimistic but it was hard when year after year pasted only for her to remain single on her own having no one to celebrate the holiday with.
Now it wasn't fool proof. I mean there was plenty of other situations where the soulmate tattoo failed. There was Lindsey and Sonnet for example. Obviously they had both met at camp but they had never expected it to be one of their teammates. And Sonnett still to this day would have thought her soulmate would have been that girl at the coffee shop if it wasn't for a friendly game of Truth or Dare at a team bonding session which she was dared to kiss her the blonde colorado native which revealed their initials which burned underneath their tattoos.
It also didn't help that this year Rose had to spend Valentine's Day in camp surrounded by couples.
"Who shit in your cereal?" Kelley laughs as she see Rose glare at the Valentine's decorations that littered the meal room. "Shut it" Rose mutters as she stabs at her breakfast with her spoon. "What's up Rosie?" Alex asks as she sits beside her best friend. Sonnett laughs, "Yeah you don't look really in the loving spirit".
Rose just rolls her eyes, "Well excuse me that I don't feel up for celebrating Valentine's Day when I'm the only person on the team who hasn't met their soulmate". Mal gives the girl a small smile, "Sorry Rosie". Alex gives her a sympathetic smile, "I know it sucks but you shouldn't let that get you down. Who knows? Maybe today will be the day you meet them?".
But Rose lets out a sigh as she plays with her food, "I rather not get my hopes up only to be disappointed. Like every year". "Well what are your plans for the day?" Mal asks trying to stir away from the conversation of Love which was clearly upsetting the girl. Rose just shrugs, "Probably the same as every year I'll probably end up just watching TV and drown myself in junk food and wait until the day passes".
Sonnett scoffs, "How are you planning on meeting your soulmate if you don't even leave the hotel?" Rose just gives the blonde a look, "That is rich coming from the pair that thought that having the same tattoo was a coincidence. If it wasn't for Kelley daring you to kiss each other at Truth or Dare you idiots still wouldn't know". Sonnett pouts, "Harsh". Lindsey shrugs, "But true".
Kelley points her fork at the blondes, "I still expect to be godmother of your first child.....or your child be named at me I'm fine with either".
While the two blondes blush furiously, Kelley turns back to Rose, "They are right though". Rose just glares at the defender as she raises her hands in surrender, "Hey how do you expect the love of your life to find you if you don't even give them a chance?"
Rose huffs because as much as she didn't want it admit it, Kelley was right. The chance of her soulmate finding her while she was couped up in her room feeling sorry for herself was very unlikely. "Well what do you want me to do? Walk around wearing a sign saying, "Are you my soulmate?""
Kelley shrugs, "I mean if it works..."
Alex sighs and shakes her head, "And you were doing so well..." Kelley looks at her best friend hurt, "Hey!" Mal turns to Rose, "They're right you should do something tonight". Rose bites her lip she knew her teammates were right but after years of searching she really didn't feel like having another let down. Mal puts her hand on the midfielders shoulder, "Look some of us were planning on going to a club tonight. You should come with us".
Rose frowns, "I don't know Mal". Lindsey jumps in, "C'mon it'll be fun! Worst case scenario you don't meet them and you have a good time with us. Best case scenario you find your soulmate and you thank us forever".
Rose bites her lip as she thinks for a second before sighing running her hand through her hair, "Fine what do I have to lose". The youngsters cheer as Mal wraps her arm around her, "Tonight's gonna be fun!" Rose sighed
She could only hope so
...........
Rose soon realised early on that her friends were wrong. They had barely been in the club and hour and she had already lost her friends. Granted they had lost Lindsey and Sonnett 15 minutes after entering the club. Rose rolled her eyes thinking that they were no doubt making out in the bathroom right now or worst not that Rose wanted to think about the later.
All she knew is that one second she was dancing with Mal and the others and the next she suddenly couldn't see anyone. She felt like she had searched the entire club but couldn't find any of her friends.  Rose pushed her way through the crowd hoping to find someone at the bar hopefully (she knew there was a 50 percent chance Kelley would be there) only to be disappointed when she didn't find anyone.
Rose let out a sigh as she slips her phone out of her to text the girls but before she can even switch on the phone she feels someone sliding up to her. A bit too close for her liking. "Hey there". Rose looks up to see a man smiling at her. Rose had to hold back a wince as he looked her up and down with what could only he described as a predatory look. Rose could only give him a small smile before turning away slightly trying to text one of the girls. But obviously he didn't get the hint as he just leans closer into her, "You here alone?"
Letting out a sigh she turns back to him, "I'm sorry but I have to go". She pushes her way back to the entrance before leading the club. Rose starts to text Mal that she was leaving to go back to the hotel when she bumped into someone.
"Oof" she grunts as she stumbles backwards from the collision. But before she could fall arms wrap around her steading her. "Oh gosh I'm so sorry". Rose shakes it off, "It's fine. I wasn't looking where I was going".
But when Rose looked up she let out a small gasp
As blue met green it had felt like the world had stopped. It was like Rose had temporarily forgot how to breathe as she looked into the stunning green eyes that peered down at her. And they would have no doubt stayed like that if it weren't for the shout behind her.
Rose couldn't help the groan as she turned to see the same guy from the club had followed her out. He gives her a grin, "There you are!" Rose sighs before speaking bluntly, "Look I'm sorry but I'm not interested". The man didn't look a bit deterred though as he just shrugs with a smile, "You sure I can't change your mind?" Before Rose can even think about saying anything she feels someone wrap their arm around her waist, "I think she's okay". I look behind me to see the same person from before that I bumped into her.
The guy looked a little taken back before he shakes it off, "Well if you ever change your mind you know where to find me". He sends the soccer player one last wink because strolling back into the club. Rose scoffs before smiling at her saviour, "Thanks. I don't think he would have left me alone if you hadn't stepped in".
But the stranger just shyly rubs the back of her neck, "No worries. Consider it an apology for barging into your earlier". It was this time that Rose got a good look at her saviour. She was seemed to tower over her. Not as tall as Sam but still tall. She was wearing jeans paired with a tight muscle tee which showed off her biceps. But what drew Rose in was the soft green eyes. They were so gentle and caring.
Rose suddenly realised that she was staring and blushed brightly already feeling the heat pour off her face, "W-well uh t-thank you for the help. I'm sorry for bumping into you". She gives me a smile, "I-its no problem".
Rose bit her lip playing with her phone before smiling at her, "Uh well I better go". Rose was silently hoping she would say something to stop her from leaving but she only nods. The midfielder gives her one last smile before brushing past her. She couldn't deny that the simple contact sent shivers up her spine like a shock of electricity.
But Rose had only made it about 5 steps before she was called back. Rose had to bite her lip to try and stave off the smile before she turned back around. The girl was sheepishly rubbing the back of her neck, "Uh do you mind if I walk you back? Just so I know you get there safely". But she immediately starts to stutter, "Uh unless that's weird. Yeah that's weird I-I'm sorry. Feel free to tell me to get lost".
But the poor girl was cut off by Rose giggling, "Yeah I would like that". She grins as she falls into step with the soccer player as they start the trek back to the hotel. It's quiet for a moment before the girl speaks up again, "I never got your name?" The midfielder smiles up at her, "Rose". She starts to chuckle making Rose tilt her head at her, "What?" She shrugs, "Nothing just that my name is Daisy". Rose couldn't help but snort, "Seriously?" She nods, "Seriously".
After that the conversation just flowed. The two were able to talk about anything and everything. Rose talked about soccer and her love of dogs which sparked off Daisy talking about her job as a vet. She even showed Rose some pictures of the animals she helped even if Rose mainly focused on the dogs.
But sadly it seemed that their time was up as they came up to the hotel. They stopped at the entrance neither knowing what exactly to do and both hoping to find some way of making this run longer. "Well this is me" Rose says quietly. Daisy just rocks on the balls of her feet, "Yeah.."
Rose bites the inside of her cheek hoping that something anything would happen to prevent her from going inside just yet. Rose had never felt more connected to anyone like this. Sure she had met people that she thought could have been her soulmate but none that gave her butterflies like this. But part of her held back scared of yet another failed attempt which she couldn't help after years of false hope.
But before she could even think of anything to say it was Daisy who filled the silence, "I-I know we've only met but c-can I try something?" Rose just silently nods as she watches the girl nervously step towards her. The soccer players breathe hitches as the taller girl cupped her face in her hands. But she couldn't help but lean into the warmth of her hand. Daisy searched her eyes looking for any bit of hesitance or doubt but when she found none she started to lean in. Both of them slowly started to lean until their lips met in a sweet and gentle kiss.
The kiss was unlike anything the girls had ever felt before. It would have gone on longer if no doubt for the burn they both felt on their wrists' making them pull back. Rose smiles down at the D.C now tattooed on her wrist forever more before looking up at her soulmate, "You don't know how long I've been waiting for that". Daisy just chuckles as she pulls out her wallet, "I always carry this in my wallet. It always felt right, I just didn't really know why until now".
Rose scrunches her face until Daisy hands her a  pressed flower....a rose to be exact. Rose smiles brightly before leaning back up to press another kiss to her lips. And that was the start of the story of Rose and Daisy. And their blossom relationship.
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write-ur-wrongs · 3 years
Text
Mother, Mother pt.2
A/N: Finally ready to post part 2 of my dad!Geralt fic!!! Part 2 is loosely based on this prompt Another request with baby!👀🥰 Reader has a newborn and geralt is just watching them thinking about how much have changed and how reader turned his life around...🍪 so I really want to thank that anon for their prompt and their patience! I definitely took some liberties with this story and worry the plot got lost along the way(?) but I really hope you like it nonetheless! Full disclosure I haven’t proof-read this piece so forgive the many typos!!
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“I said, no,” Geralt repeated himself slowly and with great authority, “thank you.”
The village healer looked at the witcher with eyes wide in disbelief, unable to accept that there was anything a witcher wouldn’t do for coin. Especially this witcher – the White Wolf – or so they used to call him. He used to be a force to be reckoned with on the continent, but now it seemed there was rarely a job he’d be willing to take.
“No? B-but who will help us!” they shouted desperately, “you can’t just leave this village to fend for itself! The creature will kill us all, Witcher!”
Geralt closed his eyes and took a deep breath before repeating himself yet again. “Please understand, I can’t help you, but I know people who can. Eskel is highly qualified and will be here by the next full moon. He will help you; I assure you.”
“But you’re here now,” the healer said, still shaking his head, “you could resolve this by nightfall! Why should these people wait a week for peace?”
“Hm.” He growled, lowly, biting down on his cheek to keep himself from giving into his rage and his pride. He wasn’t just living for himself anymore, not just living for the coin or by the witcher’s code; he had a family now.
He knew the world wouldn’t be easy to convince regarding his change in career path. Hell, it had taken most of your pregnancy to convince his brothers at Kaer Morhen of his plans. When he first told them you were pregnant, and it was his, they laughed heartily while sharing quick looks of concern between one another; fearing you’d strayed and were trying to play poor Geralt for a fool.
Yet that reaction was nothing compared to the one they gave him when Geralt admitted that his days of being a witcher were over. He’d be a consultant now. He’d travel the continent only when he heard of monsters through Jaskier’s letters, and once he reached these villages, he’d take stock and refer the case to one of his brothers, who’d pay him a modest commission for the referral. Geralt never took contracts he deemed to be too dangerous (which, so it happened, was most of them). The rule was if he wouldn’t readily bring Cirilla along to help, it was too dangerous for him alone.
Once, he let pride take precedence and he accepted a contract he knew was dangerous. It felt good to be back in the saddle, both literally and figuratively. He and Roach took to the forest like birds on a breeze, and his sword was just an extension of himself as he wielded it fiercely and with grace.
While he did conquer the beast in the end, it did put up quite a fight, and everything he thought made the fight worth it was washed away the instant he limped into your home and saw the look on his pregnant wife’s face and heard the cries of his beloved child surprise. To this day, he still feels the panicked sound of Ciri’s fearful shriek and your horrified sob weigh heavily in the pit of his stomach.
He felt this very weight now as he considered this desperate healer’s words. Yes, he’d handled this type of monster many times before, but it wasn’t worth it.
“Listen to me, this type of creature is only a threat during a full moon,” Geralt said, “just educate your people, spread the word, you’re in a position of authority here – use it.”
The healer sighed deeply before muttering to themselves in frustration. They pulled their cloak tighter around their body and made a scene of grabbing the coin-filled sac from the table. Geralt rolled eyes his at the paranoid healer before gesturing for them to head outside.
“Fine, leave! But if you leave now and anyone dies, their blood will be on your hands!” shouted the healer, as Geralt tended to Roach.
Geralt rolled his eyes before mounting Roach, urging her onto the trail.
This isn’t my fight, he thought, and their people will be fine.
You were having a wonderful morning. Wren slept through the night for the first time in who-knows how long, and Ciri was relaxing as she entered her fifth day without a magical episode; those lessons with her aunt Yennefer were definitely paying off.
Now you were savouring the gentle afternoon breeze, resting your knees in the cool earth of the garden as the sun warmed you from above. You loved harvesting produce and tending to the flowers; this year was especially bountiful thanks to a rainy spring and temperate summer. As you picked tomatoes off the vine, you smiled softly at the sound of Ciri celebrating a successful hit on her target across the yard.
Meanwhile, Wren played happily in the dirt at your side. She’s been sitting up on her own now which was such a thrill. Such a small change, but it granted you freedoms you didn’t know you’d been missing.
“Mama, snek!” Wren squealed, proudly holding an earthworm up at you. You laughed in relief upon seeing what she was holding up – for half a second you thought she’d managed to snag an actual snake.
“Wow my girl,” you cooed, “what a find!”
At the sound of your praise, Wren smiled up at you brightly and closed her little fingers around the earthworm with pride.
“Careful now, love! Don’t harm it,” you said, gently prying open her stubby fingers and releasing the worm back into the soil, “these little guys play an important role in the health of our garden.”
“You know she doesn’t understand you, right mom?” Ciri said a little breathlessly after stabbing her sword into the earth.
“I don’t think we can say that with certainty, Ciri. She is a witcher’s daughter after all, we are in for a lifetime of surprises I’d say.” You replied with a small shake of your head. Ciri rolled her eyes at you before making off towards the house at a run.
“Cirilla,” you warned, “don’t leave your sword in the yard! And wipe it down before you take it in – I don’t want dirt tracked in again.”
“Mom!” she groaned, stomping back to get her sword. “Witchers don’t need to do these ridiculous chores…” she said under her breath.
“They don’t get warm meals or comfortable beds either!” you replied in a sing-song, knowing it would drive Ciri crazy – you hated when she grumbled at you. Ciri had great respect for her father but would sometimes treat you like you were nothing more than a headmistress at school. Having spent time with witchers and sorceresses alike, scolding didn’t command respect; at least when you played it light it got her attention.
“Yeah – I know! I’ve lived those lives!” Ciri shouted, storming back towards the house, sword in hand.
Fuck. You forgot she was there when Cintra fell. How could you forget?! She was alone and, on the run, and oh gods if Geralt had been here and heard this he’d –
“Ciri, wait, I’m so sorry. I’m –”
“Sounds like someone could use some help.”
You stopped cold at the sound of the strangers’ voice. It ran through you like mead – ice cold but left a strange burning sensation in its place. Ciri also stopped in her tracks, dropping her hand from the door but keeping a firm grip on the helm of her sword. Ciri cast a quick glance at the stranger standing on the edge of your property before settling her nervous eyes on you.
You did your best to evoke confidence before turning to see this stranger for yourself.
It was Visenna.
Again, you did your best to seem confident as you addressed your eldest. “Ciri,” you said, not taking your eyes off the druid, “take Wren into the house, quickly!”  
“Mom?”
“Cirilla please, take her and go into the house,” you said, impressed at your ability to keep your voice level. “And take your sword with you,” you added, turning to give her what you hopped was a look that encouraged her to stay calm and be careful.
Ciri said nothing but scooped her sister up and onto her hip with one arm while keeping her sword steadily by her side.
Once you heard the door close, you cast a quick glance to make sure your girls were safe before turning your attention back to the woman standing at the gate.
“Why are you here, Visenna?” you asked, holding your head high despite the fact your heart was pounding in your ears.
“Oh child,” her words dripped with condescension, “I never expected my son to write me back, but I had hoped he’d share the contents of my letter with his wife.”
“He told me about the letter,” you said, giving her a tight close-lipped smile, “in fact he told me all about you. So, I’m going to ask you again, why are you here?”
“If you know about the letter, then you know why I’m here.”  
“Could you be so cold as to have you forgotten your history with your son? The way you left him to be tested on like a rat? You have no right to be here.” Your voice cracked as you finished your last sentence, and Visenna tilted her head at your sign of weakness.
“You have no idea what you’re talking about, dear. You weren’t there -”
“Neither were you!” you spat; with a harshness you didn’t think you had in you.
“Hm.” Visenna crossed her arms and watched you closely through narrowed eyes. You hated that she reminded you of Geralt as she seized you up – the had the same mannerisms, the same affinity for the non-verbal. Geralt could never know.
The druid’s scrutinizing glare made you squirm, and when you broke eye contact with her for a moment of reprieve, she moved to open your gate. For the briefest moment, your panic left you paralyzed as you watched the woman begin a confident stride towards the house.
“Stop!”
You whipped your head around as you heard Ciri come bursting out of the front door. She was wielding her sword up in front of her with one hand while the other hugged Wren onto her side.
“Do not come any closer, I am warning you!” she shrieked, her light eyes wild as her mousey hair blew behind her.
“Ciri-” you tried, holding one hand out to calm her.
“No!” she yelled, keeping her eyes and her sword fixed on Visenna, who was now standing stock-still at the gate.
“Stop trying to tame her, dear,” Visenna interjected. “Let the lion cub roar.”
At the sound of her old nickname, you took in a sharp breath and felt your heart drop to your stomach. It felt like the world stopped turning as Ciri reacted to the trigger.
Cirilla could handle discussions about her old life in small doses and only on her terms. Whenever the dreams came to her, it would take you hours to calm her down. More often than not, the episodes left you and Geralt drained and deeply concerned. Yennefer was really the only person Ciri responded to, and while her methods and lessons have helped, sometimes the pain brought on by the memories was simply too great.
Now, as the four of you stood in your garden, you could feel the earth begin to vibrate beneath your feet. Ciri’s jaw was clenched tight and her nostrils were flared. She slowly knelt down and placed Wren onto the ground before standing tall once again.
“Do not call me that.” She seethed, voice dripping with magic.
“Come now, child,” Visenna replied, seemingly unaware of the storm brewing, “I am your grandmother. I can help you; teach you.”
“You are not my grandmother!” Ciri shrieked, pushing a violent wind towards the druid which forced her to take a step back. “Get out of here! Leave!”
“I – I don’t mean any disrespect, Ciri. The Lioness was –”
“Ciri, no, wait –”
Everything happened so quickly. You felt the burning rush of Ciri’s magic roar past you and tried desperately to keep your eyes open so you could see Wren. Though your eyes stung against the harsh blast Ciri was emitting, you saw Wren crying soundlessly behind her sister, her chubby hands reaching out towards you in desperation. You tried to step towards her but an invisible force pushed you to the ground. You pulled yourself up on one elbow and tried to reach towards your baby without luck. Everything was burning and it took all of your strength to stay alert.
Meanwhile, Ciri’s blast of magic shot at Visenna like a bolt of lightening. Out of the tip of her sword and from her outstretched hand came a bright blue flame surrounded by pulses of violent wind. The destructive blast uprooted the gate and surrounding fence, throwing them back into the forest beyond. Burning shrapnel and earth flew towards her at breakneck speed, but the druid reacted quickly, pulling a portal with the help of an amulet and escaped the blast.
The garden in the path of Ciri’s blow burned harshly – leaving nothing behind but ash; except for the pocket where you lay. You tried to call out to Ciri to calm her down but there was no air for you to draw from. You let the force of her magic hold you down for a moment, trying to recuperate your strength, and when you looked up again you saw Wren taking a few wobbly steps toward her sister.
Holy fuck, you thought. These were her first steps.
You watched with wide eyes as Wren took step after step towards her sister, whose magic raged on. You were so drained by the weight of Ciri’s magic that you were convinced your eyes were deceiving you.
You watched in disbelief as Wren took step after step towards Ciri. The moment her little hand reached her sisters leg, the spell broke and Chaos released its hold on Cirilla. Drained from the exertion, she lost consciousness and started to collapse in on herself, her sword falling from her hand and onto the ground with a dull thud.
You scrambled to your feet and raced to Ciri, dropping to your knees once you reached her to catch her in her fall. You smoothed the ashen strands out of her face and rocked her gently from side to side, breathing shakily through your silent tears. You didn’t know when you started to cry, but when Wren waddled her way to you and nestled onto Ciri’s lap to press her face into the crook of your neck, you were sure you’d be crying forever.
“What the fuck,” Geralt growled upon seeing the destruction as he rode up to the house from the trail. In a growing panic, he urged Roach into a canter. When they got to where the gate should have been, he dismounted and ran towards the house at a sprint, his heart pounding in his ears. When he saw you sobbing on the ground with an unconscious Ciri and weeping Wren, he lost all control.
“Y/N! Y/N what happened?! Who did this?” he shouted, panic rising. When he spotted Ciri’s sword on the ground, Geralt fell to his knees beside you and quickly scanned you all for any sign of injury. You were weeping, holding tightly to Ciri, who was unconscious, and Wren, you
“Y/N please talk to me,” he said more harshly than he meant it, while brushing wild strands of hair out of your face gruffly.
“Ciri, she um –” you choked, working to slow your breathing, “she lost control of her magic…”
“Yeah, I can see that, love.” He said with an incredulous laugh, his eyes scanning your ruined garden with disbelief. “What the fuck happened to make her so upset? Did – did she have a nightmare? Did you, hm, say something to her?”
“Geralt – no,” you said quickly, the tears you managed to calm coming back with a vengeance.
“Y/N, I’m sorry I just…” Geralt regretted the insinuation that this might have been your fault but he’d only ever seen Ciri’s magic be this destructive when she was afraid or hurt. He was at a loss.
You shook your head and turned in his arms to look back at him, readjusting Ciri and Wren in your arms to free an arm which you placed onto Geralt’s chest. You held his eyes and took a steadying breath, unsure of how he’d react.
“We – we were in the garden just, just like always and,” you cast a quick glance down at your daughters before bringing your eyes back up to Geralt’s, both to ground yourself and to hopefully remind him of their proximity in order to temper his reaction, “and Visenna appeared at the gate.”
He gasped sharply at your words, and his body around you. You brought your hand up to his face and tried to calm him. His cat-like eyes were wild and unfocused – he looked like a frightened child and it broke your heart to see him like this. Wren seemed to sense this too, as she scrambled up and reached towards her father’s hair.
Wren’s light tugs managed to pull Geralt out of his shock momentarily and his eyes seemed to come back into focus. Seeing this change, you gently redirected his attention back to you.
“Visenna came for Wren… T-to take her or, or to raise her or something? She mentioned the letter…” Geralt clenched his jaw at the reminder.
You hadn’t motioned the letter in months. Geralt wasn’t at all ready to welcome his mother back into his life, and he definitely didn’t want her anywhere near his family.
“What did she do to Ciri? I swear I’ll –” he seethed.
“No, no, Geralt,” you interrupted gently, moving your hand back to his chest, “she didn’t get the chance. I don’t know what she was going to do, but Ciri came out with her sword,” you stopped short to look down at her with pride, “to protect us.”
“She did?” Geralt let out another incredulous breath, shaking his head at his child surprise.
“Yeah, it was like nothing I’ve ever seen. Her magic, it destroyed everything in its path but somehow, she was sheltering me from the blast. Visenna escaped through a portal, I- I think? But Ciri was… unstoppable.”
“Y/N, if Ciri was able to harness Chaos like this at her will, to protect you; this could mean –”
“Oh no, love, I’m sorry I’m not telling this right. She came out of the house with her sword to protect us but she lost control when Visenna called her the Lion Cub.”
“Oh, fuck.”
“Oh, I know,” you agreed emphatically before adding, “and then she called herself Ciri’s grandmother…”
“Fuck!”
“Right,” you sighed, shaking your head as a shudder ran through you.
“Da-ee,” Wren said suddenly, pushing her little hands into her father’s face, causing a shocked laugh to escape his lips. Geralt’s face softened in a way he reserved for his youngest daughter and the sight of it was enough to pull you out of whatever was left of your panic.
“Oh, gods!” you exclaimed, “Geralt you won’t believe this.”
“Hm?” he hummed, not taking his eyes off Wren; he was completely enthralled by his baby.
“She took her first steps – and, gods it was incredible Geralt – when she touched Ciri, it pulled her out of the trance!” You gushed breathlessly.
“She did? That’s my girl!” he beamed, earning a proud giggle from the toddler. “Fuck I hate that I missed this, you’re just full of surprises aren’t you, goose?” he said, peppering light kisses across Wren’s little face.
“I know, love.” You said softly, leaning into his arms once more. “I’m so relieved to have you home.”
“Come on, Y/N, let’s get our girls into the house.” Geralt said as handed Wren off to you before picking Ciri up gently as he stood. You took his outstretched hand rose to your feet along-side him. “I’m not leaving you again, I promise.”
“Geralt, you say that every time.” You tease lightly, holding the front door open for him.
 “No, I mean it this time Y/N, really.” He said quietly, as he laid Ciri down in her room. “I can’t keep doing this. When I’m gone, all I do is think of you and the girls…” he trailed off when he noticed Wren had fallen asleep on the couch. You smiled tenderly as you watched him cradle her into his strong arms.
“My love, you know you’d go crazy if you stayed here with us all the time.” You said as you smoothed his hair out of his face.
“I’d go crazy if anything ever happened to you.” he whispered.
“Hey now… we’re fine,” you tired to reassure him, “today was an anomaly. I doubt Visenna would try that stunt again. Ciri will be fine, she just needs to rest, and tomorrow we can send word out to Yen for support. We – “you paused to take a steadying breath, “we can’t let fear rule our lives, Geralt.”
“Hmm,” he hummed, setting Wren down into her bed before wrapping his arms around your frame, “now when did you get to be so wise?”
“A certain witcher taught me a few things,” you said, a small smirk playing on your lips, “always preaching something or other but sometimes the lessons stick.”
“Is that so?” he growled, a fighting back a smirk of his own.”
“Hmm,” you teased, kissing him deeply.
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m-y-fandoms · 3 years
Text
COMMISSION: Joker/Akira/Ren x Reader Part 1
Thank you to the client for commissioning me! This is gonna be a long one! I love Joker and Persona 5 is my second favorite fandom after Danganronpa! Exctied to be working on this.
Around 2.6k words, SFW, SLOW BURN romance friends to lovers, gender neutral reader, anyone can enjoy it and place themselves as the reader! - Admin Myah
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Shujin Academy could be silent as the grave in the earliest hours of the morning, and yet seem so deafening. It was almost guaranteed that at least thirty new rumors were spreading throughout the student body at any given time, and the overwhelmingly hostile environment that created made the air heavy. With all the teenage angst, hormones, hatred, circles of venomous malice, it was no wonder so many loners could be spotted on academy grounds. That’s just how it was at Shujin: you either had a clique, or you had no one. It was no surprise, then, that you simply kept your head down, minded your business, and got to know no one. Miraculously, though, gossip abound about you still, at least two or three preposterous examples of hearsay and stories. But hey, what could you do? That was in all actuality, pretty low for a single Shujin student. God help the students who actually did make their opinions known, express themselves through clothing and cosmetics, and dared to swim against the current.
You shuffled through the first floor, the absolute blandness of that April morning perpetuating your usual routine: arrive at Shujin, check your locker, scribble down any notes and ideas that came to you in your dreams last night to put into your next short story, and of course check for new posts in the group chat, where your only friends resided. You wouldn’t be caught dead associating with anyone here at the school, it would simply be mental and social suicide, and quite frankly, you didn’t have the constitution for that.
Peeking up for a split second to avoid any collisions, you quickly slid to the left and ducked into a nearby alcove, successfully escaping the gaze of the oncoming wall of muscle and testosterone that was Coach Kamoshida, the plague of Shujin Academy. It was the best case scenario that Kamoshida remained ignorant to one’s very existence, for even those on his good side suffered the consequences. He strode by, shoulders wide and chest puffed out, scanning the halls for girls to harass or boys to intimidate, and once the coast was clear and he was a safe distance away, his back facing you, you dipped back out of the rather dusty corridor and back into the light, immediately slipping back into an almost mechanical daily ritual. It took mere seconds: phone screen unlocked, group chat opened, notebook slipped snuggly back under armpit.
“C’mon, man!” An obnoxiously loud voice rang out above the typical tinnitus-like buzz of the hallway, and suddenly your shoulder was thrust forward, body flying to the ground with a forceful shove on the shoulder.
“Aaagh!” Your voice cracked as your knees buckled and you collided roughly with the wooden panels below, your smartphone soaring out of your grip and clinking against the floor. Thank goodness your notebook was safe, at the very least. People gasped and turned to look at the spectacle, including Kamoshida himself, who’d just reached the end of the hall.
“Sakamoto! I see you running in the halls again, I’ll write you up!” He just always had to say something, let the general student body know he was in charge. He cared far more about sounding rough and tough than making sure the student who was just steam-rolled was uninjured. He pointed directly at you and the student that had just dashed by, effectively pummeling you to the ground with a shoulder check. You looked up and just ahead of you, Ryuji Sakamoto was pivoting on one foot, ignoring Kamoshida’s threat entirely to catch his breath and look down at his victim, splayed across the floor.
Ryuji Sakamoto, now that was one of those students mentioned earlier, the kind that dyed his hair, customized his uniform, and didn’t take shit from anyone. He was a pariah, pretty much the opposite of the teacher’s pet… teacher’s pest more like. Sakamoto was the subject of many falsehoods and conjectures, and he was sure to be trouble for anyone associated…
You looked him up and down, halting your unflattering and socially-altered thoughts in their tracks. Didn’t wanna become the very thing you hated. There was no reason to judge Ryuji without first-hand proof.
“Woah! My bad, sorry dude!” He held up one hand submissively, but unfortunately, just as with Kamoshida,  it seemed that you were not his main concern either. Huffing and puffing from the sprint, he looked past you to another male student who was hot on his trail, but this one looked… different.
You’d gone to Shujin Academy for all of your high-school career. It was your third and final year before graduation, and you knew of Sakamoto well enough, but this kid was a mystery… was he new here? He must’ve been. You knew at least the face of every student here in some way or another just through Shujin’s own little eternal game of telephone, and not by any choice of your own. You actively removed yourself from the local goings-on. Was it his first day here, you wondered. Why hadn’t you heard gossip about him yet, especially looking the way he did?
Beauty was a curse - much like any other feature that stood out - at Shujin Academy. If you were too pretty or handsome, you must be sexually promiscuous. On the other hand, if you were too ugly, too nerdy, too quiet, you probably picked your nose and read hentai on the train. There was no winning in this soul-crushing wasteland. Unfortunately for this new-comer, he was outrageously gorgeous.
“Gah, sorry about that…” he sighed, slowing his pace as he passed you by, plucking your phone up from the ground and offering you his hand. You took it and stood with his help. A quick tug and you were to your feet, dusting off your uniform and thanking him for his assistance. “Yeah, no problem… Ryuji’s just… a bit eager I suppose” he chuckled. “Luckily, no cracks!” He turned your phone around in his hand before placing it back into yours.
“Isn’t that the transfer student??? I heard he nearly killed a man!” One random NPC-esque shithead whispered from behind.
“Oh God, figures that freak would gravitate to the new freak…” another responded.
Ah…  and there it was. Why did fate hate you so much that it chose you as Sakamoto’s door mat on this day? You truly must have been fortune’s fool.
“Yeah, good thing…” You eyed the boy before you, taking in what you could of the new student before the short exchange was over, from his face to the delicate yet thick veins protruding from his lithe hands.
He was tall and thin, and would even be considered lanky if not for the lean muscle that lined his frame. He seemed to be better off than the average teen, sporting almost no blemishes or imperfections on his smooth skin. A black, messy mop of hair that looked soft to the touch sat upon his head, falling into his eyes and over the dark frames of his distinct spectacles. These spectacles did nothing to hide the true elegance that gleamed in the eyes behind them. They were a muted, soft grey that was beautifully simple and clean. His uniform was neat and tidy - as opposed to his blonde and brash acquaintance’s - with his pristine white turtleneck gently blanketing a quite prominent Adam’s apple and his school jacket buttoned and ironed perfectly. Lower down, his plaid slacks concealed thighs that strained against the fabric and long legs that ran down into some very - yet again - flawless dress shoes. Yep, that was a brand new uniform, sure enough.
And a brand new student… he just might make a good subject, a new inspiration for your writing, an aura unmarred by the stain this place put on one’s soul. Your opinion of him was fresh, it was new, unaltered, unbiased, and he really was quite beautiful… your mind played with the thought.
“Ah… sorry about this,” he spoke, taking in the whispers all around you, “I probably just ruined your reputation, what with being seen with me an’ all,” he sighed and laughed breathily, a hint of exhaustion in his voice. He must’ve been keen to the ways of Shujin already, which was super sad in its own right. “I’m Akira by the way,” he held out a hand, and you shook it hesitantly.
“Eh, doesn’t really bother me. It’s (Y/N), nice to meet you. Sorry you’re feeling the Shujin warm welcome.” That first part was only partly true, but the last half was genuine.
“Anyway…” his voice shook you back out of your contemplative reverie, and you came back to reality to find him also looking you over. Oh right… you were new to him as well… “I gotta go, Ryuji is kind of impatient, I’ve found.”
“Hey! Am not!” Ryuji retorted, brows furrowing before he ran off. Akira’s eyes rolled playfully, before he smiled, waved, and sped off.
You nodded, and quickly pulled out your phone, rushing to the glass doors leading to the courtyard. Anything to get out of the spotlight and harsh crowd of stares, plus, you had a sparkling new idea filling up your cranium, and artistic inspiration could not be wasted. Finding one of the benches placed for student recreation, you set down your school bag and impatiently scrambled for your favorite pen, throwing open your notebook.
“Oh, shoot!” You’d gotten ahead of yourself in all the excitement. Placing the moleskin down, you picked up your phone, hands trembling just a bit, and messaged you friends before anything else. They just had to hear about this.
 *
 (Y/N) 9:55 am: Guys guys guys!!!
 Itsuki 9:56 am: What do you want?
 Rin 9:56 am: ???
 Megumi 9:57 am: Shouldn’t you be in class?
 (Y/N) 9:57 am: Shut up I have a free period just listen
You know how I’ve been having writer’s block?
 Rin 9:58 am: Ya
 (Y/N) 9:58 am: Well I just met this new kid, and ideas just started FLOWING.
 Itsuki 9:59 am: Yeah
 Megumi 9:59 am: Yeah we remember nerd
Oh that’s great!
Wait what do you mean?
New kid?
Only we can have you 😭 Don’ go switching up on us. Shujin is
toxic anyway.
 (Y/N) 10:01 am: No no no It’s not like we’re friends, I just met him is all
You know you’re my one and only bby 😘
 Itsuki 10:01 am: New kid???
 Megumi 10:01 am: 😎
 Itsuki 10:02 am: Gross
Also what about me!!!!
 Rin 10:02 am: Me too 😡😡😡
 (Y/N) 10:03 am: You two know you’re included in that???? 🤔🙄
Anyway just listen
I think he may be good inspo for my main character!!!
I was stuck looking for a unique look or face claim or something
But he seems nice enough and he’s good looking!
 Itsuki 10:05 am: You got a crush? Awww I’m telling 😏😏😏😏
 (Y/N) 10:05 am: I swear it’s like we haven’t been friends for years…
You know me, PLEASE don’t be gross
Writing purposes ONLY
 Megumi 10:06 am: I thought you were stuck on the CONTENT, not characters and shit
 (Y/N) 10:06 am: Both!!!! But he’s perfect for the look of my protag
 Itsuki 10:06 am: 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏
 Megumi 10:07 am: Well I’m happy for you
STOP
 Itsuki 10:07 am: 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏
 Rin 10:07 am: 😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏😏
 (Y/N) 10:08 am: I can see this conversation isn’t going to be productive 
LMAO you’re assholes
 You tucked your phone into your pocket and once again picked up your notebook. Scrawling down some of the details you knew about Akria: his looks, the sound of his voice, the way he carried himself, you quickly became aware that you knew far too little… or rather
 You wanted to know more.
 Standing, you packed your things and set out to find him again…
 Not in the creepy way! You thought to yourself, trying to justify this uncharacteristic choice of yours to actually reach out to someone in real life, to maybe… try to make… friends? You stood there, brows furrowed and a small frown on your face, pondering your options.
“Oh well, all artists must suffer for their work!” You resolved a little too promptly to try to force another encounter with the new kid. He seemed to be special, unique. He seemed to be well aware of the social hierarchy of Shujin, and have a distaste of it at least. Maybe he wouldn’t be… so bad?
Making up your mind, you spent your free period not writing of romance and rebellious characters, but searching for that fluffy-headed newfound hero to your story, however ghoulish and greasy that made you appear. You truly were becoming that “reads-hentai-on-the-train” and stalks cute boys freak your peers thought people like you were, weren’t you?
To your surprise (though maybe it shouldn’t have been surprising with the volume of Sakamoto’s voice) you soon found the gaggle of second-years, model-status beauty Ann Takamaki now added to their number, standing next to the stairs on the third floor, looking quite conspicuous to boot. Noting the suspicious air around the three, you pulled back, hiding behind the corner leading down the next hall. They seemed on edge... maybe now wasn’t the best time to make friends…?
You felt something thump in your chest. Your shoulders sank subconsciously. It felt a little disappointing, disheartening in a way you couldn’t explain. It was a bit intimidating: Ryuji the loudmouth with a temper, the hottest girl in the school, and the cute new kid. You sighed, this was why you never tried to make friends in the first place. Why had you even gotten your hopes up?
These irrational feelings of self-doubt clouded your heart, your head knowing better of course. It was hard to fight thoughts like these, especially for someone like you. On the precipice of making up your mind, deciding to give up and scrap the new novel idea altogether, you were jolted to attention by the sound of shoes scuffling and scrambling up the stairs.
Students aren’t really allowed on the rooftop during school hours unless accompanied by a teacher or given express permission, your thoughts swarmed. Maybe they didn’t know? No, there’s no way. There’s a possibility Akira didn’t know, but Ann and Ryuji had been here for two years... What were they up to?
Your nosiness was regrettably getting the better of you, and you slithered over, careful to pad your steps and tread softly. You didn’t even know what you’d do once you’d cornered the trio on the roof, didn’t know what you’d say. What was there to say? You were never too good with words, that is those not written on paper. Your heart beating out of your chest, you climbed the narrow stairwell and threw open the doors to the roof.
“Huh?” You looked around, dumbfounded. “Hello?” The rooftop area was not that large, all parts of it visible from the door.
There was no one to be found.
“What the hell?” You step forward, thinking you must have been the subject of some prank, but no, upon looking around, all three students were gone without a trace. No school bags, no lunch boxes, no uniform pieces, nothing. Akira, Ryuji, and Ann, all vanished into thin air. There were no hiding spots, none big enough for three people at least. It was dead silent, and only the door you currently guarded provided an exit off of the roof. Your mind wanted to wander to darker places, but if they’d have jumped, there surely would’ve been a commotion either during or shortly after. Frantically, you looked around, feeling like you were going crazy.
“What the fuck?” You pressed the palm of one hand to your forehead, sitting on the ground and crossing your legs.
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cherry-draws · 3 years
Text
[Yiga Husband Fanfic] Poisonus plan
I am super happy to see people liking my previous story "Fantasy Night" so here's an other one featuring our dear Master Kohga.
Kohga woke up with a severe headache and felt as though he had just come out of a long sleep. Although he spent most of his time napping, this was the first time it happened to him. Just curling his fingers hurt him. Despite the pain, the leader of the yiga clan managed to sit up and open his eyes. Looking around the room, his heart skipped a beat.
"Kohga: Where am I ? This is not my room. "
A bitter taste in his throat made the pronunciation of the words unbearable. Kohga sank down heavily on the mattress, breathing heavily. A smell of sweat reached his nostrils, indicating that he had sweated a lot during the night, something that didn't happen often either. Someone suddenly entered the room, which made him jump, but his aching body prevented him from turning around.
"? : Hello, Master Kohga, how are you feeling?
Kohga: Who are you?
? : What, you don't recognize me ? Lord, this is more serious than I thought.
Kohga: What are you talking about?
? : Master, you have fallen terribly ill and it seems that the moments of lucidity are scarce.
Kohga: Wait, are you saying that I'm going insane ?
? : But not at all, no. You are in pain, Master. You have a fever, an excruciating cough, you don't want to eat any more, not even a piece of banana. For the safety of our colleagues we have preferred to isolate you in this makeshift infirmary, to “quarantine” you, if you prefer. I understand that you may not like it, but we are afraid that the disease is contagious. I was formerly a practitioner of medicine before joining the clan, and you allowed me to practice my practices in case anyone get sick. It wasn't what I wanted at first, but the circumstances required my intervention.
Kohga: I can't believe it, I don't remember anything! I just feel very tired. Besides, if you could let me sleep, that would suit me.
Doctor: I have come to take you to the consultation room. My colleague needs to examine you to see the state of your health and give you your treatment. Come on, please. "
Kohga stood up painfully, feeling stiff in his muscles. The doctor helped him to walk by taking his arm. Even though the drive to the office was relatively short, it was enough to intensify the yiga's feeling of fatigue, who found it difficult to keep his eyes open. Once there, Kohga stretched out painfully on the table as a second doctor appeared before him. He was wearing a large white overall over his suit.
“Doctor 2: Hello Master Kohga. I apologize for forcing you to move in your state, but this is where we store all the required equipment. Describe to me your health state.
Kohga: Well ... "
No other word could come out of his mouth. His mind sank into a deep sleep.
Later that he woke up, and this time he forced himself to keep his eyes open behind his mask. Listening, he managed to hear the doctors talking to each other.
"Doctor 1: Are you sure this will work? He still looks sharp enough to ask questions.
Doctor 2: But you saw him go into a coma, right? In a short time, it will be just a half-alive vegetable, it will no longer be a problem!
Doctor 1: Don't speak that loud, you fool, he will hear us!
Doctor 2: So you do ! There is no risk, I tell you, with the doses that he was injected it should prevent him from moving. Once we're done with him ... "
He didn't have time to finish his sentence. His face received a violent punch and his body fell to the ground under the astonished eyes of his teammate.
“Doctor 1: Ah, I was right!
Kohga: WHO ARE YOU? And why do you want to poison me ?!
Doctor 1: Master Kohga, please, you are starting to lose your mind again! Go back to bed, I beg you, you will hurt yourself!
Kohga: No! I'm not crazy, on the other hand you two, you really think I'm a fool! I heard all your little conversation and I know you want to kill me! I don't know why you are after me, but I know what I heard!
Doctor 1: No, you are wrong! It is the fever that makes you hear voices, we do not want any harm, we are not ...
Kohga: My soldiers! You are not my soldiers, you are impostors! Now prepare yourselves ! "
Kohga raised his arms above his head to generate a giant ball. No matter how hard he was concentrated, nothing happened.
"Doctor 2: Don't use your powers, it will tire you out!"
Kohga resigned himself to use magic and decided to strike his opponents directly with his fists. Once the two individuals were on the ground, he fled. His chubby legs hurt him, but he refused to slow down, he had to flee, find refuge, but where? The place did not look like the hideout at all. It was not the hidehout. It was a place made of corridors, a sort of labyrinthine dojo.
"Kohga: But where am I going to go? I'm lost, I'm alone, but where are my soldiers when I need them? If I call for help, they will find me ... "
The leader of the yiga clan then attempted to teleport, but each of his attempts ended in failure. Due to his condition, he could no longer use his powers. He ran, feeling his breath diminish, until he came to a closed room where he rushed into it, pressing his back against the door.
"Kohga: I can't stay here forever, I have to ..."
The migraine suddenly erupts, forcing him to hold his head in his hands. The pain felt gave him the impression that each of his neurons was bursting one after the other. His body stiffened, and fell heavily to the ground.
When Kohga regained consciousness, he was unable to move, and his limbs were still numb. His body seemed to rock on its own, but he realized that someone was holding him in his arms. Although unaware of the identity of its wearer, his body emanated a familiar kind of warmth, inspiring a sense of security. When the individual looked up at him, Kohga recognized him immediately behind his mask.
"? : Shhh, don't be afraid. It's me, Sooga.
Kohga: Finally you're here! But what the hell happened !? I ... Get me out of this hell!
Sooga: I beg you, calm down, I'll tell you everything. You have been the victim of a kidnapping. I and the other soldiers searched for you for days, we get up early in the morning and come home exhausted at night. We entered this abandoned place and it is there that I found you. Don't be afraid, I will warn the others and we will go home.
? : I don't think so ! "
Sooga distraught, turned and faced the two individuals in white overall, both holding a syringe in their hand. Three other doctors also appeared.
“Sooga: You ... You will pay for what you dared to do!
Doctor 1: I advise you to return your boss to us immediately, otherwise we'll make you regret your decision ! You are alone, you cannot defend yourself, no one can help you! "
The enemies advanced until they surrounded the two yigas. Sooga hugged his master as tightly as he could in his muscular arms, like a mother seeking to protect her newborn baby.
"Kohga: Sooga, do something!"
Doctor 2: If you try anything ... "
The chief suddenly stiffened, his face froze and he fell, lifeless. A sturdy figure appeared behind him. The yiga blademaster who had knocked him out stabbed his sword into the medic's body, leaving the others in shock.
"Blademaster: Who told you he came by himself eh? Who do you thinks we are? "
Three other blademasters and five footsoldiers appeared simultaneously in a bunch of smoke, around the medics, helpless in front of the sharp blades which pointed in their direction. In an instant, they were all dead. Only one was spared. It was the one Kohga had first met.
"Footsoldier : Now you'll listen to me, you scumbag.You better tell us what your plan was, why you attacked our boss. Otherwise, it's not death that awaits you, it's worse. We will harass you until you crack, burn your stuff, kill your family like we killed your friends, torture you until you speak ...
Doctor 1: I surrender! I am going to tell you ! We wanted to get rid of you once and for all. But we knew that with so many soldiers we couldn't reach you so we devised a strategic plan: thanks to our science, Sheikah technology and a poison specially made by us, we were able to kidnap and drugging your boss, which wasn't difficult given his great weakness. We suspected that you would flip every pebble back to Hyrule to find it, and patiently waited for one of you to be stupid enough to come here alone, but we didn't expect you all to come !
Footsoldier: It's the proof that you don't know anything about the yiga clan, and if you had been a little more cooperative you could have gotten to know us. It's a shame, but hey that's how it is. Goodbye ! "
The edge of a blade against the flesh of was heard. The man fell to the ground, his throat was bleeding.
A few days later.
Life began to turn back to normal in the yiga hideout. Kohga, extremely weakened, had spent several days reclusive in his room, his rare moments of awakening were when Sooga brought him his treatment against the poison. Thanks to the knowledge in medicinal plants of certain members, the effects of the poison could be definitively eradicated. After a week, the leader of the yigas was almost cured, and continued to gain strength.
Sooga silently entered his master's bedroom, who had just opened his eyes.
"Sooga: Didn't I wake you up?
Kohga: No, not at all. Come closer. Sit on the bed. "
Sooga was surprised by thoses words, and, despite the embarrassment he felt, he could not refuse his proposal and ended up sitting down.
"Kohga: Sooga ... How could I thank you, while without you, I wouldn't be here? You risked your life, our soldiers too.
Sooga: I never would have done it without their help. Alone, I would have failed. But this is all over now. The main thing is that we are safe and sound. The blademasters will tighten up security so any infiltration incidents will happen again.
Kohga: Sooga ...
Sooga: Something wrong?
Kohga: Sooga, lie down for a moment.
Suppa: But I can't...
Kohga: I don't want to be alone anymore and the bed is big enough for both of us. Come on, don't make me say it twice. "
Sooga finally accepted and lay down, hiding the fact that he was blushing behind his mask. His heartbeat quickened as Kohga snuggled up against him.
"Kohga: You deserve to take some rest too.
Sooga: Yes, Master. "
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“Any practitioner of magic that’s received even a modicum of training in the field has, at one point or another, heard of the term ‘grimoire’. Its origins are shrouded in mystery, its purpose unknown and the power that it possesses inestimable. However, their prevalence is also fading. 
As magic studies become more and more accessible to mages of all walks of life, it is considered futile for witches and warlocks to keep personal tomes of spells and hexes anymore. The uniformization of magical practice has brought about an age in which collaboration between our kind is considered not only beneficial, but also ideal. The practice of taking apprentices is no longer an individual choice that each magician makes for themselves, and thus the need for secrecy - the fear of others invading our most personal matters and thus robbing us of our knowledge has become quite absurd.
Nowadays, grimoires have started to gain a reputation as old-fashioned magical tools, relics of the past or tools of forbidden lore. Less than 200 remain still, collected by the Ministry of Magic’s illustrious archivists and kept in many museums across Twisted Wonderland for easy access to those that seek to expand their knowledge. Yet despite their heavy efforts many of these crucial tomes fall prey to the passage of them, deteriorating as their magic fades away. Preventing the loss of these books is quintessential, if not for us, then for future generations. Thus, many countries have launched conservation projects in order to salvage what is left of our inheritance.
It is due to these projects that my own efforts have not been in vain. For years I have searched all over the world to recover and preserve the eight grimoires which had once belonged to the eight great witches of the Bald Mountain, figures shrouded in such mystery that these books are considered the only valid proof of their existence. They are thick volumes, averaging about 1,000 pages each, something quite unusual for that period, and written in codes and foreign languages that have long passed into obscurity. Translating them required intensive work and research, and even so I was able to conquer only sixty percent of the original text. The rest will be lost to history, I am afraid to say, for there are few people able to interpret the original dialects and signs of these spellbooks. 
I hope that in the future there might be somebody more courageous and ingenious than me, who will decipher these tomes in their entirety. There is precious knowledge to be learned from these pages, power that has been lost over time, and power that might help the future. It is thus my request that for every person who reads this book detailing the journey I have taken since I decided fourteen years ago that I must resolve this mystery and prevent it from slipping through the cracks of progress, that you think to dedicate a little bit of time and money to the eminent researchers that still struggle to maintain their memories alive.   
In this regard, I would like to dedicate this book to the many people and organizations that have made possible the publication of this volume. First, there is of course the Magical Research Board, The Ministry of Magic and the Magic University who have kindly and dutifully supported me financially. The research grant that they have awarded me with has helped me carry my investigation through several countries, as well as access resources that would have been otherwise impossible for me to make use of.
I would also like to express my gratitude towards the ruling families of the Afterglow Savannah and the Valley of Thorns, for their generosity in allowing me to study the history of their kingdoms in order to better understand the social and political dimensions to two of the witches’ that are said to hail from these places. 
I would also like to thank all the translators and historians that have taken time out of their busy schedules to help with my manuscripts - pointing out translation errors, mistakes regarding historical dates and events, or even my continuous use of the word “mystery” of which I am guilty even in my opening chapter I must sadly admit! Thus, I would like to mention among many Miss Line, and her lovely daughter Safia, whose generosity saved my life when I was to drown at sea; 
my Lord Duban of the Land of Hot Sands, who enchanted me with tales of viziers and street rats who court princesses; 
Nefu, whose knowledge of the low town in the Savannah rivals none, I am sure of that; 
Lord Himalia of the Land of Pyroxene whose heart is as great as the acres of land he owns; 
old, wise Louisa who welcomed me in her hut before her beloved Cockatrice managed to tear me to shreds; 
my dear friend Daphne, whose courage is greater than even the rage of a Kerberos breed when it sees its owner attacked; 
Thursday, who proved to the world that despite their short stature dwarves should not be taken lightly after all; 
and General Vanrouge, whose skill with the sword is as unmatched as the knowledge he possesses. To all of them, I would like to express my sincerest, heartfelt gratitude for the help they have given me. It is truly unmistakable that good friends are more valuable than a thousand golden statues!
Though they are departed, I wish to thank my parents as well, for having instilled in me such good morals and values. I am eternally grateful to all your guidance and love, and hope that you rest safely above in the sky.
Last, but not least, I would like to thank my dearest Alkin, who is first among familiars and friends alike. His companionship and experience has proven to be invaluable to me during my travels, and there are no words to express the warmth with which I regard my beloved brother.”
- Introduction to Of Grimoires and Pledges: A Study of Eight Texts that Shaped Our Understanding of Modern Magic
Grimoire of the Rose 
In the sea I used to be a poet.
You do not believe me. That is alright. I understand. My speech is stilted. My pauses are long. My mind, once sharp and swift as the marlin’s gait, now always searches its corners for words that came easily before. I have forgotten them all now. I glance around with wild eyes. The vastness around us scares me. 
You think, ‘Ah, this woman is not well.’ And perhaps you are right. 
You think, ‘She must have suffered greatly.’ That is not so.  
Please do not pity me. I do not deserve it. 
As all fools I’ve made peace with myself. 
As all wise men I wish to warn others. 
Forgive me. Speaking in your tongue is hard for me. But please bear it. I would like to tell you my story. It is not long or sad. Just short and silly. You will surely laugh as you read it. That is alright. I wish you would laugh. It eases my soul when I hear others laugh. It reminds me of the ocean.
But I wish to tell you my story. Please listen.
It starts with a beautiful princess born in a wealthy kingdom.
No, that princess is not me. I was born on the shore, among the sand and shells, under the great night sky. I have never seen a palace, nor worn a gown. I have heard that they are beautiful. Princesses wear them at balls, with golden slippers and dance away the night. This princess must have worn one too. She must have been very beautiful. And loved. All beautiful women are loved. 
No, I do not know what made her beautiful. I have never seen her. But I like to imagine it must have been so. It helps me rest. 
As I said, my story starts with a princess born in a wealthy kingdom. She was her father’s only child, a sweet, delicate girl with fair hair and golden eyes. 
Yes, I am lying now. For I never laid eyes on her. I say these things because it helps me rest. 
I am repeating myself? Forgive me. Your tongue is difficult for me. I wish to tell you my story. Will you listen? 
My story starts with a beautiful child, born to a widowed king, who paid three gold pieces to the undertaker to build a temple over his wife’s grave, where he went to pray every evening. I do not know why humans built temples. My kind does not. 
I have asked him, but he did not know either.
He loved her too. They all did. She was beautiful. All beautiful women are loved. I was loved too. I was beautiful too. 
My story starts with the birth of a beautiful child, whose father built a temple ashore the land where my mother had borne me. It was the darkest night she had ever seen, and the stars shone bright. My mother cried as I came out, small and pink and weeping. I was so small I fit in her arms with ease. She was frightened I would die of cold. She bundled me up and ran to the sea. 
You think it’s strange. That is alright. Forgive me. I will explain.
My mother ran with me to the sea, for my father was giving chase. She reached the waters before he had a chance to grab her. That is as well. For if he did, he would have pulled my mother’s skin away. 
Yes, my father loved my mother. All men love us. They cannot help it. It is their sin.
He found her upon the beach and took her to his hut and made her his wife. She bore him sons, I don’t know how many for I never asked, and then me. My father’s world came crashing down upon him. My mother wept with joy. When I came she knew Mother Sea would welcome her back. She bore me upon the shore so that Mother would bear witness. 
When mother’s feet touched the water, she had already been gone. I do not know if my father followed. I think he must have not. Mother Sea does not welcome his kind. You cannot breathe when Mother holds you. That is very pitiful. 
Forgive me. Your tongue is difficult. 
There are no men among us. It is only us and Mother. She loves us deeply and we love her. And the men that Mother hates also love us. It is a difficult love. No, I do not know if we love the men too. We must love them. We swim every year to the shore to take our skin off and be like them - the human women that they love. And they love us too. Because we are more beautiful than their women.
Forgive me. 
They love us, and they desire us. They take our skins and bring us to their sheds and take us in their beds. We bear them sons and mend their clothes and curse the land we live on and love them dearly. We cannot help but love them. No, it is not love. It is love. Your tongue is very difficult. 
We love them and we love them. We must, for Mother no longer loves us when we love the men. She does not recognize us anymore. She cannot hold us when she doesn’t know who we are. She is frightened of us then. So we love the men because we cannot love Mother anymore. We miss Mother. But she doesn’t miss us. 
It is very pitiful. 
When we are human we cannot love Mother, so we wait for daughters to be born so she will love us again. No, only daughters. Never sons. Mother does not love our sons. They cannot see or hear Mother. But daughters - us - we can. I heard Mother before I had been born. She sang to me of the sea foam, and the waves and of my mother’s skin and where my father hid it. I told my mother this. She dug the chest buried underneath the juniper tree with her bare hands as I sang to her. She was crying because she heard Mother’s voice in mine.
I do not know what happened to my father. I have never returned to that shore. I have never met my brothers. I do not wish to. Mother does not either. She told me to be careful. She held me to her breast as we watched the angelfish, and told me to never go to the land of men and take off my skin. She told me to keep away. 
But it was a waste. She knew this. We must go to the shore every year. We must take off our skin. 
My mother did so the next year as well. I never saw her again. She must have been found by another man. That is as well. I would soon follow in her footsteps. 
My story starts with the birth of a fair child, beloved by all, and especially by the young poet who wished to marry her. He was a handsome man, but he was poor. This is unfortunate in your land. Forgive me. 
Why did he love the princess? Because she was beautiful. All beautiful women are loved. 
Yes, all beautiful things must be loved.
Why?
Because they are beautiful. That is all.
The poet loved this princess because she was beautiful, but she did not love him because he was poor. It is a pitiful thing. 
Yes, I loved the poet too. Because he was beautiful. No, I did not love him. I loved him. Your tongue is very difficult. 
I wish you could understand. 
He did not understand either. Though he was a poet. It was odd. He told me he could not hear me sing when I spoke, and did not hear me speak when I sang. But Mother hears us. She hears me and my sisters as we sing-speak and speak-sing to her. Only Mother can hear us. 
But still I loved him.
Yes. No, I did not love him. Please understand. 
I sang to him under the night sky and he kissed my lips. I spoke to him about love and he kissed my cheeks. He loved me on the shore until dawn. No, it was love, not love. Forgive me. 
When Mother released the sun from her hold, he kissed my eyelids. He had beautiful lips. I loved them dearly. He was a beautiful man. All beautiful things must be loved. 
He did not take me for his wife. He loved the princess.
‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Forgive me,’ he said. ‘Forgive me,’ he said.
I am repeating myself. Please understand.    
‘You are taking my skin,’ I told him. ‘You are taking my skin. What will I do without my skin? Mother won’t take me back without my skin.’
‘Forgive me.’
He spoke so sweetly. Do you understand? All beautiful things must be loved.
‘The princess of this land - I love her dearly. I wish to marry her. But I am poor. I am not worthy. I wish to be worthy. The princess - she wishes for a coat more beautiful than the sunrise. I have searched this land - from the mountain to the sea, from the fields to the hills, but I have not found a coat more beautiful than yours.’
‘I cannot give you my skin,’ I told him. ‘You must take me as your wife. I cannot give you my skin for another. I must have my skin to return to Mother.’
‘Forgive me,’ he said. He kissed my lips, my cheeks, my eyelids - and then he was gone. He took my skin to the princess. She loved it dearly. She loved him dearly. They were to be married within the year. She wore my skin as her veil. It was a beautiful veil. It was a beautiful wedding.
All beautiful things must be loved.
I gave chase. Yes, I did. I followed after him - my husband. 
I called to him. But he did not stop.
I wept for him. But his heart did not yield. 
I wept for Mother. But she could not hear me. 
I wept for our Master. He said I was a fool to trust the word of man. He thundered. He roared. He drove me away with arrows made of fire and spiteful words. He did not care. He did not listen.
Please listen. 
I wish to tell you my story.
There was once a child born upon the land where a temple was built with just three gold coins. This child was so beautiful that when she spoke, the birds would listen to hear her song. When she danced, the ground would soften underneath her feet so no harm would come upon her. When she smiled, the sun bowed so it would not deter from her beauty.
He loved her. She scorned him. He was poor. It is a pitiful thing.
I loved him. He loved her. I loved him and loved him. 
Your tongue - forgive me.
She came to me upon the shore. 
All beautiful things must be loved.
My husband - he left me upon the shore. He took my skin and left. He loved the princess. I loved him.
I wanted to return to Mother. But Mother did not love me anymore. She did not hold me. She could not hold me. I wept. Mother’s arms - they seemed to wrap around my throat. I could not breathe.
She came to me upon the shore. My Lady.
My sisters - they tore away their skin. A leg, an arm, a breast, an ear - they had sewn it all together. They gave the coat to me. They said Mother would hold me now.
She did not. She could not.
I loved Mother. I loved and loved and loved and loved and loved and loved and loved Her. 
She could not love me. He did not love me. She did not love him.
They were to be married within the year.
It was a beautiful wedding. 
It was a beautiful veil.
‘My skin,’ I said. ‘My skin, my skin, my skin - You must take me as your wife.’
‘I do not love you.’
‘You must. Mother does not love me anymore. You must.’
His roots went deep. They touched her mother’s grave. They touched my mother’s grave. 
He loved her. She loved him. No, not love. Love. 
Please understand. 
All men love us. It is their sin. We must love them too, when Mother no longer loves us. 
Please understand.
‘My child, my rose,’ she spoke. Her eyes were so sweet. I wept. She kissed my eyelids. She kissed my tears. All beautiful things must be loved.
I loved him. I let him bloom. I gave him light. I gave him water. I fetched it every day from the well and watched him grow. My husband.
It was a beautiful wedding.
‘My child, my rose, my sweetest heart.’
She held me. Mother could not hold me. She held me and kissed me and loved me. 
Your tongue is very difficult.
‘I do not love you,’ my husband lied. ‘I cannot love you. I do not want to love you. Please understand.’
All men love us. It is their sin. 
It was a beautiful veil. 
Forgive me.
I am repeating myself.
Forgive me.
Forgive me.
Forgive me.
They take us from the shore into their huts and into their beds. We bear them children and mend their clothes and curse the land we live on and love them dearly. And wait for daughters to be born.
Every year he gave me blossoms. I crushed them underneath my feet. He fed on my blood. 
I loved him. And I loved her. And I loved Mother. And I loved her.
‘My child,’ she kissed me. ‘My rose,’ she kissed me. ‘My sweetest heart,’ she kissed me.
I sheath myself in wicked thorns and sing of my Lady’s love. 
Please listen. Please understand.   
My mother’s grave. Her mother’s grave.
He took her into his hut and into his bed. He took her into the garden and stripped her of her skin. He hid it underneath the juniper tree where mother heard me sing.
All men must love us. It is their sin.
She was a beautiful child. He was a dutiful king. He paid three gold pieces for the temple. It was made of stone and wood and the bed inside it was warm.
They take us from the shore and into their beds.
I loved him. He died in spring. I burned him. I kissed the ashes.
Mother would not listen. 
Mother could not understand.
It was a beautiful veil.
Forgive me.
Your tongue is very difficult. 
I wish to tell you my story.
Please listen.
Notes
“Translating this introductory part of the grimoire has proven to be by far the easiest part of my endeavour, as there has not been much to translate at all. It seems that unlike her sisters, the Witch of the Rose wrote in the common tongue of that time, which fortunately for me is not very different from our current one. Line tells me this might be because the language of the selkie has no written form. In fact, its complexity is so great, no written form could properly capture its beauty.
It is an interesting notion to me, a student with meagre interest in languages, at the very least before I become employed in this project. There is no proper way to prove this, however, as according to what Line tells me, she can barely remember even the few things she picked up from her grandmother. It is so with every selkie that lives on land for too long - slowly they forget the tongue of Mother Sea (an ancient pagan deity, I believe) and learn the tongue of their husbands. Line herself seems to remember mostly old songs that she teaches to little Safia too so she can remember her ancestors even a little. She tells me they are the last ones. 
Line’s great-great-grandmother was taken from the sea by her husband as well - a practice which was considered normal back in the day - and as she never managed to have any daughters was forced to live the rest of her life on this foreign land. She tells me this story with a sort of melancholic detachment as she brushes her daughter’s long, golden hair. This is standard for their species it seems - all daughters have golden hair and golden eyes which makes them look terrible and inviting to the men that come across them.
Line also tells me that the selkie language has over 34 words to express ‘love’. She says that the witch must have been trying to capture them all as she wrote down her confession, but she can only remember a few of the ones her grandmother taught her. Thus, there is ‘love gleaned from above the sea foam’, ‘love that is realized by the stroke of midnight’, ‘love which blooms only at the wake of dawn’, ‘love which burns one as they feel it’ which is different from ‘love that scorches one as they let go of it’. She does not know the word for the love felt for one’s husband, but she tells me that the love for one’s daughter is translated as ‘love for a budding flower which blooms on the bottom of the ocean’.    
She tells me all this with a mournful look - the expression of a woman who knows that when she passes there will be a little less of her legacy left. The grimoire that I show her has a shell accessory on the cover that when opened produces the most beautiful melody in the world. When I showed Line this she started weeping and once she calmed down she explained that it was the same song that her grandmother used to sing when she was little. I believe it must be an old folk song, though she cannot confirm it for me, since she admits that there are barely any words that she recognizes. Though she can tell with some certainty that it is a song of forgiveness - that the witch is begging her mother to welcome her back to the sea. Little Safia listened to the song as well, but I could tell that beyond the soothing melody nothing stuck out to her at all. It broke Line’s heart.
I stayed there for almost two months learning what I could about the selkie. It did Line good too since she felt that even if she were to die, little Safia and her children would not be robbed of her heritage. I was touched by this sentiment - so much that I swore that once I have finished my business collecting and translating the grimoires I would make sure to amass in one volume the entirety of Line’s teachings during the time they graciously let me stay there.”
-  Of Grimoires and Pledges: A Study of Eight Texts that Shaped Our Understanding of Modern Magic
“It has now been more than ten years since I have made that promise, which I have managed to keep after all. If you were to look in any library right now, dear reader, you might spy tucked away in one of the shelves a little book of no more than 100 pages, more than half filled with illustrations and drawings, while the other half is full of songs and poems and little phrases that Line shared with me as we sat huddled around the fire at night. I’ve been told it is a commercial failure - that nobody but the most dedicated anthropologists give it more than a glance. But it does not matter to me. It took four years for the 100 copies to sell. I have recently ordered 100 more. 
To others these books might be nothing more than curiosities, oddities, a change of reading material - but it is not so. Not in the slightest. These are the words and experiences of a woman whose ancestry has been erased almost entirely and plunged into obscurity. By no means can I simply let her life or history be disregarded in such a manner. Especially now since I am the only one left fighting. 
It was two years after I departed from Line’s house that I received a letter from the young lord who oversaw the village she lived in. I was in the midst of a lesson with Old Woman Louisa when I was informed that due to a tragic accident little Safia lost her life at sea, followed three months later by her mother who died of grief. I was left numb by the news - barely registering it at all and inconsolable for weeks after. I had to leave Louisa’s abode as my mourning made the beasts under her care uneasy, and with no goal in mind simply proceeded forward to the Isle of Lamentation. A fitting spot to vent my grief.
I have had the good mind to send the young lord a letter asking him to keep the hut in which they lived in good condition, and returned there two years after my travels ended. It is now a museum, my dear reader, dedicated to Line, Safia and all the women who suffered at the hands of their destiny by being taken from their home to live on these strange lands. The last that will even suffer this destiny, for Line and Safia’s deaths did not mark merely the loss of two great souls and hearts from the world, but also the loss of an entire species. There are no more selkie that roam the ocean, and if there are any on land they must have long forgotten they even were. 
To them I wish to dedicate this small volume that I have compiled, relying on the memory of the most wonderful woman I have ever met in my life, and the innocence of the sweetest little girl that I have had the good fortune of knowing.  
May their souls rest among the stars, free of pain and suffering, curled in Mother Sea’s bosom.”
- Songs of Mother Sea: A Short Guide to the History of Selkie Culture Through Poems and Music
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mostly-mundane-atla · 3 years
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Hey, it's that bit of writing I started working on 800 followers ago! I genuinely appreciate everyone being so patient on this and also just being so respectful with talking culture in general. I'm still getting used to it. Hang tight on that glossary, I'll post it asap
Edit: here's the glossary
~-~-~
It was a challenge to live on the Tundra, but never as much as when the Ikunmiut claimed the Southern Water Tribe as their territory and demanded tribute from the locals.
The whaling captain of one village assigned his own son, Aasrivak, to bring food to the soldiers, as a show of good faith. Aasrivak's younger sister, Tulugak, insisted on going along.
"Tulugak, my own daughter," the captain pleaded, "your mother and grandmother need your help at home."
"But Papa," she insisted, "how can I stitch a straight line or shoo birds from the drying rack if I don't know if brother is safe?"
Knowing he could not deter his daughter, the captain instead turned to his son and said, "Keep her behind you."
"Kangiqsirunga," Aasrivak answered, nodding and bringing Tulugak in the back of the sled with him, between his arms so she wouldn't fall. "I will, Papa."
"Now hurry," their father said. "The only thing worse than an Ikunmiu is an angry Ikunmiu."
Aasrivak nodded and cracked his whip, signaling the musk-dogs to run, and they were off.
The air they rushed through bit at her face with stinging cold, but Tulugak did not regret her decision. Her brother was a shining example of what a young Water Tribe man ought to be. Generous and kind, serious when it was required, but good-natured and gentle with his words. When she was old enough to eat solid food, he shared his with her. When he learned to carve, he made her a doll. When she hurt her foot helping him check traps, he carried her home on his back like a mother with a baby. When loose teeth made it hurt to chew anything, he brought her broth and soft berries that she could crush between her tongue and the roof of her mouth, rather than between her jaws. She'd often teased him for his propriety and his need for his tools to be just so, but she loved him dearly and couldn't bear if something happened and she couldn't be there to protect him.
When they arrived at the iglu near the ship with the Ikunmiut banner, Aasrivak began to unload the sled.
"Utaqqinga," he told his sister.
"But--"
"I told Papa I'd keep you behind me," he said, stacking the crates of goods and lifting them up. "Stay here."
"Itsingitchunga," she said, crossing her arms defiantly, as her only argument.
Aasrivak chuckled. "If you don't fear them, little sister," he said, "then you are a fool and shouldn't have come with me to begin with."
Hating to feel so useless, Tulugak went about checking the musk-dogs' teeth for rot, their paws for wound and splinters, and their horns for cracks. She petted them and scratched behind their ears for being so good and patient, and wondered how they did it. The smell was all wrong, even for her human nose, and they must have been able to sense that Aasrivak was in danger among the invaders.
Tulugak jolted at the sound of someone crashing to the floor. The possibility that it wasn't her brother would not occur to her, and she was already close enough to touch the banner by the time she realized she left the sled. The taste of blood poured into her mouth, as she had bitten down hard on her tongue. She was sure if the Ikunmiu who did it could her her call him a "gnashing wolf conceived of two pups of the same litter" as she wanted to, his fingers would be around her throat in the time it took to blink.
It wasn't Aasrivak collapsed on the floor, he stood and shielded her with his arm the moment she entered, but it wasn't an Ikunmii soldier either. The figure there had her hand at her face, where she must have been struck. And in spite of the red smudged on her lips, the lampblack drawn about her eyes, the scant garment she was wrapped in, she had an air of ancient power and dignity. More notable and haunting than that, she seemed to be a Water Tribe girl. A young woman, close in age to Tulugak herself. Her skin was like the browned fossil ivory, her eyes black and shining as baleen beads, and her unbraided hair as thick and dark as the winter's night.
How dare anyone strike her? Tulugak thought.
Her focus was only taken off of the young lady at the sound of an unfamiliar voice cooing, "Oh, this one's almost pretty as ours."
Aasrivak pushed her further behind him.
"She's--" he started, trying to think of something, "she's to be married, sir."
"What a shame!" This voice was a different one still, and refusing to look at them, Tulugak couldn't put a face to it. "Kept in the ice and snow, carving fish and sewing skins and breeding like a dog. Wouldn't you rather come home with me, dear?"
"Enough!" snapped another. "It's bad enough we have one. You, boy," Aasrivak straightened at this address. "See to it your father doesn't forget tobacco next time."
"Kangiq--" the word stopped as if it had barbs in his throat. Aasrivak and his sister both heard what the Ikunmiut did to people who didn't speak properly. "I understand, sir." He bowed his head deeply, and pushed Tulugak out before turning to follow her, but she could still feel those baleen colored eyes on them, begging for help and protection.
Aasrivak nudged Tulugak onto the sled without a word. His gloved hands gripped the handles with almost enough force to break them and then they began to shake. Without warning, he stomped down on the brake and Tulugak hit her belly on the bar.
"You shouldn't have left the sled," he told her, trying to keep his voice from shaking as his hands were.
"I thought they struck you down," she explained. "I thought you were hurt, I--"
"If they struck me down I could have gotten up, but you-- they could have taken you away!" His hands could have bruised her arms with how tightly he held them. "Ilitchuģipich? If I was hurt I could have recovered, but if they took you away from us, Tulugak, there are things they could do to you that we could never undo."
Aasrivak so rarely cried, and seeing the tears well up in his eyes was all the proof Tulugak needed that he truly believed the worst could have happened.
"And niviaķsiaķ? What of their captive?" she asked once she found her voice again, though niviaķsiallautaķ was the word that danced in her mind. "We can't leave her there if she can face such things too."
"She's not one of ours," he answered cautiously.
"It shouldn't matter what village she's from."
"No, that's not what I mean. Those men, they told me that they found a fox pelt the night she appeared. That she wouldn't leave without it and gave a great cry when they held it over flame. They have her cooking and making their tea now, as she had brought meat with her."
"She wouldn't leave her pelt?" she asked. "You mean she's--"
"Kayuķtuķ, it would seem."
Of course she was a fox; one of those foxes that take off their skins to reveal a beautiful woman underneath. The ones that look after babies that couldn't be fed and keep house for hunters. She couldn't have been a person, she was too -- enchanting? -- otherworldly. And of course the Ikunmiut took her. They took everything that didn't belong to them
"So she is among strangers in a world that is not her own," Tulugak stated, carefully feeling the words come out of her mouth. They felt strange, even though they rang true. "Aasrivak, we can't leave her to them! She ought to have her skin and be far away."
"We need to be far away from them too."
"Is her soul not made the same as ours? Is her current form not proof of that?"
Aasrivak thought to himself for a moment before he spoke up again. "If I agree to help her with you, little sister, you must promise me you will not put yourself in harm's way again. Can you promise me that?"
Tulugak stretched her eyebrows up as high ad they would go, nodding solemnly.
He threw his arms around her and inhaled as if to breath her fully into his lungs. She returned the gesture, holding her brother so tight nothing could take him from her.
"We'll figure it out when you help me mend the traps and nets," he said.
She nodded again, knowing he wouldn't see but would still understand. They got back on the sled and made their way home.
Aasrivak told Papa that he kept his sister behind him but didn't mention the soldiers' spirit captive. As agreed upon, the brother and sister came up with a few ideas as she helped him mend his net outside. Mama and Aaka were inside, spinning the greyish brown musk-dog wool with spindles on waterbending-powered wheels, and Papa was away, helping some returning hunters butcher their catch of seal and taking what they didn't need to the widows and elders.
They had for their supper the mikigaq that had simmered with fireweed and sourdock. No rice, Mama and Aaka decided. Mama realized that with the occupation, there was no way to be sure when more would be imported, and Aaka was proud that such a woman married her son. Cartilage had been cut into tiny pieces and added near the end in its place.
As she lay on her ķaatchiaķ that night, Tulugak found herself thinking of her mother's sister. She had three husbands and enjoyed that very much. The three of them jumped to bring her water when she suggested she was thirsty, carved beautiful beads for her to wear, and every night each would kiss the calloused thumb and finger in which she held her needle. What a cruel mockery of that the fox girl's situation seemed to her. She remembered hearing that Ikunmii women weren't allowed more than one husband, and that only some of the men could take more than one wife. No wonder they couldn't share a girl between them without striking her, couldn't play the husbands as they expected her to play the wife. It's all they can do, she thought before drifting off to sleep, steal and mock.
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Here it is friends. Part one of my Taylor-Swift-nostalgia induced carraville fic. I will be writing a short part two but I figured I’d get this up now and it could be read on its own at this point. I haven’t proof read it so please excuse any mistakes but I hope you enjoy!
Jamie undid his tie. It was a plaid tie, blue instead of red to suggest his neutrality. It was a good day or at least it should’ve been. Liverpool beat Everton two to one, he’d had a good show (no one was harassing him on Twitter yet and Gary had made a few mistakes, Jamie thought that qualified a pretty good show), and he had a date at eleven. He should be fucking buzzing but Jamie just feels the idle hum of numbness. Even the five-goal thriller that was their first game of the night hadn’t got his heart pumping like it used to. 
Gary walked in silently, startling Jamie who quickly pulled on a jumper. Not that his state of dress mattered, Gary’s eyes stayed glued to the floor. He walked to the far corner of the dressing room to change out of his suit, as far away from Jamie as possible.  He hadn’t said a word to Jamie all night when the cameras weren’t rolling. It hurt. Especially when Gary was so good at acting like everything was fine when the commercial break ended. He even fooled Jamie a few times.
Kelly knocked on the door, making sure they were both decent, before walking in to say goodnight. Jamie watched as Gary smiled at Kelly, as he laughed with her about something. Jamie used to do that: make Gary laugh. Kelly turns her attentions to Jamie. She compliments him on his interview tonight and asks him where he and Tom are going for their date. 
“It’s quite late,” she comments, “you can’t really be going to dinner.” Jamie give her a fake laugh. 
“I’ve got a reservation and everything Kells. We’re going to that new vegan place. He’s picking me up.” You heard that right: vegan. Because on top of everything, Tom fucking cared about animals and the environment. Jamie wasn’t complaining too much, though. He could suffer through some tofu if it meant not having to go to Gary and his old haunts. 
“Ooh!” Kelly said, “do I get to meet him? Redknapp keeps talking about how lovely he is, I figure I could judge for myself.” Ah, yes, Redders. Running into Redders had been an accident. They managed to bump into him at the golf course the week before. Tom was good at golf, unlike Redders, as much as he tried to be. Tom gave him a few pointers, helping Redders fix his posture for his swings. They ended up playing a whole round together while Jamie played ping-pong with an eight-year-old girl in the clubhouse. Redders hadn’t shut up about how Tom’s wonderfulness and his perfect swing since. Jamie nodded at Kelly. He figured he couldn’t do any more damage. 
The three of them stood in the parking lot waiting for Tom’s car to pull in. He wasn’t late of course, he never is, they just got out earlier than anticipated. Gary had tried to skitter off to his car but Kelly practically dragged him back up on the curb. Gary, despite trying to put on an agreeable face, looked about as miserable as Jamie felt. Jamie thought he was slightly better at hiding it though. 
At 10:59 Tom’s blue Volkswagen pulled in. One minute early. He wore a nice checked shirt with the first few buttons undone. His hair and shirt were miraculously crisp and clean after a full day of work. He looked like a fucking god with his symmetrical face, sharp bone structure, and straight nose. Kelly certainly took note of that. “Our Carra is a lucky man!” She whispered before going over to Tom to introduce herself. Tom shook her hand and complimented her dress which, to be fair, was a very nice floral pattern. 
Tom stuck his hand out for Gary to shake. “Hello Gary, my name’s Tom. It’s nice to meet you.” Gary takes a minute to collect himself and takes Tom’s outstretched hand giving it a firm shake. 
“It’s nice to meet you as well.” It sounds remarkably fake, of course it does, but Tom doesn’t seem to notice. He just turns towards Jamie with a perfect smile. 
“You have such lovely friends, Jamie. It was nice to meet you both.” Jamie wasn’t so sure about that but played along and let Tom walk him to the car. Tom opened Jamie’s door for him before walking around to get in himself. He saw Kelly sling an arm around Gary’s shoulders as they drove away. Jamie took a deep breath and remembered it was all for the best. He reminded himself that this was what he wanted: stability. He didn’t want to fight anymore. The words Gary had said that night still rung in his ears. He was sure his own snarls were not forgotten either. 
It started to rain as they parked but Tom had an umbrella. Gary never had an umbrella. You’d think that living in Manchester he’d learn to at least keep one in his car. Instead, he resorted to sprinting away from the rain as fast as he could trying to avoid the rain, he wasn’t as fast as he used to be. But Tom was prepared, he always was. He held the umbrella for the both of them as they walked around to the front of the restaurant. 
“James, try the torte it’s quite delicious.” Jamie hated being called James. Absolutely hated it. Not when Gary said it though. His stupid manc accent stretched the vowels into velvet. When Gary said it he felt special. Tom’s polished London accent made him feel posh, pretentious, and twatty. James. Ugh. It was like the word torte. It’s a fucking cake, just call it what it is. Jamie took a bite of the torte. It was good if you ignored the aftertaste of soya in the frosting, a little dry, but Jamie nodded his head like it was an orange mcflurry. He let Tom finish the dessert. 
They’re in the car. Tom’s dropping Jamie off at his apartment. Tom must have noticed that Jamie had been quiet and switched the topic to something a little more in his wheelhouse: football. They were talking about England and possible squads for the upcoming international break. Tom started talking about moving Kyle Walker into midfield and Jamie couldn’t take it. 
“That’s bollocks. Where is the one place on the field where we actually have players? Fucking midfield. Gareth’s drowning in defenders but not experienced ones. Playing Walker in midfield fucking undermines Henderson and leaves the young centrebacks overexposed.” Tom laughs for some reason. Jamie doesn’t find it funny.
“Well, you would certainly know.” This is what you want, he reminds himself again. Peace, calm, stability. This is happiness. But, fuck, Jamie missed Gary. He missed the challenge. He missed the little crease between Gary’s eyes. He missed Gary’s squeaky voice when he gets worked up. He missed fighting and bickering with Gary over things that didn’t matter. He missed screaming at Gary and Gary screaming back. He missed the really hot sex they’d have after such screaming matches, making Gary scream in a different, more satisfying way. He missed Gary’s laugh, his smile. It seemed to Jamie that neither of them have smiled much since that day. Jamie thought that smiling didn’t seem worth it if Gary wasn’t smiling back. 
Jamie checked his phone. It was nearing 1 am. He had a handful of messages from Kelly. Jamie didn’t want to read about how great she thought Tom was, he fucking knew that Tom was great. On paper, he was fucking perfect. The perfect boyfriend. The dream guy. Not for Jamie though. He dreamed of an angry, passionate, crazy, wonderful manc. He opened his messages anyways though, figuring Tom would want to hear what Kelly thought about him. 
Jamie. I know you’re on your date but we need to talk. Can you call me? It’s about Gaz. The first one read.
He’s at mine. Really upset. He said not to talk to you so I figure you know what’s going on. That sounded about right. Kelly caring more about Gary’s well being than Gary himself. Gary was too stubborn to care. 
Call me please. The last one read. Fuck. They’d made a mess of things. Not only had they made a mess of themselves, but they’d also dragged the others into it. 
“Can you pull into that park up there?” Jamie asked Tom. He nodded and turned down the radio, waiting for Jamie to say something more. He didn’t though. Not until he got out of the car and puked some partially digested salad in the grass. Tom came over to him and rested his palm on Jamie’s mid back. Gary used to pet his hair, carding his fingers through it, on those mornings after he’d had a little too much to drink. 
Jamie laid on his back in the middle of the parking lot. The rain soaked through his thin shirt in seconds. Tom looked down at him concerned. “I can’t do this, Tom. You’re so lovely. I mean you’re so fucking lovely but I just can’t—”
“I get it, James. You’re still in love with him.” The bastard still looked perfect even drenched with rain. Jamie guessed that he probably looked like a drowned rat. Jamie must have been giving him a confused look because he laughed and explained further. “I saw the way you used to look at him on the tele like he’s the fucking sun. I saw the way you looked at him tonight like being around him was tearing you apart. Besides, I’m pretty sure half the nation knew there was something going on there.” Jamie laughed at that. They had been pretty obvious. And not just Gary, apparently. Apparently, he was just as open of a book. He needed to call Kelly. 
She picked up after three rings. “Hi Carra,” she whispered, “needed to get out of the living room, Gaz’s sleeping on my couch.”
“Is he okay?” Jamie asked, not really wanting to hear the answer. 
“He’s a wreck, Jamie. He misses you.” I miss him too, Jamie didn’t say, so much. 
“Can I come round?” Jamie asked. Kelly said yes so long as Jamie can get Gary the hell out of her living room and gave Carra her address. 
Thankfully, Kelly’s place was nearby, about a mile away. Jamie didn’t know where he got the energy considering he was dead on his feet a few minutes before, but he ran there as fast as he possibly could. His water-filled shoes squished loudly with every step. He got there in seven minutes and was panting heavily when he knocked on the door. Kelly let him in wordlessly. 
Gary was still sleeping on the couch when he walked into the living room. Kelly gave him a nod and walked into the kitchen. Jamie kneeled next to Gary and cupped his cheek with his palm. Jamie hadn’t realized how much he’d missed that simple feeling. Gary’s forehead was still crinkled in his sleep. His eyes were dark like he hadn’t slept much. Jamie hadn’t either. It was hard to sleep alone, without Gary’s comforting weight on his chest. Jamie took Gary’s hand from where it was tucked under his chin and intertwined their fingers. The weight of Gary’s hand in his set relief running through Jamie’s body. Gary started to stir at that. 
“James?” Jamie smiles at that. His stupid name sounds beautiful coming from Gary’s mouth. His eyes weren’t even open yet and Gary already knows it’s him. “What are you doing here?” He opened his eyes slightly but upon seeing Jamie they were wide open. Gary’s eyes were red and bloodshot. Jamie just wanted to yank him into his arms and hug him forever. 
“What are you doing here, you muppet? Bothering Kelly at 2 am?” Jamie said playfully. Gary flushed slightly. “Come on, Gaz. Let’s get you home.” He grabbed Gary’s hand to pull him up. Gary stumbled when he tried to take a step. Carra looked down at the empty beer bottles and figured that was why. He grabbed Gary’s arm and slung it over his shoulder. Gary’s head rested in the crook of Jamie’s neck, his soft breathing tickling at the skin there. 
“Kelly,” Jamie called softly into the kitchen, “we’re leaving.” She came out to stand in the doorway in her fluffy, pink bunny slippers that Jamie had somehow not noticed before. Jamie thought he should get Gary a pair. 
“Set an alarm,” she said, “he wakes up early. Don’t let him bolt.” Jamie figured Gary wouldn’t be racing out of his apartment at 5 am with the hangover he was sure to have but it was still a good idea. Gary was an unpredictable, stubborn bastard at times. Jamie thanked her and helped Gary down to his car. 
It was still pouring when they got out of the building because clearly the gods wanted Gary to either sober up or catch his death. Thankfully, in his upset Gary had forgotten to lock the car meaning Carra didn’t have to fumble around for his keys in the current weather. Except, that Gary wouldn’t get into the car. He sprawled his limbs over the door so Jamie couldn’t push him inside. 
“Gary, if you don’t get your arse in that car, I’m going to leave you out here to drown.” Obviously, he wasn’t serious but he figured that Gary might be drunk enough not to know that. Gary just smiled up fondly at him and stayed put. 
“I love you,” he said, looking like the most radiant, beautiful thing Jamie had ever seen in his life. His hair was a mess, stuck down to his forehead. His cheeks were bright red from a mix of alcohol and the cold. His eyes were still red but god they held all the love in the world. Jamie could see that somehow, after everything, Gary still loved him, truly loved him. After all the things he said, screamed, did, this man--this beautiful man--still loved Jamie every ounce as much as Jamie loved him. It didn’t matter what he should want, he wanted Gary and all of his adorable, infuriating flaws. His recipe to happiness was just that: his own. He didn’t need stability, calm, peace. He needed to feel something. 
Jamie cupped his face for the second time that night. He ran his thumb over Gary’s wet, stubbly cheeks. Jamie couldn’t help himself. He kissed Gary with all of the kisses they’d missed in the past two months. The two months of pain, loneliness, desolation. He kissed Gary with all of the love he had in his cold, wet body and Gary did the same. Gary moved slower than Jamie, less frantically but no less enthusiastically. Gary clutched at his jacket like a vice, unwilling to let go. Jamie moved his hands around Gary’s body. He wanted to make sure that everything was still as he remembered it. And it was. Of course, it was. He had Gary in his arms, it didn’t matter that the rain had picked up. Though, he was sure he’d hear about the soggy interior of Gary’s car in the morning. He pulled away reluctantly for breath and rested his forehead against Gary’s.
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